Sultry, Aggressive, and No-Bullshit Blues by Margaret Moser
Fri., June 30, 1995
If Sue Foley were playing alternative rock instead of blues, the music press would be going to church over her. She's a better guitarist than any of the grrrls in vogue right now, her songwriting is as well-developed and accessible as, say, Victoria Williams or Sheryl Crow, her knack for choosing material is impressive, and she has the requisite chip on her shoulder about how to play with the boys. She gets good marks critically but when Foley remarked, "I can play as good as any man and I ain't no rhythm player," MTV missed out on a great soundbite.
At 27, the Ottawa, Canada native seems none too anxious to grab the brass ring from the 15 Minutes Hall of Fame carousel. She's more content to go around on tour, and on the eve of another European jaunt, Foley's relaxing at home, twisting her titian hair into a knot on her head as damp little tendrils trail fetchingly down her neck. Hancock ("It's not just Wayne the Train, it's `The Plane,' `The Pain,' `The Great Dane,' and sometimes `that sonuvabitch,'" he jokes) stands in the bedroom doorway, wearing the nonstop grin that can only be described as good naturedly shit-eating. He apologizes croakily for not being sociable - it's this sore throat thing, he says, and he's due to lay down some tracks at Cedar Creek studios in a couple of days. Foley smiles sweetly at him, murmuring sympathy. Hancock excuses himself. "Tell me if I play my music too loud, okay?" he rasps, pointing the fan to blow cool air from the apartment's one AC unit toward the bedroom.
Next to where Foley reclines sits a bookshelf, its titles dominated by biographies and autobiographies from Dorothy Parker and Ava Gardner to Pamela Des Barres and Marianne Faithfull. "I love the tragic queens, all the entertainers," she says as her hand sweeps regally to the rows of books. "Billie Holiday, Edith Piaf, Edie Sedgwick... Here's Memphis Minnie - [hers] is a little hard to read, kind of academic. Sometimes [biographies are] just facts, facts, facts - who played which recording session, what songs they played on. I want to know about their lives. I read Ray Charles' in one day - he told everything."
There are Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart biographies next to an Archie comic ("Wayne loves Archie comics"), but indeed the books are mainly about tragic queens, notorious women who rebelled and were often sexual outlaws of sorts, playing out the scenes of their professional and personal lives in front of the press and cameras, on and offstage. They were women who made their own rules in a man's world. It's a scenario with which Foley becomes more and more familiar every day. "These are just the ones I could fit out here," she says. "I got another box full of books packed away. It feels a little trashy to like the inside story, but I like to be the observer. I can remember reading about Groucho Marx when I was about 13, but my new favorite one is about Bob Dylan."
No surprise that Foley holds Dylan in such high esteem; she did two of his songs on her recent Big City Blues, the languid "To Be Alone With You" and the raucously seductive "If You Gotta Go." "The thing about Dylan," Foley says, as her small, sinewy fingers trace his profile on a full-page photo of him, "is that it's so stupid to talk about him and analyze his music. All I can say is that I'm a fan and I respect what he's contributed to music." Foley's flat statement about Dylan goes a long way in explaining her own lack of verbalizing about the music she plays. It's not that Foley isn't eloquent, but how much more can you say about blues that hasn't already been said? Foley, it appears, would rather let her pink paisley Telecaster speak for itself on stage.
And for Sue Foley, onstage says it all. Backed by longtime bassist Jon Penner and veteran blues drummer Fredde Walden, she cuts loose with a barrage of sassy, smoky blues licks that come from more than simply an ability to play; they come from a deep respect and love for the music itself. But even as a blues lover, she's not afraid to drop Dylan into an album mix or step out of the spotlight and play lead behind the bawdy, barroom blues of Candye Kane. Her guitar playing is fearless, and in a town where the waiting list is long, Sue Foley's number is being called.
Foley's early years wouldn't be much grist for a scandalous, tell-all biography, but her fortuitous meeting with Clifford Antone is the stuff of legends. It's difficult to imagine the delicate young woman with gorgeous red-gold hair, ivory skin, and china blue eyes as a tomboy, but growing up with three brothers in a musical family says a lot about her ease in playing what is basically the good ol' boys' game. She asked for a guitar at 13 ("I never doubted for a minute that I wanted to play music."), was sneaking around to local clubs at 15, and by 17 was joining in blues jams. That gave her the impetus to try tours into the U.S.; one such jaunt led to Memphis, where she was seen by Clifford Antone while sitting in with Duke Robillard at the W.C.Handy Awards.
"Clifford came up and said `Hi,' and told me to send him a demo tape when I got back," recalls Foley in her distinctive Canadian twang. "So when I got back, I sent him one I'd written, a lowdown, Muddy Waters/Lightnin' Slim kind of thing called `Gone Blind'. He called me right back and asked me what I was doin'. `Nothing', I told him - I'd just split with my band after being on the road for a year. `Are you ready to come down here?', he asked.
"Two weeks later I was in Austin. I came down here in February 1990 - Valentine's Day, I'll never forget that. The band followed in July. That lineup has changed but Penner's still with me. He's been everywhere with me. Everywhere but to bed...." Her lips curl mischievously at the joke. "There's nowhere else in the States I'd want to live, but I'm definitely a Canadian. Still, there's something about Texas, it must be the wide-open spaces. It's got a strong image, it says `We're Texas, fuck you!' and I like that," she teases. "Here was George Rains, Jimmie Vaughan, Doug Sahm, Kim Wilson, Junior Brown... all in one town. I was totally intimidated. I guess I'm kind of a lightweight about that...." she smiles weakly. But even with Clifford Antone's seal of approval, breaking into the Antone's ranks was a challenge.
