The story of Abner Jay is one we should all know. How his light remains largely hidden is a mystery. All of our hearts and minds could do with exposure to his incredible music and then some. It’s stirring stuff of a kind we are forever chasing.
It’s an absurdity that his name is not on every music fan’s lips, but the game’s a farce and Abner was no conventional player. The rules he bent to suit himself. He did it his way. His one man band was one of a kind.
The fact that he spent much of his life struggling with poverty and underachievement is the sucker punchline in a remarkable tale of virtue and virtuosity.
He was born in 1921 on the banks of the Swaunee River in South Georgia. He inherited a banjo and a trove of old-time songs and spirituals from his father and grandfather, both of whom were slaves. By the time he was five he was playing in medicine shows and by 14 he had struck out on his own.
His repertoire of field songs, minstrel tunes and Pentecostal hymns was honed on the highways of the Deep South. An injection of humour and personal experience brought his game to another level, but it was the addition of wheels that put his show on the road. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s he towed his customised trailer with its makeshift stage and in-built sound system from town to town. He must have brought a whole lot of colour to every gathering he graced. At full tilt, he conjures a catherine wheel of sound. Sparks fly in all directions. His fingers attend to banjo duties while his feet keep time with bass drum and hi-hat combinations that shake the foundations and rattle the soul.
There is something life-affirming about the rich sound of his deep voice. There’s irrefutable truth in every soaring syllable. The blood and fire that propels it higher and higher is born of real feeling. It’s an elemental force. Get up close and you can feel the heat.
