Kim Wilson — Slow Burn

That’s shredding, Sonny Boy-style.

Big mouthfuls of notes wheeze out from the harmonica in repeating patterns, dancing in a wiggling sort of way. Soon enough, long, long notes get wailed and then wah-wah-wah’ed in between all the rhythmic slurping. Those reeds, tucked behind bobbing and weaving hands, are masterfully put to work by Kim Wilson, who, when not being a Fabulous Thunderbird, maintains a high-yield solo career, as is the case here.

The percussive bang-slap coming from the drummer is what throws off the song’s center of gravity—what gives it a tipsy wobble. Still, that’s the signal on which an elastic strike-and-recoil attack is synched by the guitar, no doubt a steel-bodied one as ratted out by the telltale metallic zing and whine from the slide choking its strings. No amplification is to be found—just pure, natural resonance. All the better for a jalopy ride down a back road.

Indeed, “Leaving You Was on My Mind” makes for a tremendously downhome joyride. Well, unless you’re the recipient of its I’m-through-with-you message that even goes the extra mile to seal the deal by tacking on a little forget-me-not: “I don’t want you for my girlfriend; I don’t even want you for my friend.” Yet other than pairing a put-down with the heave-ho into a twofer, Wilson’s very own handmade country blues is a blast.

A little farther down the road, “Keep Our Business to Yourself”—an actual Sonny Boy Williamson track—fires up that harp again. Off in a galloping huff the song goes, yanked forward by a full Chicago-minded band. Perhaps it’s the subject matter forcing their hustle. Because instead of ditching someone on the way out the door, the gist here is to instill secrecy, urgently, over an ongoing dalliance. Mum’s the word. Except no one but the narrator received the memo about keeping on the down-low. The piano is an open spigot, spilling torrents; the bass and drums ensure the neighbors aren’t sleeping; and the harmonica is back shredding again—except this time in the same vein as the Rice Miller variant of Sonny Boy. The array of spirited tones, textures and tricks pulled out from the big grab bag of techniques is highly captivating.

Then, suitably drenched in amped-up, electrified grime, that harp slices through “Lowdown Women.” It’s an encore performance of the gutter-grind that debuted on The Fabulous Thunderbirds’ What’s the Word? Back then, in 1980, Jimmie Vaughan did the fretting; Nathan James—captaining his Rhythm Scratchers with some dirt in his guitar’s grumble—handles this go-round. And Kim’s voice has since hardened nicely, fitting the content all the better. Because the lyrics still bellyache over wine-headed gals and the guys who (reluctantly) love them. With a gutbucket sound hugging the ground, quaking beneath a drumkit getting absolutely socked, the result is nothing less than old-school visceral.

However, over the course of Slow Burn’s dozen tracks, Wilson’s harmonica stays holstered on every other one. So, no windstorms whip through “Howlin’ For My Darlin’,” the compulsory Howlin’ Wolf singalong prompted by the infectious “Ooh, ooh, ooh-wee” tagline. Even without the harp leaving its case, “Kansas City” still rocks—rocking in the sense of how Robert Nighthawk arranged the piece with a rowdy Maxwell Street kick.

Those six harpless tracks hold their own rewards. “Easy Baby”—one of the anthems of 1950s West Side Chicago, courtesy of Magic Sam—lets Kim’s voice soar up high to pick off those top notes. Plus, a little bit more space frees up for the guitar men to work. Billy Flynn, for example, takes full advantage of the extension by flinging all the more sharpened daggers into the B.B. King sting-a-thon “Sweet Little Angel.” At the completely opposite pole lies “The Time Has Come,” downturned and viscous and oozing with buttery bottlenecking that is absolutely heroic in commemorating Nighthawk. Nathan James snaps the spell with jittery, high-strung lines ricocheting wildly off the wall of sound pushed out from gleaming horns: “I’m Tryin’” blasts like a bazooka. Little Milton would be all smiles.

Wilson and his harmonica are no strangers to M.C. Records. He’s cut three prior solo albums with the New York label over the years, starting with Smokin’ Joint, the one with the wingtips fuming on the cover. He also  teamed very effectively with the late, great Big Jack Johnson—the pride of Clarksdale, Mississippi—on the guitarist’s largely acoustic Memphis Barbecue Sessions. Overflow from that fruitful meeting gave rise to Stripped Down in Memphis. Then jump to 2020, when Kim’s own Take Me Back: The Bigtone Sessions earned a Grammy nomination for Best Traditional Blues Album. (That year, Cedric Burnside’s I Be Trying took the top prize.)

Now enter Slow Burn. The album pools two different batches of recording sessions: 2014 (seven tracks) and 2020 (five more tracks). The spread of musicians includes pianist Barrelhouse Chuck, bassist Larry “The Mole” Taylor (Canned Heat), and drummer Richard Innes (Big Mama Thornton, Pee Wee Crayton, Hollywood Fats, Rod Piazza, and on and on). Add in the forementioned James and Flynn, and chops are definitely on the menu. Consequently, some songs were gut-instinct, first takes. None of the songs have ever been released before. Yet these are anything but leftovers.

“So Many Roads” makes that case over the course of nine smoldering minutes. Otis Rush’s classic agonizer, in no particular hurry to finish, upholds the concept of an epic Slow Burn. Marty Dodson’s atmospheric drumming and the murmur of James’ needling guitar set the low-lit mood, impeccably. The arrangement welds on a harped prologue to double-up on Wilson’s opportunity for chromatic soloing. Behold: Heavy-hearted torment levitates in mid-air.

“Boogie in E”? Totally different beast.

Here, the harp is particularly amped, winged and muscular. A blizzard of notes—blue, blurred and blazed—spew from that harmonica fused to Wilson’s mouth for four full minutes. Like “Gotta Have a Horse,” this aerobatic instrumental also cannot settle down, constantly tugging at the leash. In the end, fevered teamwork blows the song apart. At its close, the only thing left to say—in fact, the only thing said the entire time—is Wilson’s knee-jerk commentary: “Yeah.” Sums it up perfectly.  

To think that an instrument which fits in the palm of your hand can wreak such glorious havoc.

Label: M.C. Records

Release Date: 11/21/25

Label Website: M.C. Records

Reviewed by Dennis Rozanski