Dee Robinson — Dee From Decatur

Honest—this album is the work of only 10 flying fingers. Not 20.

But having cracked the code originally developed by string wizards like Mississippi John Hurt and Etta Baker, Dee Robinson is wise to their magical sleight of hand that drives a bass line while simultaneously dancing a melody atop. Voila! It sounds as if two guitarists, locked knee-to-knee, are tag-teaming fretboard workouts like “Monday Morning Blues” or the still feistier “Carolina Breakdown.”

But, unh-uh.

Other than an acoustic 1939 Gibson L-50 guitar and a microphone, Robinson was the only occupant in the room on that one fruitful day in February 2023. Sincerely. The resulting Dee From Decatur strikes like a fingerpicked bolt from out of the blue, unveiling his Piedmont-styled chops for the first time by way of an all-vintage repertoire of classic and deep-dive gems. And, yes, Dee, who was born there in 1975, is from—you guessed it—Decatur. Decatur, Illinois, that is.

Dee stands as the first in his family’s long, long line of guitarists to have been recorded. That goes for great-great grandfather Henry; great granddad John; great, great uncle John; even great uncle Brazil, the Memphis Minnie aficionado of the bunch; and Dee’s father, too: string men, each and every one. But zero records between them. So generations of backlogged pride gets vented in that breeze coming off this particular Robinson’s blurred strings.

Like his role models, Dee’s right and left hands work in meticulous synchrony, relying on split-second timing to drive crisp, clean and intricately interwoven lines that impart Hurt’s “Big Leg Blues” and Baker’s “One Dime Blues” with the impression of lots of complexly moving parts. “Joe Turner Blues,” Big Bill Broonzy’s fingerstyle showpiece, is no less an orchestration of interlocking notes, as if approximating a clock’s inner workings. “Boat’s Up the River” floats downstream on a swift undercurrent, just as when originally flowing off the fingertips of Virginian songster John Jackson.

In other words, the songs each exert a natural, inherent pull, always on the move, continually zipping along, all 21 of them ever tugging at their leash. That goes for Lead Belly’s dash-away “Goodnight Irene,” Elizabeth Cotten’s gorgeously serene “Freight Train,” and Hurt’s “Candy Man,” which keeps busy turning summersaults on the run. “Since I Laid My Burden Down” is just as much a sprinter, even while sweetly beaming in the sunshine glory of the day. “Spike Driver Blues” incorporates a thump into its flow. With a gentlemanly demeanor, “Bully of the Town” is anything but. “Crucifixion,” however, stands apart in its preferred stride on a 1940s Kay archtop. A stately march to a strict, deliberate cadence is all the more a Rev. Gary Davis creation when then layered with gorgeous treble handiwork.

Robinson keeps these performances concise, to the degree that, at two and a half minutes, the clickety-clacking chug of “Railroad Bill” clocks in as the resident “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” of the set. In other words: The (relative) epic sprawls, doubling the length of “First Shot Missed Him,” a quick flash with the hint of a stutter step built into its action. Part of the album’s overall promptness also stems from jettisoning vocals to keep ears solely centered on the guitar.

Dee From Decatur is a pure guitar album: no singing, all stringing.

So, with everything being an instrumental, “Let the Mermaids Flirt With Me” can now fully soothe without its tranquil melody being bummed out by conflicting lyrics sunken in watery tombs. Likewise lacking a sung narrative—this time, a homicidal one—“Stack O’ Lee” lives peacefully as a masterclass in the art of syncopated pick-and-roll.

Back when the 1900s were still young, such a setlist could well have played the life of the party, making floorboards creak under the strain of dancing feet being guided around the room by the blues’ more welcoming, brighter, bouncier side.

Actually, nothing is stopping Dee From Decatur from playing that same role nowadays. But equally as perfect for your next Mississippi John Hurt karaoke night. Or as a respite getaway whenever you need 40 minutes of effervescing ahhhh.

Label: Riverlark

Release date: 6/20/25

Label website: Riverlark Music

Reviewed by Dennis Rozanski