Duke Robillard has recorded profusely since committing his life to the blues more than half a century ago. Few musicians know the music in all its aspects as intimately as he does. His many recordings, some of which I've reviewed in this space (most recently Ear Worms on 11 May 2019), attest to his immersion in blues history, his well-crafted, informed songwriting and his guitar skills. One might also mention his confidence in the studio, rendering his albums all but reviewer-proof. Comparisons of one against another, along with the judgments derived therefrom, depend solely on individual preference, not on any objective difference in quality.

That clarified, my particular tastes led to easy affection for Blues Bash! Robillard says, "My concept for the album was to make a straight vintage style blues album with no frills or attempt at having catchy hook-laded songs." Man, that's fine by me. Isn't that what the blues is supposed to be? A good part of my blues education was hanging out in Chicago clubs where it sounded like that on every stage a West or South Side band stepped upon and proceeded to rock the joint. I'm not saying you can't make decent blues out of more than that. Of course you can. If it matters to you (and I certainly hope it doesn't), you'll risk trying my patience with it. Again, it's individual preference, nothing more.

So Bash! comprises a smart vision, though not a lazy imitation, of the music as it was in the 1950s and thereabouts, everything from Chicago-flavored electrified rural grit to saloon jazz, greasy r&b and even post-hokum (Michelle Willson's sly vocal treatment of Helen Humes's 1952 hit "You Played on My Piano," pretty much non-stop sexual insults). Robillard writes three of the cuts, including the lovely, nourish 10-minute jazz closer, "Just Chillin'" (which surely deserves better than a blandly generic title). You have to look at the composer credits to know it's a recent creation, but you need only to listen to have it carry you along. The material from start (Ike Turner's "Do You Mean It") to finish is wholly satisfying, and well suited to anyone who needs a good shot of the true blues.

The back cover of the next album offers this warning: "The artist/record label is not responsible for any traffic violation incurred while listening to Are You Ready? The Mississippi Sessions and driving. Listen to at your own risk." My response was the equivalent of "uh huh," and I went on with whatever I was doing when the CD arrived. A couple of weeks later, in the course of an evening spent catching up on review discs that had accumulated in the interim, I put Are You Ready? on the player with minimal expectation. If I'd heard of Danny Brooks & Lil Miss Debi (his wife Debi Brooks), I'd forgotten. I presumed they were just another un-thrilling white blues act.

Within about three minutes, I felt so disoriented that I thought maybe it was fortunate I hadn't been at the wheel. It's rare that one encounters such instantly appealing, startlingly hard-hitting music, a fusion of various familiar genres rendered with imagination and assurance. Incredibly, though there are no fewer than 20 cuts (filling up 80 minutes, the maximum a CD can hold), there is not a single throwaway. Recordings like this don't come around often.

Born in 1951, Danny Brooks grew up in Canada, where he began playing in a range of bands -- rock, gospel, blues, country -- while struggling with personal demons, some of which landed him in prison for a short stretch in 1972. Brooks claims he learned to write songs behind bars, which if true suggests he put his time to remarkably good use. After that Brooks, who later moved to Memphis (he now lives in Texas), cut a number of albums. From the evidence of the latest, I infer they are pretty decent, but I can't imagine any could be an improvement on this one. Brooks himself says he departed from his comfort zone this time. The record never sounds uncomfortable, though.

It's easier to enjoy Ready than to review it. Let me put it this way: Though not the work of a native Southerner, it starts with a hard-core r&b template and from it builds a structure far more interesting and sturdy than, at least in my hearing, the so-called Southern rock that may have been an original inspiration. Brooks' approach is deeper, clearly the product of a more profound connection with grassroots musical traditions and in searing life experience. Also, Brooks knows how to write a good song, one that grabs you and sticks in your head long after it's gone.

He also knows how -- and is more than able -- to sing the stuffing out of this stuff, as a soul vocalist when appropriate, a bluesman at other times, a country-folk-rockabilly singer elsewhere, even reggae (on the killer "Jamaica Sun"), yet all the while claiming the songs and genres as his own. His vocals are astounding. He also has the benefit of a brilliant and sympathetic producer, the veteran Texas-based Tom Easley, and a small but exquisite band.

Finally, he has had the genius and the grace to write a song, and a true story yet, titled "Me & Brownie McGhee." Thank you, sir.