by Frank Matheis 2020
I first met Adam Gussow in 1997. We were sitting outside in the grass on a hot July day, listening to performers at the upstate Falcon Ridge Folk Festival in Hillsdale, New York. During an interlude, while performers were the changing the stage, I heard an expressive harmonica wailing not far from where we were sitting, just a row or two over. Clearly it was a professional, someone who knew elegant and sophisticated jazz riffs, mixed in with straight ahead gritty blues, all with a powerfully rich tone that few can attain. Most people were not paying attention. The player was just entertaining himself, as harmonica players have a tendency to do, while sitting around waiting. Curious, I wanted to know who was playing on this high level.
I immediately recognized the musician. It was none other than Adam Gussow, of the trailblazing duo Satan and Adam, at the time one of the biggest blues acts in all of New York. They found their fame while busking the streets of Harlem. I had been spinning their CD Living On The River on heavy rotation on my roots & blues radio show at WKZE FM, and just the year earlier they were the first interracial ensemble on the cover of Living Blues magazine, to which I was a subscriber.
Without much hesitation, I went over and introduced myself, saying, “You’re Adam Gussow, aren’t you?” He was seemingly surprised to be identified, but he was gracious, friendly and open, inviting my wife and I to come and sit with him and his date. We chatted a bit about this and that and eventually exchanged contact information. It was clear to me then that this guy was not your average bluesman. He was an intellectual of the first degree, a serious thinker, and, as I learned, a Princeton man. Right away we found commonality, a love of the blues, deep interest in the culture that originated the music – and we both graduated from our respective colleges in 1979.
Over time, after that, we kept in touch. I reviewed his 2009 book Mister Satan’s Apprentice. He honored me by using an article I had written about Guy Davis in 2001 for Blues Access, in a class he was teaching at Vassar College, which gave me a big confidence boost. When a man like Adam Gussow compliments your writing in this way, it means something. Later, after he moved to Oxford, Mississippi, to be a professor of English at Ol’ Miss, my gig at Blues Access had ended when the magazine folded. Adam then put in a good word for me with Living Blues, where I am now still a contributing writer. He even gave me a chance to write about a series of photos of the original King Biscuit show. Most recently, I reviewed his 2017 book Beyond The Crossroads: The Devil And The Blues Tradition. Adam also provided an excellent quote to endorse the book Sweet Bitter Blues – Washington’s Homemade Blues by Phil Wiggins and me. I wrote him a note back then, thanking him for always being open, when often others were closed. If Adam had not recommended me to the editor of Living Blues, I might not have gotten that writing gig, which means I would never have written the cover story about Phil Wiggins in 2014, which means Phil and I would most likely never have become friends on the level that we did and we would never have written Sweet Bitter Blues. Adam Gussow is not just a first rate, incisive scholar, he is an exceptional person. Over time, I came to know him as someone who is as gracious and kind as he is gifted.
Suffice it to say that I hold Dr. Adam Gussow in the highest esteem, with the utmost respect, as a scholar, a performer, a writer and as a friend, someone who had been a steadfast career catalyst for me. It was great to meet him and his wonderful family at Oxford, Mississippi in 2017.
That’s why, today I am embarrassed to admit that I was not on top of the 2019 released Netflix documentary Satan and Adam by filmmaker Scott Balcerek. For various reason, I was not with the whole Netflix thing until a few days ago. Last night we finally watched Satan and Adam. I wish I would have seen it sooner so that I could recommend it to all, but it’s not too late.
It’s a sensitive and revelatory documentary about the duo of Adam and “Mister Satan” the brilliant guitarist Sterling Magee, starting when Adam approached the one-man-band busker on the street of Harlem and asked him if he could sit in. It’s on one level a remarkable story about the salt and pepper duo’s astronomical rise, an ascension that came out of the unique energy of these seemingly diverse people. Two musicians of different backgrounds, brought together by fate, catapulted to fame. Of course, their interracial partnership in Harlem was a unique and interesting aspect of their rise, and the reality of race and social status differences is a perpetual topic. The documentary reveals these struggles, but the beautiful humanity, the friendship and love between these musicians rises above that, as it should in the true human condition. We learn of their existentialist struggles, of the complexities, as well as the joys and heights of their achievements, such as the Living Blues cover story recognition, playing at the New Orleans Jazz & Heritage Festival– and reaching international fame and glory. This writer will maintain that it all worked, in part because of and in part despite of, all these issues. In the end, it comes down to how good the musical concoction worked. When listening to their recordings, people no longer care how interesting their story is. They will listen and judge how good the music is. It was unbelievable! Sterling Magee simultaneously played the drum beat and a ferociously rhythmic guitar style, with insanely innovative chord patterns and absurdly freeform, thunderous riffs that were as esoteric and individualistic that it would be impossible to copy. He played a fiercely funky, startling style, a guitarist in the “Oh, my God, how does he do that?” league, in the unusual realm perhaps occupied by Joseph Spence or James Blood Ulmer. The gritty bluesman Magee had an illustrious career before busking in Harlem, playing with the likes of James Brown, King Curtis and George Benson. Adam Gussow, the Princeton scholar, was by that time a hot-licks, sophisticated urban harmonica player, with exceptional skill and tone. When they joined forces, it was completely new and unheard of, a duo of a one-man-band of guitar and drums joined by an eloquent harmonica stylist who metamorphosed jazz saxophone phrasing with Chicago style blues. In the space-time ripples known as gravitational waves, only this unique combination could do this. Only at that very place, space and time, only by these complementary musicians, could such a musical explosion erupt. It was unlike anything ever heard before and since.
If it was just left at that, it would be a very good documentary. To make it a truly great documentary film, we are drawn in deeper to the humanity of these players. We see their partnership and human relationship. As Sterling Magee struggles with various issues and eventually has a nervous breakdown, we see the compassion of Adam. Also, the support and kindness that Magee meets in a Florida nursing home by a caretaker who recognized his musical history and supported his recovery and helped him regain the ability to play guitar. It’s a heartwarming story of humanity, of friendship and love, as much as a musical journey. As such, the documentary reaches its height, as a story of evanescent humanity mixed with musical vibrations. It’s also a beautifully intimate portrait of Adam Gussow, showing him with all his talents, knowledge and humanity. For example, in a world where stories of exploitation of elderly African Americans are all too common place, Adam Gussow showed how to do it right. He singularly wrote an article for Harper’s magazine and he was not legally obligated to share his author’s fee. Yet, he split the payment from the publisher 50:50, noting “It was OUR story.” He was a partner and friend to “Mr. Satan” until the very end. He did right!
I was deeply moved and very proud to know him. Not just for his achievements but for his inherent decency, which came through in this superb documentary.
