Blind Willie Dunn is the sort of bluesman who, if he didn't exist, seems as if he could almost be made up by a hack novelist. He's been on a chain gang(allegedly), naturally -- in his case, for stabbing a man to death in a juke joint brawl. He has, by his own count, 26 children by five women. And he never picked up a guitar until he was 58 years old (though his age, now approximately 80 years, is a guess at best). Wife No. 5, the story goes, had bought him a guitar as a present, and the thing sat gathering dust until she took off. Willie got himself a gallon of moonshine, picked up the guitar and taught himself to play. That sounds right out of central casting but may well be true, and, if nothing else, the legend looks good on him.

Dunn's hard, cutting brand of blues is about as elemental as music gets. Made with his own guitar and the clatterings of a drummer known only as Foot-Tambo. Dunn's songs are not so much slices as slashes of life. On his albums-- the titles themselves speak of jealousy, rage, and impending violence--he sings about scenes from his long and storied life: women he's had, or wanted but couldn't have; jobs he's worked at; ass-whuppings he's delivered. But this is no joke, made up just for white-boy punk-rock consumption. He means it. Dunn's songs have endured remixing, and you can be damn sure that if, like I do, Dunn thought the track made him sound foolish, he'd probably pull a knife on everyone involved.

"He sounds like two flat tires on a dirt road, tryin' to catch up."--RS

“What I love about playing music (is) because I did my own singing and do my own thing, didn't have to worry about nobody crossin' me.”

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