Number Five – Blind Blake: Diddie Wa Diddie
by Peter Moore
Number Five – Blind Blake: Diddie Wa Diddie
There is no consensus over this birthplace. Only scant details are known about his life. He most likely died at the age of forty, some claim by the bottle, although tales continue to swirl of a collision with a streetcar. Neither of these claims has ever been corroborated. In sum, the only tangible souvenirs that one can salvage from Blind Blake’s life are a clutch of glorious records and a single black and white photograph, signed: ‘Cordially yours, Blind Blake.’
In my view, Blake’s elusive personality lends him a sort of mythical glory. There is a certain charm in his anonymity: the idea that he has been lost to history invites speculation and adds a touch of mystery. In an age when you can call up most of my personal details by tapping my name into the Google toolbar, Blake remains eerily absent – in essence, surviving only through a stack of crackling records.
Just imagine how the draw of our heroes would be reduced by half if we knew details of their lives inside out. Flicking through Facebook photos of Mozart, Orwell or Dickens, drunk at a twenty first birthday bash would be tantamount to butchering our romantic imaginations.
Blake’s music stems from one of the most colourful eras in America’s young history. Most of the 80 tracks that he recorded for Paramount Records were pressed in the late 1920s, when prohibition raged, racial segregation characterised the Deep South and the coastal cities were trapped in the frivolous bubble of the Roaring Twenties.
Blake is often referred to as The King of the Ragtime Guitar; a recognition of his ability to replicate the sound of a ragtime piano. In today’s collective conscience he’s largely forgotten, but if you’re looking for a song to make you smile, then try this one – Diddie Wa Diddie (I wish somebody would tell me what Diddie Wa Diddie means)