Into the gutbucket we go.
Because that’s where New Orleans’ 84-year-old bluesman Little Freddie King does his best work, dredging up alley music meant for ripping the joint. Just like back in the Mississippi of his youth. Rough, raw and ragged have never been an impediment; in fact, he, his guitar, his gritty croak and his pile of records (kicked off in the 1960s) thrive on the stuff. Indeed, King’s reputation is built upon it.
Accordingly, I Use to Be Down stays purposely loose, stark and unpolished, since to tinker with, preen over, or gussy up such naturally rumpled glory would only sap this elemental sound of its innate character.
The title’s operative word, though, is Down. Because here, the everyday weight of the world plus the continual suck of gravity work to King’s advantage, yanking everything all the closer to the bitter earth. Put differently: By lowering the altitude, these 11 lowriders jack up their attitude. To further ensure moodiness, slow burns are the norm, letting tempos hover in the range of slow to slower to sludge (yup, that’s you, “Bad News”). The overall strategy for hooking listeners becomes the classic way by which Slim Harpo, Jimmy Reed and fellow heavy-lidded ilk infiltrate ears: Namely, by means of grooves that leisurely coat you. And for which there is no known defense to ward off.
Best of luck resisting the deeply mentholated “Can’t Do Nothing Baby.”
So, despite being the crowned namesake of sizzling string-bender Freddie King (after sitting in during one of the Texan’s visits to New Orleans), Fread Eugene Martin gravitates to spidery fretsmanship. That and riding riffs for all they’re worth, just like they do up in the scraggly, kudzu-choked hills of north Mississippi. Putting a little extra meat on those bones are basslines that burrow beneath and the zing of slide guitar often slurring over top. For years now, drummer “Wacko” Wade remains the simmering and (sometimes) crashing constant.
Bukka White, the propulsive bluesman who drove metal-bodied guitars like a Mack truck, used to call them ‘sky songs.’ The gist was that he could pluck tunes out of thin air: “I just reach up and pull them out of the sky.” Like him, John Lee Hooker and Lightnin’ Hopkins (Freddie’s cousin), King similarly possesses off-the-cuff creativity. Spontaneity seems to win the day. “Going Up the Mountain” and “Bus Station Blues”—or actually any pick within the setlist—could well have originally come to him on the spot, as plotlines typically stick to either looking for, or losing, some overnight company. (Surviving his jealous wife’s gunshot may have held some sway over King’s thematic inclination.) Blues, in other words.
Combined, music and lyrics stay simple, direct and minimal. That way you can still dance and/or sing along—even if sloppy drunk.
Take, for instance, “Pocket Full of Money,” sloshing back and forth while retaining the kind of veiled impropriety expressed in Muddy’s “Rock Me,” its rhythmic role model. Or the title track that sounds downright lush up against a very lean “Mean Little Woman” from merely adding a regimented drumbeat and a harmonica wah-wah-wah’ing like a baby. “Bywater Crawl” builds the forcefulness of its juke-joint drone by beefing up and fattening out until heaving its way around the room. “Goin’ Upstairs” is even more so a pushy gutter stomp. Captured alive and wiggling inside BJ’s Lounge, the Ninth Ward dive bar that doubles as King’s hometown headquarters, this is prime incentive to shake your hips.
I Use to Be Down is 40 minutes just itching to spark a house party. Or, at a bare minimum, to befriend a jug of wine.
Label: Made Wright Records
Release Date: 2/19/25
Artist Website: littlefreddieking.com
Reviewed by Dennis Rozanski
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