Clarence Fountain and the Blind Boys of Alabama have been around in various formations for more than 50 years. Originally called the Happyland Jubilee Singers, they were formed at the Talladega Institute for the Deaf and the Blind in 1937 and will tell any audience with justifiable pride that they "have served the Lord well". One of their greatest achievements was to resist the lure of secular music when their labelmates such as Little Richard and Sam Cooke could resist no longer. The Blind Boys never crossed over, never took the soup, and remained true to their music and their beliefs.
That said, it has been a very successful career. Over the years they have been signed to Speciality, Vee Jay, Savoy and Elektra and from their first hit, I Can See Everybody's Mother But Mine, they have sold records, wrecked houses and caused millions to get happy - in the gospel sense, of course. Like The Fairfield Four, they are survivors who continue to record and perform as if nobody has ever told them that they're starting to get on a bit. Certainly, they take the odd breather on stage but their performance on Sunday in Dublin as part of the Guinness Blues Festival proved they are as powerful, as energetic and, quite simply, as stunning as ever.
The initial, close-knit harmonies and the footstomping jubilee would have kept any audience happy for an evening. The singing was flawless. The voices are undiminished by the years and the backing band is old-fashioned, old-school and perfect. There were bass notes that rattled the walls and falsettos that screamed from 70-year-old throats. But even then there was no real indication of what was to come. Dublin was about to witness a truly spectacular outpouring of gospel singing that was to leave the Whelan's audience speechless and forced to reassess their idea of what constitutes a gig.
It began when the tenor came forward and began to wave, stomp, jump and testify. As his frenzy built in its intensity, it became obvious this was the real thing. This was not some tired soul singer going through the churchy motions - this was beyond even James Brown territory. Here was a singer who was doing what we have either only read about or seen sent-up in the movies - and the audience knew it. Their response was natural, generous and ecstatic. This was a pub, people had pints in their hands, they weren't out looking to be "saved" and yet everyone in that room really did "get happy". As this elderly, blind and quite incredible gentleman stepped off the stage and began to jump and scream his way through the crowd, everyone rushed to shake his hand, touch him, kiss him and hug him. He responded by throwing himself on the floor and holding perhaps the longest screaming note I've ever heard. I don't really know what got hold of him but I'm sure the Blind Boys have little doubts on the matter.
As the final words of Amazing Grace finally resolved this seemingly endless call and response hysteria, the old man lifted his shades and sang, "was blind but now I see". I think there were grown men and women crying. Grown men and women not even half the age of any one of the Blind Boys of Alabama. They said they wanted a witness. They got the full of a pub. There will never be another one like this. Amen.