Elliott Murphy Gets Muddy

Elliott Murphy sidles into a Starbucks on Manhattan's Upper East Side, looking every inch the expatriate rocker: black designer jeans, black boots and a silk do-rag on his head. It's possible to see that the veteran folk rocker, born and bred on Long Island and a regular in the Seventies at New York's Max's Kansas City, has spent the last sixteen years in Paris, the site of his creative rebirth.

Now 56, Murphy has gone through some strange ups and downs over the course of his career. He's been "the New Dylan" (his 1973 debut was compared to Blonde on Blonde); had artists ranging from Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, Phil Collins and members of the Velvet Underground guest on his albums; been dumped by Columbia Records; and, finally, been rediscovered by the French. Murphy began touring Europe in the late Eighties, shortly thereafter reinventing himself as a full-time Parisian.

"Sure, sometimes I miss America," he admits. "But European audiences have really embraced me. I play 150 gigs a year, all across the continent -- sometimes with a full band, sometimes just with Olivier Durand, my second guitarist."

Murphy's latest effort is Murphy Gets Muddy, an all-blues affair dedicated to the memory of Muddy Waters. (Like all his work, including his forthcoming Greatest Hits, it's available at Murphy's official Web site, www.elliottmurphy.com.) And for a man known for writing such punky, New York-tinged tunes as "Hanging Out," "Last of the Rock Stars" and "Drive All Night," why a blues album decades into his musical life?

"One night, earlier this year, I was lying in bed with my wife," Murphy says of Francoise, with whom he has a teenage son, Gaspard. "I said, 'I've been playing for, like, forty years. Maybe I should retire.' Francoise turned to me and said, 'Rock-&-rollers don't retire. Either they die young, like your man Brian Jones, or they turn into bluesmen.'"

It was an epiphany for Murphy, and he took the gamble.

Murphy grew up loving the blues, and he cites his admiration for the dedication and work ethic of genre artists like B.B. King, who has been known to play some 250 shows a year. Murphy decided to cover King's classic "The Thrill Is Gone" on the album, and made his rendition of Robert Johnson's "Terraplane Blues" the first single. Waters, of course, also looms large, with tunes including "I'm Ready" and "Mannish Boy." The songs allow Murphy to exhibit a voice now lowered and grown even more confident with the years.

More than in his earlier days, when after releasing his debut, 1973's Aquashow, the singer-songwriter thought he might have to quit the business, that there was no way of evolving as an artist after his early critical acclaim. But he was bolstered by the creative support of men like Lou Reed. "Oh, Lou was great to me back in the Seventies," Murphy says of the former Velvet Underground frontman, initially slated to produce his follow-up, 1975's Lost Generation. "After my first album came out on Polydor, he helped me break my contract and get with RCA."

Murphy also hung with folks like the New York Dolls, and still sees them in their current lineup when they travel to Europe. "David Johansen is a great guy -- doesn't eat enough, though." And then there's Springsteen.

"I love playing with Bruce when he's in France," Murphy quips. "But it's nerve-wracking. He tells me he's going to bring me out for song twenty-five. So, that means I have to watch and wait, backstage, through twenty-four other tunes, until it's time for me to be announced. But I love playing with him: His energy is infectious." The song Murphy occasionally guests on is Springsteen's "Better Days." And when he takes his turn and sits in with Murphy, they tend to play Murphy's own shimmering 1977 tune "Rock Ballad."

As for his current state of affairs across the pond, Murphy claims he is more content with his life, both personally and artistically, than ever before. "I've never been happier," he says. "Nobody is waiting for the next hit, so the pressure's off -- and I write better that way . . . I've got more energy at fifty-six than I did at twenty-five -- maybe because I cleaned up my act twenty years ago. I do two-and-a-half-hour shows these days!

"You never know where the peak in your career is going to come," Murphy adds. "But, basically, I'm not into that 'dying young' shit. I want to live to be an old man, playing for my fans, whom I cherish. Hey, if B.B. King can do it, why can't I?"