By 1992 however, Foley was much less intimidated, having earned her stripes playing and touring endlessly, as well releasing her debut Young Girl Blues on the Antone's label. It was a serviceable if not particularly auspicious album with three of Foley's own notable compositions - including "Gone Blind" - peppered between covers from Slim Harpo, Memphis Minnie, and Ike Turner. Still, it gave notice that Foley was not to be dismissed. The subsequent Without a Warning in 1993 was more successful, as well as aptly titled: She had picked up her own gauntlet, thrown down by the oft-quoted remark that she could play as good as any man, by blasting through 13 cuts, including eight of her own.
Suddenly, Foley was hot. A trip to Europe resulted in foaming-at-the-mouth praise for Foley, who was unaware of the buzz she was creating. "They were out there chanting, `Sue, Sue, Sue' and I thought, `That's for me?" says Foley of a pivotal MIDEM showcase in Paris. Around the same time, the young guitarist was nominated for a Juno Award (the Canadian equivalent of a Grammy), while also unseating longtime "Best Blues Band" winner W.C. Clark in the 1993-94 Austin Music Awards back here at home. And there was, of course, the nonstop touring.
When it came time to record album number three, Foley and producer/performer Stephen Bruton polished 11 gems; four of Foley's songs and seven covers, including ones from Howlin' Wolf, Bob Dylan, and Buddy Guy. Bursting with road-tested confidence, fortified with the dynamic duo of Jon Penner and Fredde Walden, and steeped in the gossamer of newfound love, Big City Blues was the album Foley was born to make. Released in February of 1995, it more than lived up to the standard of contemporary blues recordings, amply demonstrating Foley's maturation as a guitarist, singer, and writer. Big City Blues is by turns sultry and aggressive, frankly sexual on no-bullshit terms, and weds Delta blues, Texas roots, and the inevitable Chicago influence with her own whoop-it-up originals. It also put Foley firmly in the ranks of guitar heroes Bonnie Raitt and Albert Collins' guitarist Debbie Davies, though Foley might be quicker to cite Sister Rosetta Tharp and her beloved Memphis Minnie as role models. More than just a big step forward, Big City Blues signaled Foley's arrival. But new releases - especially such superlative ones - mean touring. Lots of touring.
Foley's previous international tours, including Japan, Norway, Denmark, France, Germany, and various other countries, had been successful, but wised her up quickly about traveling the Continent. "In Europe, the last time we had a van; the time before we traveled by train." The look that crosses Foley's face at the memory of touring makes it clear she prefers the train. "A van," she chooses her words carefully, "is not exactly what you want to see when you get over there. It's like, `Oh, fuck, the same old thing: Back in the van. Here we go.' Plus, their vans don't go as fast as ours." Foley grimaces at the thought, then grins. "This time it's me and Jon and Fredde, and Lewis Cowdrey.
"Sometimes the audiences there drive me crazy. They're withdrawn and quiet, more observant, kind of like Canadian audiences. You wonder if you're getting to them. But one thing I've learned is that if there's one set of ears, you have an audience. I'm Sue Foley; I'll never be a Muddy Waters but part of my job is to turn people on to Memphis Minnie or Earl Hooker or some unsung hero of guitar. And that's a pretty cool thing to do."
Like most musicians, Foley finds the unavoidable chapter on the business end of music daunting, and says so with a candor that makes you realize this guitarist hasn't ignored the lessons learned at Roads University. "Business sucks," says Foley flatly. "And I gave up the road management because it was not managing me. The music... wow, the music's great. It's the bizness that kills you. The bizness values money, numbers, sales. Money, money, money. Power and money. What does that have to do with music? The biggest lesson has been for me to learn everything myself. I'm sorry, it's really hard to trust someone with your money. Your money is your power, and you give your power to somebody else, and eventually... well, I just think it's good to learn it yourself.
"The worst part is that it can kill your spirit. A lot of the new young bands are literally garage bands one minute then stars. It's like, where did they come from? They're thrown immediately into that machine, and that is a vicious machine. A lot of them, like Kurt Cobain, become casualties. I mean, he might have killed himself anyway, but I'm sure he was damaged by that machine. How many bands today can carry on from record to record, who have a career when they're young, like Joni Mitchell or Bob Dylan, and 20 years later they're still making records? Bands are so disposable... When I was 19, I said I couldn't wait 'til I'm 40, 'cause - especially for women - when you get past your twenties, you're not some little chick, this little fluff. Like Bonnie Raitt, she's a great role model. She's done the road and that's rough, especially on us girls. We are not the same.
"It's tough to keep my health together, you start the raggin' and shit, then emotional turmoil, and it's like, AAAH! I know every woman isn't like that, but the road's like that for me. Freak-outs in the hotel rooms, crying in the pillow... but a lot of that was being 18, 19, and on the road. You have to give up a lot - men and women both have to give things up - but the reward can be there at the end."
And those rewards are hard-earned, as the stories lining the wall of Sue Foley's bookshelf will attest. "I'm a rambling woman/I'll prob'ly never act right," she sings on her own "Highway Bound." That's okay, Sue. It'll make a hell of a biography. n
