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Over the past decade, Chris Bergson has become one
He describes the streetscapes and nightscapes of city life, painting small, memorable pictures, a kind of Edward Hopper of the blues. Not that it very often is blues, in any strict sense: the only track recognisable as such here is a version of Corinna. Heavenly Grass is a musical setting of a poem by Tennessee Williams.
Bergson doesn’t do predictable, but there’s a visible thread of blues awareness running through the fabric of everything he writes, sings and plays: he is a concise and subtle guitarist and tough, grainy singer. For this gig at a New York jazz club his usual band (keys, bass, drums) was augmented with a horn section expert in the snap and crackle of bluesy soul.
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