Don Vappie and the Creole Jazz Serenaders Don Vappie knows about boring music.

In the late 1970s, boring music prompted him to sell most of his instruments and give up playing. And while some people consider traditional jazz dull, Vappie begs to differ.

"I got really bored when disco came out," the New Orleans native said last week, talking about his time in a Top 40 group. "I always remember when I quit the band - I was playing bass - I said, 'You could teach a chimpanzee to do this,' because it was so repetitious.

G. Love Some things are too embarrassing for public consumption, so the man born Garrett Dutton and known as G. Love exercised some control over the content of his new documentary and concert DVD, A Year & a Night with G. Love & Special Sauce.

When the director showed him his initial cut of the documentary portion of the DVD, coming it at roughly two hours, G. Love demanded that some material come out.

The running time was one concern, but image was another, G. Love admitted in an interview last week to promote his July 12 appearance at the Redstone Room. "You've got to take this shit out," he told the director. "I don't want to come off like this."

Head Held High The MySpace page profile for the Quad Cities trio Head Held High includes upcoming shows, the band's influences, and a response to the prompt "Sounds like." The group has written "a rock band."

It's a fair description, and therein lies a problem.

2007 IH Mississippi Valley Blues Festival - Reader issue #639 In an interview, pedal-steel guitarist Robert Randolph once suggested that somebody would come along and be the instrument's Jeff Beck or Jimi Hendrix.

When I asked him where that put him in the pedal steel's development, the singer/songwriter/guitarist appeared to backtrack a little. "Somebody has to put me there," he said of the class of guitar revolutionaries that includes Hendrix. "I wouldn't put myself there."

But based on his own criteria, that class is probably where Randolph belongs.

Watermelon SlimI'm talking to blues musician Watermelon Slim about the myriad jobs he's had in between the release of his first album, 1973's Merry Airbrakes, and his second, 2003's Big Shoes to Fill. Those three decades found Slim working as a truck driver, a forklift operator, a collection agent, a firewood salesman, a funeral officiator, and even a watermelon farmer, the job for which The Artist Formerly Known as Bill Homans got his moniker.

During our phone interview, I ask if his experience with blue-collar employment of this sort aids in his songwriting. "Oh, it does," Slim says. And he proceeds to explain how.

Kind of.

Albert Cummings As always, the performers at this year's IH Mississippi Valley Blues Festival will arrive with a host of awards to their names. But here's a guarantee: Albert Cummings will be the only one boasting a citation from the architectural digest Remodeling.

"We just won our fourth national award," says the fourth-generation builder, of his construction company based in Williamstown, Massachusetts. "I got an award from Remodeling magazine called 'The Big 50.' They select 50 builders in the United States [for recognition], and I was one of 'em this year. Went to Washington, D.C., to the Ritz-Carlton. Got treated like royalty."

Alberta Adams Alberta Adams gained a foothold in the booming Detroit entertainment industry as a tap dancer in the early 1940s at Club D&C. But "I always wanted to be a singer," she said in a recent phone interview.

One night her friend Kitty Stevenson, the headliner at the club, took sick. "I asked the boss if I could sing in her place," she said. "I knew two little tunes ['Hey! Ba-Ba-Re-Bop' and 'When My Man Comes Home']. That night I did her spot. The next day the man told me to learn some more blues songs - I had the job. I stayed there for five years." And she has been singing ever since.

Nappy Brown I've read about Nappy Brown's energetic and ribald stage antics when he was a big star in the 1950s. And having seen him lying on the floor doing the "bug dance" at the 1993 Mississippi Valley Blues Festival, I asked him what we should expect of his set with Muddy Waters alumnus Bob Margolin at the fest this year.

"You can expect everything from me!" he said. "I'm gonna pull off my clothes on the stage. I'm a lemon-squeezing daddy - I have to pull them clothes off. I won't have nothin' on but my shorts!" Nappy laughs with a big, deep-throated guffaw.

Kelly Richey "I'm not sure there's an owner's manual to this business that can truly enlighten one," says blues musician Kelly Richey, "but I did know that I was the type of artist that wasn't gonna be happy if I couldn't do it my own way."

The guitarist and singer/songwriter is explaining her decision to form her own label - Sweet Lucy Records - and build what she calls "a very high-end studio" in her Cincinnati home. But she may as well be describing her career as a whole, as Richey has insisted on doing things her way ever since she picked up her first guitar - an electric one, no less - as a teenager.

Drink Small "You got a minute?" Drink Small asked me during our phone interview.

"Yeah," I said.

"All right," he said. The bluesman left the phone. A television was audible in the background.

After a few seconds, the man who for 35 years has called himself the "Blues Doctor" returned with his guitar and played a song about the Mississippi Valley Blues Festival - how he wants to the meet the mayor of Davenport, how he played the event 10 or 12 years ago. "I can do the same thing," sang Small, who returns to the festival this weekend, "but I can do it better at the age of 74."

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