Remembering Isaac “Big Ike” Martin
Southern Soul & Blues Old School "Teddy Bear" Transitions On this Day
August 31, 2004
by Larry Benicewicz
courtesy of Blues Art Journal
The more than amply stout Big Ike was always both literally and figuratively larger than life. Possessed of a powerful, booming, bass baritone pipes, he could be classified with other rotund blues belters of this ilk, like the late Big Joe Turner, the late Jimmy “Mr. Five by Five” Rushing of Count Basie’s band, and the still very active Skeeter Brandon of the group, Highway 61, who hardly needed amplification to get their message across to the audience.
But if his mighty, soulful, gravelly-voiced delivery wasn’t the stuff of legend, surely his live show qualified for that lofty status. Simply put, onstage he was a human dynamo-a prancing, gyrating, gesticulating, moon walking bundle of ceaseless energy.
Everyone had heard of him, but no one knew his real last name; so, the telephone book was of no use. And he never seemed to be performing when I was in town. Even Eddie Shuler of Goldband, who had recorded virtually every Lake Charles artist of renown at his 50-year-old facility on Church St., could not be of service. In fact, Ike was probably the only bluesman who resided there who had not availed himself of Eddie's venerable studio at one time or another.
On Jesse's behalf, I countered his argument(to no avail) with names such as Jimmy Rushing, Jimmy Witherspoon, and Bobby Blue Bland, who most certainly became blues luminaries on the strength of their vocal abilities alone. "The market has changed drastically since these guys fronted big bands," said Bruce (or words to that effect).
But, there must be some truth to his assertion, because the fact remains that all the current, great stylists (and non-players) that I’ve ever encountered in my travels including Jesse Yawn, Big Ike Martin, Arthur "Country" Foy of New Orleans, and the aforementioned tarheel, Skeeter Brandon, seem to have been hindered by this "one-dimensional" tag, never really becoming household names in blues circles. Whereas, it is not necessarily a requirement that the distaff side of the blues be players. Could one imagine an Irma Thomas, Marva Wright, or Koko Taylor being refused by a record executive for the same reason?
I was first apprised of this Lake Charles folk hero, Big Ike, while sponsoring a zydeco band at the Fell's Point (Baltimore) Fun Fest of 1992. Both Joe Walker, the accordionist and leader of the outfit, and his bass player, Pernell Babineaux, talked glowingly of this blues shouter. And over the years, almost every musician of note in South Louisiana spoke of Big Ike in almost reverential tones.
"Get my foot in the door and I’ll do all the rest. I’d like to think that I’m a realist. You’ve got to crawl before you can walk,” Big Ike
Although I visited Lake Charles faithfully at least once a year, I had invariably come to a dead end in locating him. Surely, everyone had heard of him, but no one knew his real last name; so, the telephone book was of no use. And he never seemed to be performing when I was in town. Even Eddie Shuler of Goldband, who had recorded virtually every Lake Charles artist of renown at his 50-year-old facility on Church St., could not be of service. In fact, Ike was probably the only bluesman who resided there who had not availed himself of Eddie's venerable studio at one time or another.
The big break came when Pernell joined Ike's band on a regular basis and gave him my business card. He called soon after. "Hi, I'm Big Ike. Can you help me out? I heard you promote the blues," he said. He wanted to go on the road in a bad way and hoped I could prepare an itinerary. Needless to say, I was delighted to have made contact with this elusive, nearly mythical figure, but, not having heard him sing, was still leery about becoming his patron. But, I had to admit that, from the outset, I liked his attitude. “Larry, look, I know a lot of these clubs are booked six months in advance. All I want is enough money to pay my people and a place to stay. Get my foot in the door and I’ll do all the rest. I’d like to think that I’m a realist. You’ve got to crawl before you can walk,” he added.
Subsequently, he sent me a personal portfolio which included his aforementioned CD, which definitively showcased his fabulous voice, but the biography was very sketchy and I suggested an interview to not only set the record straight but to also upgrade the promotional package. Finally, after a six-year wait in the summer of 1998, I was able to pay a call to the famous bluesman, take a few pictures, and arrange for a tete a tete.
