Having lived in Georgia a few years, some of the highlights I remember most fondly are the occasions that I came across a rural family that would break out the guitars and break into impromptu music—whether it was bluegrass, gospel, or blues. As thrilling as those Deliverance days were, or the times in the churches in the African American community, or the occasions on the back porches of an unknown bluesman, nothing in the red clays of Georgia adequately compares to the music that arises from the rich black earth of the Mississippi delta region. That fertile area has since been electrified, spread its music into the north, and influenced hardcore rock. Indeed, some of the richest American music can trace its roots to the poorest regions of Mississippi.

Documentarian Robert Mugge has recorded more roots music on film than anyone, from Hawaiian dance music to bluegrass to Al Green's gospel and soul music. Deep Blues takes Mugge to the source, deep down into the Mississippi delta region to seek out the back porches, barbershops, and juke joints that play the real deal. Enlisting the resources of Arkansas native music scholar and critic Robert Palmer, Mugge captures intimate clips of the Delta blues that most people will never see otherwise—many would be leery to hang at the juke joints that have a reputation for hosting an occasional drunken stabbing or so. Palmer proves to be an ideal guide. Not only has he written the definitive book on the Delta blues from which the film gets its name, but he also knows the territory and truly appreciates the bluesmen. I only wish I had seen this documentary before travelling this region last Thanksgiving. Fortunately, the video/DVD is now available.

Mainstream audiences looking for an introduction to the blues should check out the fictional Crossroads starring Ralph Macchio instead. Conversely, music scholars and hardcore blues fans will enjoy the meatier primary source material of Deep Blues. The film begins weakly with executive producer Dave Stewart (of the Eurythmics) meeting up with Palmer on Memphis’ legendary Beale Street to begin his wide-eyed adventure among the unknown but unsurpassed blues icons living in the area. Beginning with recently "sanitized for tourists" Beale Street, Palmer introduces Stewart to a shopkeeper who continues to sell medicinal herbs and plants that enable musicians to get their mojo hand, then to some piano jams by Booker T. Laury, and finally to the back porch of R. L. Burnside.

Burnside is the most well-known bluesman on this 1991 documentary, having recorded a number of albums after Deep Blues was released. Burnside definitely comes from true blues roots—he sits in front of his porch cranking out the blues as we observe the junk cars in the yard and children at play. Stewart joins in on acoustic guitar (rather lamely). Later at Junior Kimbrough's juke joint Burnside gets down with the blues and pleads with the regulars to be kind to Stewart, who is clearly on foreign ground. It's a relief when the film's producer departs the Memphis scene so we can continue on the blues trek without the burden of the Eurythmics' player.

Mugge makes some film choices that clearly communicate that he is not composing an introductory blues documentary, nor is he creating this film for casual fans. Otherwise, he wouldn't include so many full takes of the songs with primarily static shots of the blues artist. Mugge surprisingly shows Robert Palmer frequently on screen, as the writer/critic has a face far more suited for off-screen narration. Palmer doesn't play the blues himself, but the film clearly confirms Palmer's passion for the blues.

One section that could have used much more camera variety occurs during Junior Kimbrough's session at his juke joint—on his first song the camera repeatedly goes from a medium shot to close-ups, far beyond what most normal people would do at the juke joint themselves. Since there are at least two cameras operating during this shoot, more variety would give a better visual feel for the juke joint sequence.

Much of the energy of such a blues set rests with crowd reactions, so thankfully Mugge shows us some glimpses of the juke joint energy in subsequent sets—the smiling faces going with the music, grooving and dancing around the room, some sweating in those small quarters with people who are there strictly for the music. No blues club frequented by whites, who are there because they want to appear "cool," the Greenville locals frequent Junior's juke joint because the blues is an integral part of their lives. Also highlighting this juke joint scene is a mournful song by Jessie Mae Hemphill, who has previously demonstrated even older blues roots with a brief fife and drum presentation.

After Stewart departs, Palmer takes us down south on highway 61 to the small towns of Mississippi that are historically and culturally important to Delta blues aficionados—everybody who "is" somebody in Delta blues (whether they've ever cut a record or not) has played these towns. On Greenville's notable Nelson Street we meet Roosevelt "Bubba" Barnes, who has recently begun his own club and plays some mean, energetic blues. Then we journey to the Crossroads location itself in Clarksdale, home to many blues greats like Robert Johnson and Muddy Waters. Palmer shows us the outside building husk that once served as a juke joint that has played host to nearly every Delta blues legend and then takes us to a small radio station where the old time blues DJ interviews Big Jack Johnson, nicknamed "Oil Man" since he drives a gasoline truck by day and sings the blues at night.

Ending on a hopeful note, Mugge films the relatively young Lonnie Pitchford playing a one string diddley-bow with a crushed pop can to show that the roots of the blues remain culturally strong and will continue. Especially notable are the two Robert Johnson songs that he performs—"Come on in my Kitchen" and "If I Had Possession over Judgement Day." The diddley bo is significant because many young bluesmen started with this simple instrument, including the legendary Robert Johnson, as Isreal Clark recalls,

"Oh, he had his 'diddley bo' upside the wall and making his own music with a 'diddley bo.' I guess nobody here acquainted with it, but he ought to remember the three nails and three strands of wire… And that's what he started his music with."