ILLINOIS JOHN FEVER

ILLINOIS JOHN FEVER

BandBluesAmericana

Hill country stompin two-man blues caravan of death.

Biography

We're a hill country blues outfit from up north and the other side of the river. Influenced by R.L. Burnside, Fred McDowell, Bukka White and others, we play to preserve the acoustic roots of this music much as we play to make it our own. This was how the living blues found us, and this is how we mean to replenish what we take from the well.
Most remarkable, we strictly use acoustic instruments and record without amplifiers, gaining notice for our distinctive, trance-stomping originals. "Apocalypse blues," we call it—ragged preaching on genocide, heroin death, war mongers, sex slavery, and other blue terrors of this day.

We've competed in the 2007 IOWA BLUES CHALLENGE, blessed to lose not once but twice. And although ILLINOIS JOHN FEVER's not built to impress contest judges, we've been selected to appear in the 2007 and '08 MISSION CREEK MIDWEST festivals. And we're also proud to announce that we've been invited to appear at the DEEP BLUES FESTIVAL this summer in Minneapolis. Our first independent release will be available in February 2008, after which we plan to tour these contiguous United States.

PERSONNEL BIO:
Lute Tucker and Dr. Robt. Hall met years ago, back when both drove taxis for a living and ILLINOIS JOHN FEVER was launched in August 2006. Since that time, we've written and recorded more than twenty original songs, all of which cycle through our sets. "Your Acoustic Hoss" is collaborating with us to add extra strings and on-the-road percussion.

Lyrics

CHAMP JACKIE

Written By: ILLINOIS JOHN FEVER

County champ Jackie Jive / Crowed to skin any man alive / But Big Francis felled him flat in five / And now the county champ don’t crow no more / Bank came, took his loot / Took his cars and his womens too / Gunned his mouth and started to chew / But then Jackie Jive knew what to do / Brung the gun to the bank / "Put yr money in my sack." / But all his trigger pulled was blanks / And that’s how Jackie champed the county tank / Eight years behind them bars / Ye know they worked him mighty hard / Finally let him out of their yard, he cried, / "Put me in yr tombs no more!" / Settled out in Riverside / Take a man-camp to be his bride / Split the boys their turpentine and / Crowing out them rattlesnake eyes / "Whoa me, whoa my! / Ye sure it come, that Sunday come, / Ye gona bury me in that county sky!" / County champ Jackie Jive / Stabbed his best man in the eye / Fought a camp boss and shot two more / And stole away in the Dynaflow / Ye know the Dynaflow running lean / Banging down Old 218 / Punch the thin pedal through the floor / Ye know the Dynaflow don’t flow no more / "Whoa me, whoa my!" / Deputy come shadow his sky and lay him down that ground to die / If Jackie Jive were still alive he’d say / "They’d never bury the champ upright!"

COOK CO DEATH RAG

Written By: ILLINOIS JOHN FEVER

Ye goan fight o'er yr bibles, put that rifle in my hand / Ye say it's so, Joe, so let's push those people from this land / When we come with our orders, all's yall's better say's "UH-HUH!" / We take yr women for our babies and with our knives we finish up / Gona get the hard wire, gona clap it down in yr hands / Don't ye see we’d kill yr wives and kids to make ye understand / Do ye unnnerstan? / Look o'er yonder where that sun is hanging overhead / When that old clock winds down, all yr mens’ll wind up dead

HEARTMENDER

Written By: ILLINOIS JOHN FEVER

First time my heart got broke, I stood there shuddering n cryin / Last time I broke them, I stood there shuddering n crying / "Please o please, o Lord—send me away from all this pain!" / But don't send me no preacherman cuz I don't need a man to buy my way outa the grave / I mean to tell ye it hurt so bad, I fell out on the road just cryin n prayin / "O please, o Lord—send me an angel, keep me into yr grace!" / But don't send me no preacherman cuz I don't need a man to dig my way out the grave / Put yr clothes back on, find yr way downstairs / Take a cab back home and there's no one there / Listen in yr heart and you'll hear them sing: / "God is good, God is great, but you're dying!" / The road stretching out ahead of me, she's looking mighty fine / That road stretching out ahead of me, shimmy-she-wobble all the time / "Please, o Lord—send my wife along, otherwise I don't mind dying!" / But don't send me no preacher man cuz I don't need a push to get me on the other side

RABID BLUES

Written By: ILLINOIS JOHN FEVER

Boss of the yard, he bigger than me / Don't mean I don't want to knock him down / "See that mad dog," he says, "I want you go kill him with that rock." / But when damn dog done bit my hand, bossman say to leave the poor dog alone / Bossman's hands are bigger than mine / Can't dog cuz the man can't see with his eyes / "I see that mad dog out there, boy, I thought I told you to get out there and kill it, now get on yr way! / Ooh, but don't he looks so sad and mad and lonely, just run the old mutt off my place." / So I take my 10% and that old dog, he gets to roam / Ought not be right a man go sic a mad dog on his men / Come along next suppertime, I'm gona feed a mad man to his dog

BOSSMAN’S HANDS, THEY BIGGER THAN MINE
CAN’T DOG CUZ THE MAN CAN’T SEE WITH HIS EYES
“TOLD YOU GO KILL THAT DOG,” HE SAYS, “NOW GET ON YR WAY.”
“YE BETTER NOT KILL’M—JUST RUN THE MUTT OFF MY PLACE.”
YE KNOW I GOT MY 10%—THAT OLD DOG, HE GOT TO STAY MAD

BOSS OF THE PLACE THINK HE BETTER THAN ME
BUT DON’T MEAN I WON’T GI’M A PIECE OF MY MIND
“THAT POOR OLD DOG,” HE SAYS, “WHY’N’T YOU CALL HIM ON HOME?”
“THAT MY OLD POOR DOG,” HE SAYS, “TOLD YE TO BRING HIM ON HOME.”
NOW THE DAMN DOG COME BITE FOR MY HANDS EVERDAY ROUND LUNCH

BOSS OF THE YARD, HE BIGGER THAN ME
BUT DON’T MEAN THAT I DON’T WANT TO KNOCK HIM FLAT ON HIS ASS
OUGHT NOT BE RIGHT THAT A MAN SIC HIS MAD DOG ON HIS MENS
OUGHT NOT BE RIGHT THAT A MAN SIC HIS MAD DOG ON HIS MENS
COME ON NEXT SUPPERTIME, I’LL FEED THAT MAD OLD MAN TO HIS DOG

Discography

9 SONG DEMO: January 2007
DEBUT RELEASE: February 2008

KRUI