After having dealt with artists as a writer or booking agent for the last two decades, I’d have to say that, after our first meeting, I was deeply impressed with Big Ike. At last, I thought to myself, here was a man who obviously had both his life and career together.
He lived in a suburban subdivision of neatly kept white brick ranch houses, one room of which was a mini-museum to himself - a blues shrine of meticulously framed posters, photos, and memorabilia of past achievements in the public arena. I also found him to be an astute, no nonsense, businessman, armed with brief cases, cellular phones, and press kits, readily available upon demand. Outside, under a spacious carport, was a huge bus-sized van which could accommodate a band of any configuration and appeared ready to hit the road at a moment’s notice. This man, as they say in music parlance, was good to go. And already I felt no trepidation about putting my faith in this blues giant.
Southern Soul & Blues Old School "Teddy Bear" Transitions On this Day
August 31, 2004
by Larry Benicewicz
courtesy of Blues Art Journal
Isaac “Big Ike” Martin
(July 28, 1949 - August 31, 2003)
CD Cover "Teddy Bear" one of his
last CDs before his passing.
Read more about Isaac "Big Ike" Martin on
Daddy B Nice's page.
One of the great R&B voices of South Louisiana has been stilled. This past August 31, 2003, Isaac “Big Ike” Martin died of complications from a gastric bypass operation in his hometown of Lake Charles, LA. Ironically, his death came just days after negotiating a big recording contract with a major blues label, a decision which would have been a quantum leap career-wise and undoubtedly would have at long last thrust him into the national spotlight.(July 28, 1949 - August 31, 2003)
CD Cover "Teddy Bear" one of his
last CDs before his passing.
Read more about Isaac "Big Ike" Martin on
Daddy B Nice's page.
The more than amply stout Big Ike was always both literally and figuratively larger than life. Possessed of a powerful, booming, bass baritone pipes, he could be classified with other rotund blues belters of this ilk, like the late Big Joe Turner, the late Jimmy “Mr. Five by Five” Rushing of Count Basie’s band, and the still very active Skeeter Brandon of the group, Highway 61, who hardly needed amplification to get their message across to the audience.
But if his mighty, soulful, gravelly-voiced delivery wasn’t the stuff of legend, surely his live show qualified for that lofty status. Simply put, onstage he was a human dynamo-a prancing, gyrating, gesticulating, moon walking bundle of ceaseless energy.
In fact, he was a wonder to behold, a machine of perpetual motion if ever there were one and on any good night could mimic any crowd pleasing antics that the Godfather of Soul, James Brown, could conjure up from out of his bottomless bag of tricks. Indeed, he was so animated, so full of life, especially when front and center to his adoring fans, that it’s difficult to imagine that he’s still not among us.
“Larry,anything happening up there? Got any gigs lined up? Remember how I knocked them dead the last time around?” Ike called me incessantly and always referred to his triumphant tour of the Northeast a few years back when he did mesmerize the crowds at venues such as the New Haven Lounge and Cat’s Eye Pub in Baltimore and Philadelphia’s Warm Daddy’s club, dates which even attracted some zydeco fans, who normally eschew blues presentations.
Big Ike was born Isaac Martin on July 28, 1949, in Lake Charles, LA. One of his earliest, fondest recollections was of his mother and three aunts who, during the early and middle 50's, led the congregation of the Pleasant Hill Baptist Church singing spirituals. "They were my first inspirations and I couldn't wait to start singing in the choir, myself," he confessed.
That was when he traveled up the East Coast in his trusty bus chock full of musicians and I thereafter had dread in my heart of ever having to route such a junket again, having to divide the pie into so many pieces so that everyone could make some money. But Ike was determined to expand his horizons and who could blame him, after having been so long a big fish in the small pond of Southeast Louisiana? I finally told him that there would be no more excuses when he completed his newest CD. We’d have a record release party in every major metropolis on the eastern seaboard. But sadly, this scenario would never be played out.
Lake Charles’ Big Ike invited comparison to Baltimore's own gentle giant of the blues, Jesse Yawn. With a strong gospel foundation, each made his commitment to R&B early on and, despite obvious vocal talent, each sang in relative anonymity until well into middle age. And although both had flirted with studio work throughout their careers, only recently have they completed an album or two that they can truly call their own.
