Welcome to another Deep Dive. We are so glad
you are here with us today. Yeah, really glad
you could join us for this one. And before we
jump right into the content, if you're sharing
this with a friend on Apple Podcasts, the title
for today's Deep Dive is The Deep Dive, King
Ernest Baker, The Forgotten Blues Giant, A 14
-Year Detour, and The Ultimate Comeback. Right.
And the description for this one is packed with
all those good SEO keywords for you blues lovers.
It says on this deep dive, we explore the incredible
and tragic life of R &B and soul singer King
Ernest Baker. From his roots in Natchez, Mississippi,
and his early days sharing the stage with Howlin'
Wolf and Buddy Guy, to his surprising 14 -year
career in a Los Angeles Sheriff's Department,
King earned his story as one of profound resilience.
Exactly. And it goes on to say, discover how
he rebuilt his music career at age 55 through
newspaper classified ads, toured the world, and
recorded a final masterpiece just days before
a tragic accident. Perfect for music historians,
Chicago blues lovers, and anyone needing a reminder
that it's never too late. to chase your dream.
Tune in to learn about the unseen legends of
the blues. I love that description. It really
sets the stage. It really does. So for this deep
dive, we are pulling from a fascinating Wikipedia
article detailing the life of this American blues
and soul singer. His name was King Ernest Baker.
Right. And if you are a fan of blues history
or soul music, you might think you know all the
heavy hitters. You know the names that made it
onto the big stadium marquees. Oh, absolutely.
The household names. Right. But our mission today
is to uncover the story of an artist who stood
shoulder to shoulder with those absolute legends,
walked away from the stage completely to work
in law enforcement, and then mounted this unbelievable,
defiant music comeback at age 55. Only for his
life to end in a really shocking tragedy. Exactly.
We're talking about a true hidden giant of the
genre today. It is a remarkable narrative to
share with you today because this isn't just
a standard chronological biography of an R &B
singer. It is a profound look at the harsh, often
unseen realities of the music industry. Yeah,
the stuff behind the curtain. Exactly. It highlights
the immense psychological courage it takes to
resurrect a deferred dream. And it shines a light
on the working class figures who quietly yet
powerfully shape musical history from the club
level up when we look at king ernest baker We're
really looking at the ultimate testament to human
resilience. Okay, let's unpack this. We have
to start where the roots of this music always
start, which is deep in the American South. Right.
The source material centers on a man born in
Natchez, Mississippi. And the family lineage
here immediately jumped out at me, because it
is not what you typically expect when you hear
the origins of a Mississippi blues man. No, not
at all. I was looking through the notes on his
family tree, and it is incredibly unique. It
really is. Ernest was born on May 3rd. He was
the third of 11 children. 11 kids. Yeah, so he
came from a massive household. But the detail
that really stops you in your tracks is his great
-grandfather. Oh, this part blew my mind. According
to the source, his great -grandfather was an
Italian violinist from Milan. An Italian violinist.
Yeah, and he actually lived to be... 109 years
old. 109. Just surviving to that age in that
era is a story in itself. Honestly. But how does
an Italian violinist from Milan factor into the
foundation of a Mississippi blues and soul singer?
Well, what's fascinating here is the historical
and cultural context that created Baker's foundation.
Yeah. The source mentions that historically,
all of his great -grandfather's southern state
children who were referred to in the historical
terminology of the sorts as half mulatto, were
string musicians. Okay. They were violinists
and guitar players. So you have this incredible
convergence of European string traditions blending
directly with the deep, acoustic, soulful roots
of the post -Civil War American South. That's
amazing. It is. This multicultural, multigenerational
musical DNA was essentially woven into Ernest's
bloodline from the very beginning. His grandfather
was even part of a tour. So music wasn't just
a hobby. It was the family trade. Exactly. It
was what they did. And you can see that DNA activate
really early for Ernest. There is this incredibly
vivid image from the source material about his
childhood. Oh, the honky tonk story. Yes. His
father was a guitarist who played the honky tonks
down south. And when Ernest was just around seven
years old, he would sit on his father's knee
in these crowded, noisy venues. Just a little
kid. Right. His dad would be singing and playing
his slide guitar. And little seven -year -old
Ernest would sit there holding out a cup for
the listeners. I want you to just picture that
environment for a second. Think about the sensory
experience for a seven -year -old in a 1940s
southern honky -tonk. It must have been intense.
The heat. The smoke, the noise, the immediate
feedback of the crowd. It is the perfect real
-world example of learning a trade from the absolute
ground up. Yeah, he wasn't sheltered from it
at all. Right. He wasn't just learning how to
play notes on a page. He was learning the business
of entertainment. He was learning how an audience
reacts, how a performer commands a room, and
how you translate that emotional connection into
a livelihood, coin by coin. It's an apprenticeship
in survival as much as in music. Definitely.
