Editor’s note: This commentary is by Bob Stannard, a former lobbyist, who is still an author and musician. This piece first appeared in the Bennington Banner.
[H]e had prostate cancer for as long as I had known him. I learned about his illness Feb. 13, the day he died.
David Maxwell was a giant, not because he was tall and had piercing eyes that said “there’s more to learn.” He was a giant in his field. There’re a handful of blues piano players who made it to the top. Otis Spann, who David befriended at an early age and who he was compared to throughout his career, Pinetop Perkins, Roosevelt Sykes, Ray Charles, Professor Longhair were the players with whom David stood shoulder to shoulder. He played with Freddie King, James Cotton, Bonnie Raitt and John Hammond.
I first met David the day after Christmas 2007. I was doing interviews for Barrelhouse Blues Magazine and interviewed the greatest blues players alive. I interviewed plenty of harmonica and guitar players but never a piano player. David Maxwell was the man I sought out.
I called asking if I could do 15-minute interview. I was on Cape Cod; David was in Concord. He suggested I stop by on my way home. His nondescript ranch house blended in with the neighborhood. Nothing flashy. Upon entering the house I was overwhelmed at the various “things.” Peace banners, a zillion pictures on his refrigerator, cool stuff everywhere. The small, functional kitchen was where we talked. It was hard to keep my eyes off the silent Steinway in the living room.
David was on the phone pacing around, going a mile a minute, yet he an aura of serenity about him. He was carrying on two conversations simultaneously. He would talk with me for a few minutes, then the phone would ring. He’d sit back down and we picked up right where we left off, never missing a beat.
Upon completion, he looked at me and said, “Did you say you play harmonica?”
We sat together in his small living room and we just played for almost an hour. It clicked from the first note.
“Yes.”
“You have any with you?”
“In the car.”
“Go get them.”
We sat together in his small living room, him on his throne, me in a stuffed chair and we just played for almost an hour. It clicked from the first note. Sitting in a room playing with a man who has won a Grammy, numerous W.C. Handy and Blues Music awards might have been intimidating were it not for the fact that David made me feel like we were old friends.
Later that year I called him to ask if he’d be willing, for a fee, to appear on my upcoming album. “Sure, come to the house. I have a friend from California who can do the recording.” I assumed this would cost a fortune. David refused to take any money. “Get me a gig sometime.”
I invited David to join me for my 60th Birthday Blues Bash at the Vermont Arts Exchange. I told him I’d be recording that show for what I’d hoped would be a new album and asked how he felt about that. “I’m glad to help you out.” That was one of the finest nights of music I’ve ever had.
David introduced me to the late Louisiana Red (Iverson Minter) and had me join their duo act for a few shows. It’s hard to describe for you folks the level of generosity and graciousness that flowed from this man. I could never fathom why he would care to help out some old Vermont harp player, but there was never any discussion. My last appearance with David was this past August at the Spruce Peak Performing Arts Center. He had just booked a wedding when I called him. He called me back to say he was canceling the wedding to play with me.
He was his music. Understated yet powerful. He was a giant. His Steinway is forever silent.
Author’s note: You can read the interview with David Maxwell here.