Moreover, both of their first CD projects were not only given the stamp of approval but heartily endorsed by R&B superstars who had long recognized their special gifts - the late guitar demigod, John Lee Hooker, and studio drummer and producer extraordinaire, Bernard "Pretty" Purdie, in the case of Jesse Yawn's Forevermore (1997) and soul chanteuse Denise LaSalle in that of Big Ike. As a matter of fact, it was Bobby Blue Bland, an act for which Ike opened many times, that not only encouraged his initial CD undertaking but also suggested the title -- Iz Ma Turn (1994). And although Jesse has since released Live In Europe (2002), collectively both of their bodies of recorded work (two albums a piece)hardly reflect or do justice to lifetimes thoroughly immersed in R&B.
Another aspect which had linked these two consummate professionals is that neither had ever taken up an instrument and this perceived "deficiency" had probably thwarted their efforts toward achieving greater success. I certainly was not aware of this popular prejudice in the contemporary music industry until made aware of it by none other than Bruce Iglauer of Alligator records, after he had been proffered for scrutiny a quality demo by Jesse Yawn a few years ago. Before politely and firmly turning Jesse down in the most diplomatic of terms, Bruce said that he was seeking instead a flashy crooner who could turn the audience on with scintillating guitar work. “As you know, it’s very hard out there for stand-up blues singers who don’t play,” wrote Iglauer.
On Jesse's behalf, I countered his argument(to no avail) with names such as Jimmy Rushing, Jimmy Witherspoon, and Bobby Blue Bland, who most certainly became blues luminaries on the strength of their vocal abilities alone. "The market has changed drastically since these guys fronted big bands," said Bruce (or words to that effect).
But, there must be some truth to his assertion, because the fact remains that all the current, great stylists (and non-players) that I’ve ever encountered in my travels including Jesse Yawn, Big Ike Martin, Arthur "Country" Foy of New Orleans, and the aforementioned tarheel, Skeeter Brandon, seem to have been hindered by this "one-dimensional" tag, never really becoming household names in blues circles. Whereas, it is not necessarily a requirement that the distaff side of the blues be players. Could one imagine an Irma Thomas, Marva Wright, or Koko Taylor being refused by a record executive for the same reason?
I was first apprised of this Lake Charles folk hero, Big Ike, while sponsoring a zydeco band at the Fell's Point (Baltimore) Fun Fest of 1992. Both Joe Walker, the accordionist and leader of the outfit, and his bass player, Pernell Babineaux, talked glowingly of this blues shouter. And over the years, almost every musician of note in South Louisiana spoke of Big Ike in almost reverential tones.
"Get my foot in the door and I’ll do all the rest. I’d like to think that I’m a realist. You’ve got to crawl before you can walk,” Big Ike
Although I visited Lake Charles faithfully at least once a year, I had invariably come to a dead end in locating him. Surely, everyone had heard of him, but no one knew his real last name; so, the telephone book was of no use. And he never seemed to be performing when I was in town. Even Eddie Shuler of Goldband, who had recorded virtually every Lake Charles artist of renown at his 50-year-old facility on Church St., could not be of service. In fact, Ike was probably the only bluesman who resided there who had not availed himself of Eddie's venerable studio at one time or another.
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| Big Ike was born Isaac Martin on July 28, 1949, in Lake Charles, LA |
The big break came when Pernell joined Ike's band on a regular basis and gave him my business card. He called soon after. "Hi, I'm Big Ike. Can you help me out? I heard you promote the blues," he said. He wanted to go on the road in a bad way and hoped I could prepare an itinerary. Needless to say, I was delighted to have made contact with this elusive, nearly mythical figure, but, not having heard him sing, was still leery about becoming his patron. But, I had to admit that, from the outset, I liked his attitude. “Larry, look, I know a lot of these clubs are booked six months in advance. All I want is enough money to pay my people and a place to stay. Get my foot in the door and I’ll do all the rest. I’d like to think that I’m a realist. You’ve got to crawl before you can walk,” he added.
