“Be yourself, man. Don't try to be like nobody else. Ain't nobody like you."

These words of advice have carried me these past 35 years, ever since I met Hubert Sumlin one sweltering June afternoon on Chicago's west side. Coming from such a unique individual as Hubert, they mean that much more.

You see, Hubert Sumlin was truly inimitable, not only as a musician, which is obvious, but as a human with a big personality. He was the most welcoming and magnanimous person I had met up to that point, and that is saying a lot coming from the inner city of New York. I had met all kinds of people, from all over the world, but none quite like Hubert Sumlin.

So here is the opening scene: two Jewish kids drive from NYC to Chicago to get a taste of the real blues. I had borrowed my parents car, and along with my pal Paul Cooper, who had met the Howling Wolf Band a few times before, we set out on our great adventure. By the time we hit Chicago in June of 1976, just a couple of weeks after the Wolf himself had passed away, the temperature was in the 100's, and very humid, making it as uncomfortable as I had ever been.

Our first stop in Illinois, literally, was at Eddie Shaw's 1815 Club on W. Roosevelt Road. It was around 3 pm and the band was there for rehearsal. Wolf had made it clear that he wanted the band to stay together after he was gone, under the leadership of Eddie. We rang the bell and Eddie came to the door. Paul reintroduced himself and we came on in. They hadn't quite started rehearsing yet. Detroit Jr. was still setting up his piano and Chico Chism was messing with his drum kit. Shorty Gilbert was all ready to pump his bass. I saw a lean figure over in the corner, napping on top of the pool table. "Hubert", Eddie shouted. "We got some boys from New York who came out to see us". So my friendship with Hubert was born.

Paul and I spent our first night sitting in with Homesick James, which was a huge thrill in itself, and the next night we went back to Eddie's club. The band and staff were real nice to us, but the way we were treated by Hubert was totally unexpected. When Eddie called me up to the bandstand, Hubert took his guitar off and placed it over my shoulders as if I was someone important. He did the same for Paul a bit later on. We were just a couple of kids in our twenties, and we were being treated like royalty. That was just the way Hubert was. He always treated people with love and affection. 

Hubert also got me my very first paying gig in Chicago, with Taildragger. The gig was in the roughest part of town, on Lake and Pulaski, the thick of the west side. The place was called David and Thelma's Lounge, and it paid ten dollars. Hubert played the first couple of gigs with me, then dropped out completely. I was left all alone in a hardcore Chicago blues band, doing mostly Howlin' Wolf tunes, which I really didn't know too well at that time. I stuck with it for a month or two until Sunnyland Slim started hiring me. Hubert later confided in me that he was scared of playing there because the place got shot up a few times. I completely understood.

In my first year in Chicago I would run into Hubert quite a bit, mostly on Sunnyland's gigs. I would show up in the hope of playing somehow, but I understood that I was basically just an apprentice to either Hubert or Eddie Taylor. There were a couple of times when neither of these blues giants showed up, and I got to play all night and make a few bucks. Plus, when they were there, they were very free with their knowledge. Hubert always was willing to let me see and hear his personal best. He truly was a genius, and it was spontaneous. He played as he felt, moment to moment.  His playing was the essence of the blues.

As the years passed, we would play together or just hang out together at clubs. Once I got to be Slim's regular guitar player, Hubert would come and sit in with us and I got to place MY guitar around HIS shoulders. We were kind of like a little family, the band and Hubert. He eventually married Sunnyland's cousin Bea and moved to Milwaukee and bought a house. He came down to Chicago occasionally, but not as often as we wished. We did a couple of tours in Europe together, and the Chicago Blues Festival, but his club appearances were rare. He was starting to get his just recognition and some great gigs which of course were very well deserved. 

Later on Hubert hooked up with Toni Ann, who managed his career and took care of him until the end. He seemed very happy the last time I saw him, back in June 2010. We shared a van to the airport and had a great time reliving some of the past years. He was still the humble, gregarious person I had always known.

I relish all the stories he told me, like the time an ex-wife boarded up a favorite guitar behind some dry-wall, the time Eric Clapton told him to take a guitar from his collection, “any guitar, just not that one”, or the time Sunnyland and Wolf swung it out in a Buffalo motel.

Hubert Sumlin, as a musician, was, in my opinion, a true genius. He played as he felt, in the moment. He did not use a pick, so he got a meaty tone all the time. He also was quite percussive, adding to the overall rhythm of the band. Even if I sat and tried over and over to copy his stuff, I don't think I could do it. I never even tried as I knew he would only laugh at me. Plus, I never would even come close. He was his own man and his guitar was an extension of that man. When people ask me about his playing, and what especially stands out to me, I point them to 300 Pounds of Joy. His guitar work is amazing and sets a high bar for those of us who want to play contemporary blues guitar. He says so much with so few notes. As Sunnyland used to say, "You gotta get in and get out."

Hubert was one of the greatest and most expressive musicians to ever pick up an instrument. We are all lucky to have known him and to hear him up close. Don't just take my word for it. Listen for yourself.

There are many references to Hubert online. Here is a very good one that will give excellent information. I recommend any Howlin' Wolf recording that has Hubert on it.