Neal Pattman & The King Bees — Prisoner Blues

Neal Pattman (1926-2005) was an undervalued, one-armed harmonicat. His rustic sound pledged allegiance to the unamplified country-blues style rampant around the rolling hills of the Southeast’s Piedmont region. Stylistically, think: Sonny Terry, a fellow Georgian whose harp was also an extension of his lungs.

That is to differentiate Pattman from Big John Wrencher (1923-1977), another undervalued one-armed harmonicat. Except his sound was savage, case-hardened into amplified urban blues tough enough to survive along the wilds of Chicago’s Maxwell Street. Strategically, think: Papa Lightfoot, a fellow gutbucket bruiser.

But having lost the right arm in a farming accident couldn’t keep Pattman from blowing up

Photo: Music Maker Foundation

storms. He was perfectly at ease carrying a song all by his lonesome. When accompanied by a wingman, they, too, were often unplugged. Such was the case even when incendiary fretsman Kenny Wayne Shepherd came knocking, in 2006, as part of his 10 Days Out: Blues from the Backroads. Because, in keeping with the rural spirit, the event shook down in a garden patch.

Here’s the thing, though: Prisoner Blues makes quite the dramatic departure from that rural setting. So much so that these 15 tracks ushered Pattman from out on the porch to inside the unruly houseparty. At least, metaphorically. It’s akin to that time in 1984 when Terry got the devil in him and took to Whoopin’ it up in the muscled company of Johnny Winter’s juiced guitar, Willie Dixon’s bass, and some of Styve Homnick’s drumming.

Here, like there, any country charm vaporizes under a similarly brawny boost.

Take “Lightning Twist,” for instance. Prior bareboned versions of his instrumental danced with the kind of light, bright breeziness often tied to Terry’s hero: the “Harmonica Wizard,” DeFord Bailey. But this special time, when the electrified King Bees kick in—the bass hammers first, then guitar and drums tumble in behind—the raunch ratchets up. Pattman’s harp still happily squeaks away, piercing the sky with flyaway notes rising from the high registers. But now there’s a boozy bottom churning underneath. In its new skin, this version is the one that got the bottle passed around and the floorboards heaving.

Over the course of 1992, Pattman harped with these King Bees, a three-piece ensemble from North Carolina who also backed other harpists such as Jerry McCain and Carey Bell. The sessions’ overall looseness suited Pattman’s gut-instinct approach as well as the music’s natural in-the-moment spontaneity. So did the electricity—both actual and interpersonal. That’s why when verse upon verse kept bubbling up for the seven marathon minutes of “Low Down Blues,” all that jilted distress flowed freely. And when “Black Rat” issued its threat of hiding a shoe somewhere near a backstabber’s shirttail, the band’s zip escalates the situation. Neal’s deep, dark voice rises to the occasion, tightening up to convey the warning.

The setlist keeps roaming. With its rhythmic rocking set to the crash of a slide, “Catfish Blues” traces to the cottony Delta; the stop-time chop of Muddy Waters’ “Mannish Boy” hails from the streets of skyscraping Chicago. “Seems Like a Dream” gets put through its hip-shaking paces, keeping up the brisk gallop set when Yank Rachell partnered with Sonny Boy Williamson I in 1941. “Scratch My Back” remains a blower’s forum for gusting, as was the initial case with Slim Harpo, Mr. King Bee. “Dimples” wobbles vigorously from everyone pumping away while Pattman keeps busy injecting melodic slivers of harp whenever he’s not lyrically gushing over his babe’s assets. Compared to John Lee Hooker’s design, this is downhome.

Also receiving a pudgy push from behind is the popularized “Worry My Life” (first cried out as “Someday Baby Blues” by Sleepy John Estes in 1935; urbanized as “Trouble No More” by Muddy Waters in 1955; bottlenecked by Fred McDowell; rocked by the Allman Brothers Band; Grammy’ized by Bob Dylan; and thoroughly modernized by R.L. Burnside). Like all of those, Pattman licks his chops just as eagerly for when the day comes along to give that special someone the see-ya kiss-off. And whereas life’s seedier side seeps in through the perspective of the wino (“Skid Row Blues”) and the inmate (“Prisoner Blues”), “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” affords both a gospel cleansing as well as a chance to hear Pattman work solo, where he makes his harp sing what he sings, country-blues style. No, he never was a Little Walter disciple.

Regrettably, for all of his skill at inhaling and exhaling through a row of metal reeds, Pattman sat on a disproportionately spare discography. Recordings were few and far between. That sparsity only ups the value of the hourlong Prisoner Blues. Add in the sparks flying off the electric accompaniment, and—Boom!—you’ve got an album prized all the more.

Label: Wolf Records

Release date: 10/10/25

Label website: Wolf Records

Reviewed by Dennis Rozanski