Subsequently, he sent me a personal portfolio which included his aforementioned CD, which definitively showcased his fabulous voice, but the biography was very sketchy and I suggested an interview to not only set the record straight but to also upgrade the promotional package. Finally, after a six-year wait in the summer of 1998, I was able to pay a call to the famous bluesman, take a few pictures, and arrange for a tete a tete.
After having dealt with artists as a writer or booking agent for the last two decades, I’d have to say that, after our first meeting, I was deeply impressed with Big Ike. At last, I thought to myself, here was a man who obviously had both his life and career together.
He lived in a suburban subdivision of neatly kept white brick ranch houses, one room of which was a mini-museum to himself - a blues shrine of meticulously framed posters, photos, and memorabilia of past achievements in the public arena. I also found him to be an astute, no nonsense, businessman, armed with brief cases, cellular phones, and press kits, readily available upon demand. Outside, under a spacious carport, was a huge bus-sized van which could accommodate a band of any configuration and appeared ready to hit the road at a moment’s notice. This man, as they say in music parlance, was good to go. And already I felt no trepidation about putting my faith in this blues giant.
"Seemed like after we became the Lake City Show Band, we started getting bigger engagements. We were opening for Aretha Franklin, Gladys Knight & the Pips, and Bobby Blue Bland in grand arenas like Ball's Auditorium and Jones' Fine Fox. No more of these little gigs like the Bamboo Club out on Highway 14, where we used to play as the Episodes," .... "Once we got the reputation of warming up the audiences for such big names, we left these small disco joints and roadhouses behind for good..." putting my faith in this blues giant.
Big Ike was born Isaac Martin on July 28, 1949, in Lake Charles, LA. One of his earliest, fondest recollections was of his mother and three aunts who, during the early and middle 50s, led the congregation of the Pleasant Hill Baptist Church singing spirituals. "They were my first inspirations and I couldn't wait to start singing in the choir, myself," he confessed.
Later while attending Washington High, Isaac succumbed to music of a much more secular nature. "Yeah, soul music was really big - Otis Redding, Sam & Dave, and Solomon Burke. I was learning all that stuff off the radio," he said. Perhaps, his big break came when his two-week-old pick-up band, the Episodes, won a local talent show at the same school. "First prize was only $200, but we beat thirteen other bands, some of which had been out there a long time. It wasn't hard to convince the other boys to stick together after the competition," added Big Ike.
The Episodes endured until 1976, when Big Ike changed the name to the Lake City Show Band, a designation he retained to the present. "I'll have to admit though that we weren't playing a whole lot of blues during that time. The blues had kind of fallen out of favor and we had to sing what people wanted. I do remember that Al Green was big back then and that disco was king. The only blues numbers we did were by B.B. King," he confided.
Although the rest of the country was hit by the oil crunch, in the mid-70s in Louisiana, especially in the south, it was an entirely different story. In fact, the economy was more than healthy, being fueled by profits from the skyrocketing gas prices elsewhere. There was money to burn by anyone associated with the petroleum industry, even the lowly, blue collar roughnecks who worked the derricks and rigs “offshore” in the Gulf of Mexico and then expected to be thoroughly entertained in town whenever they received a furlough. Not only was the demand great but also the supply. "There were a lot of bands in the territory during those times. Seemed like a new one was forming each day. It soon became a matter of survival and we did," said Ike.
Things changed dramatically for Big Ike in the late 70s, especially subsequent to the name change. "Seemed like after we became the Lake City Show Band, we started getting bigger engagements. We were opening for Aretha Franklin, Gladys Knight & the Pips, and Bobby Blue Bland in grand arenas like Ball's Auditorium and Jones' Fine Fox. No more of these little gigs like the Bamboo Club out on Highway 14, where we used to play as the Episodes," said the bluesman. At this juncture of his career, Big Ike's blues repertoire was growing almost as fast as his ambition to finally make a name for himself. "Once we got the reputation of warming up the audiences for such big names, we left these small disco joints and roadhouses behind for good," added the bluesman.
In a few years, Big Ike felt ready to go into the studio. First, there was a single for J.D. Miller's (formerly of Excello fame - Lonesome Sundown, Lazy Lester, Slim Harpo, and Lightnin’ Slim) Mastertrack label in Crowley, LA, 1980, which went nowhere. Then came a promising vinyl album recorded in 1985 in New Orleans for Tommy Tee Productions. Tommy Tee, an enterprising huckster of souvenirs at musical extravaganzas, had heard Big Ike open a show for Betty "Clean Up Woman" Wright and Denise LaSalle in Port Arthur, TX, and became intrigued by this heretofore mystery man.
But, although he lent his voice, Ike never felt in control of this project, titled I Found A New Love. "Tommy Tee could have done a better job pushing it. Whenever it got airplay, the phones [requests] jumped off the hook," asserted Big Ike. According to Ike, it had that big full uptown horn sound of Z.Z. Hill or Little Milton which made it a natural for Tommy Couch's Malaco records of Jackson, MS. "I tried to contact Roger Redding over there[Malaco], but a woman named Anderson wouldn't deal with anyone but the producer, Tommy Tee. And that was the end of that," he added. But every so often Big Ike hears reports of it being broadcast in some far off town in Arkansas or Alabama.
Some good did come out of this "learning experience," to use Big Ike's expression. On the strength of "I Don't Hurt No More," one of the album's cuts with definite commercial potential, the group was able to tour throughout the South, including stops in Jackson, TN, Jackson, MS, and New Orleans. "I took that song that was originally done by Buddy Ace[an artist on Don Robey's Duke label of Houston] and did it my way and I'm proud to admit that I got a lot of mileage out of it," said Big Ike.
Read more about Isaac "Big Ike" Martin on
Daddy B Nice's page.
But despite the great expectations, his first serious foray into the studio would yield little more than a demo or calling card that Ike would sell out of the trunk of his car, until all the supply was soon exhausted.
I naturally assumed that with all the casinos in and around Lake Charles that the Lake City Band would always have been kept busy. But, that was not so, according to Big Ike. "I played the Star casino once[riverboat] and never again. The manager told me that once I got on the stage, people would stop gambling to watch the show. I guess what they really wanted was some band to blend into the woodwork, not some group that's gonna cause them[high rollers] to dance and holler. It's just not my style to sit back. I've got to go into the crowd and stir things up," confessed Ike, explaining why he wasn’t invited back for an encore.
Big Ike had a great deal of difficulty hammering out the Mardi Gras deal in which Warren ostensibly would front the money for production in return for the publishing and other rights. “I was tempted to go along with it, the studio time. But then I realized that matters would be out of my hand and I really wanted to do things my way and receive proper compensation for my work,” said Ike, who never claimed that Mardi Gras was totally out of the picture further down the road.
When asked where his favorite haunts could be found, he named the bigger venues. "We often appeared at Magic City, the Knights of Peter Claver hall, the H.Y.B.B. Temple, and the Civic Center. For a while, I had a regular Thursday night gig at the In Crowd, until I asked the man for a raise. He cut us loose all right. But now the place is a ghost town," said Big Ike. But the bluesman actually preferred not to play in his home town. "I save all my best material for the road. These people here have already seen me strut my stuff and they expect it every night," added Big Ike.
Until his death, the region of central and east Texas remained Big Ike's bread and butter and hardly a day went by when he wasn’t headed west to some destination like Austin, San Antonio, or Beaumont. But in this stronghold of Acadian music of all varieties, he was always well prepared and ready to do battle with any accordion-driven band which happened to cross his path. "I got a girl in my band, Cacean Ballou[daughter of renowned bluesman, Classie, who now lives in Waco]. She's one hell of a guitar player but can also put any Zydeco one-note player to shame. They don't even want to follow us up onto the stage. As a matter of fact, I'm a regular headliner in a Zydeco festival coming up in Silsbee, TX [a town north of Beaumont]," said the blues shouter. When Cacean, a college student, was not available, Joe Orsot, a keyboard player, ably filled in and could rig the instrument to sound like a squeezebox, which probably explained the band’s popularity with finicky zydeco devotees.
"One thing that we can do that most of these accordion whiz kids can't do is play the blues. And that's why we are appreciated more by the audience. It's not the same old chank-a-chank. We can really mix things up," said Big Ike. Recently, Big Ike was in concert with Zydecajun star, Wayne Toups, who paid him the highest of compliments. And Ike considered it a source of pride, better yet, a badge of honor, that he was forever banned from appearing at the annual Labor Day zydeco marathon in Plaisance, LA. "They're all afraid that I'm going to steal the show, again," he laughed, giving me a wink.
Over the last few years, Big Ike had been hard at work on a new CD to be entitled Dirty Laundry, but always seemed a few tracks short of completing it. When I gently reminded him of the importance of finishing what he’d started, he didn’t complain in the least. In fact, he agreed. “Between being on the road and getting my own publishing together, it’s hard to find the time,” he said. Evidently, some local had previously “appropriated” some songs that he had previously introduced live, a practice which worried him inordinately as did his perceived lack of legal expertise in trying to copyright his own material.
But, this past Christmas, things were definitely looking up. One of the songs on this forthcoming CD, “Santa Took My Baby,” caused an unexpected sensation in the area and, as a demo single, received a tremendous amount of broadcast time over FM stations 107.5 and 105.3.
This success motivated Ike to return to the studio in earnest to follow it up, which he did with the autobiographical “Teddy Bear (reminiscent of Howlin’ Wolf’s ‘Built for Comfort’ theme)” and “I’m Lost Without You,” two very polished, professional undertakings, which, in their turn, took off and attracted the interest of Warren Hildebrand of Mardi Gras records of New Orleans (Johnny Adams, Peggy Scott-Adams, Jimmy Lewis, Fernest Arceneaux, Marva Wright, Jude Taylor, Irma Thomas, Rebirth and Olympia Brass Bands), which, with the demise of Hammond Scott’s Black Top, is the most prestigious of blues labels in not only Louisiana but also the nation.
Indeed, Warren thought so highly of “Teddy Bear” that he saw fit to include it in a recent Mardi Gras compilation, Ultimate Southern Soul (MG 1077), along with strong efforts by artists like the Love Doctor and Sir Charles Jones.
But, as it turned out, Big Ike had a great deal of difficulty hammering out the Mardi Gras deal in which Warren ostensibly would front the money for production in return for the publishing and other rights. “I was tempted to go along with it, the studio time. But then I realized that matters would be out of my hand and I really wanted to do things my way and receive proper compensation for my work,” said Ike, who never claimed that Mardi Gras was totally out of the picture further down the road. Fortunately, Big Ike did reach an agreement and the long awaited album, retitled Teddy Bear (MG 1079) is scheduled for a November release.
The last time I heard from Ike he was just about to go on the road after appearing at an S.R.O. engagement at the Lake Charles Civic Center as part of a huge Black Heritage extravaganza. “H to H, that’s where you’ll find me. That’s my stomping ground - Houston [TX] to Huntsville [Al] and I can hear them playing my songs on the radio before I even get to the gig,” said Ike, upbeat as usual about his future.
Undoubtedly, expecting that his recuperation from the surgical procedure would be finished, Big Ike accepted a gig to open for Bobby Blue Bland on October 11 at the H.Y.B.B. Temple in Lake Charles. Instead, it became a memorial service for him hosted by zydeco ace Sean Ardoin (of Zydekool and brother of Chris of Double Clutchin’), who penned many of the songs on the new album. According to Big Ike’s widow, there was an enormous outpouring of emotion from a huge crowd which gathered to pay homage to one of Lake Charles’ noblest native sons, the sheer number bearing witness to the enormous stature he held in the local blues community.
In my heart, I know that Big Ike was keeping the release of his CD a secret from me. It was to be a surprise, the big bombshell, because he knew I was a Doubting Thomas all the while in our long relationship. “I don’t make promises that I don’t keep,” he was wont to say.
And in the end, he proved to be a man of his word.
“You rascal, you. You pulled it off,” I thought to myself fully expecting to hear that hearty, infectious belly laugh that so often punctuated our many conversations. Big Ike was a character, all right, with a sense of humor as generous as his expansive girth. And I knew that he would have just loved to have been there to enjoy the look of disbelief on my face. He would have really relished the moment, knowing that I’d now have to deliver on all my promises to him. Yes, Big Ike’s last joke was on me. And I miss him already.
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