And his family tree had other heavy branches,
right? Because as I was reading, I noticed a
connection to another major figure in the blues
world. Yes, the legendary blues singer Bobby
Bland is actually Ernest's cousin. Bobby Bland.
Yeah. So the roots of the blues were thoroughly
entrenched in his family. It was a community
and a lineage that expected musical excellence.
If his roots were that deep in the acoustic Southern
tradition... How does a guy like that survive
the jump to the gritty, electric, highly competitive
world of the big city? Because eventually he
leaves Mississippi. He does. He heads north,
like so many Southern musicians during the Great
Migration. By 1958, he hits the scene in Chicago.
Okay, jumping right into the deep end. Yeah,
he gets his first professional start at a place
called Wynn's Lounge, performing with Byther
Smith. And Ernest actually credited Smith with
giving him his true start as a professional working
musician in the city. I was looking at the descriptions
of his live performances from that era, and it
sounds like he completely took over whatever
room he was in. Oh, he dominated. Ernest was
a towering figure. Yeah. He stood six foot three.
A big guy. Yeah. But the source notes he wasn't
just standing behind a microphone strumming a
guitar. He danced with such exuberant, wild energy
that people were comparing his stage presence
to James Brown. Brown and Jackie Wilson. Imagine
a six foot three man moving with the agility
and fire of James Brown in a smoky Chicago blues
club. It would have been absolutely mesmerizing.
And you really have to look at the company he
kept during this era to understand his caliber.
Who is he playing with? Well, he became a massive
club attraction, sharing the stage with artists
like Tyrone Davis. Wow. Buddy Guy and the legendary
Howlin' Wolf. Howlin' Wolf. That is serious royalty.
It really is. For the listener to truly grasp
this, being a club attraction in Chicago and
eventually New York during the late 50s and 60s
meant that Ernest was standing right in the absolute
epicenter of the blues and soul evolution. Yeah,
he was right in the middle of it. He wasn't on
the periphery watching it happen. He was in the
room holding his own alongside the undisputed
titans of the genre. But there is a glaring disconnect
in his story that I really want to dig into.
We know he's playing with Buddy Guy and Howlin'
Wolf. We know he's a phenomenal live draw. Right.
But when you look at his recording history during
those decades, he's bouncing around all these
different labels. The source mentions he recorded
for Barry in New York and Chicago, Sonic, Funk,
Mercury. and Blue Soul. Yeah, quite a list. What
was happening there? Why didn't the live dominance
translate into massive record sales? That is
the ultimate question of the mid -century music
industry. For you, as the listener, to understand
this dynamic... Being a club king back then paid
the bills for the night, but recording a hit
record built a legacy. Okay, that makes sense.
The recording industry was a heavily gate -kept
club. Labels like Barry, Sonic, and Funk, with
the exception of Mercury, were often smaller,
scrappy, independent operations. They didn't
have the big budgets. Exactly. They didn't have
the massive distribution networks or the radio
promotion money of Motown or Chess Records. So
an artist could be making a decent living tearing
the roof off a club every night. But if you didn't
have the right manager or the right label machine
backing you, your records wouldn't reach a national
audience. That sounds incredibly frustrating.
It had to be. In fact, from 1967 to 1970, he
didn't even do any recording. He just played
the clubs. And playing the clubs was a mess.
Massive logistical undertaking for him. It wasn't
just a simple four -piece band throwing gear
in a station wagon. Oh, no. It was a whole production.
After coming back to Chicago from New York, he
put together a touring outfit called King Ernest
and the Soul Invaders. Great name. The lineup
of this group is incredible. He had a full rhythm
section, a three -piece horn section, a bongo
player. Yeah. And they even traveled with a comedian
named Emmanuel Arrington. I love that detail.
Throughout the 1970s, they were playing prominent
venues like the Skyway Lounge, High Chaparral
and Ernie's Lounge and taking the whole production
down through Louisiana and Mississippi. That
combination. of a horn section, a bongo player,
and a traveling comedian, tells you exactly what
kind of show King Artist was putting on. It's
an event. This wasn't a stoic sit -down blues
set. It was a full -fledged entertainment review.
It was designed to grab people by the collar
from the moment they walked in until the moment
they left. Absolutely. But maintaining a payroll
for a band that size, constantly grinding out
tours without the financial cushion of a hit
record, it takes a massive toll on an artist.
And that friction between his undeniable live
popularity and his lack of mainstream recording
success was really building up. Here's where
it gets really interesting. We reached 1980.
The grind has been going on for decades. Decades
of it. And suddenly there's a beacon of hope.
The source notes that Ernest is lured out to
Los Angeles because there is the prospect of
a major record deal on the table. You can imagine
the feeling after all the smoky clubs, all the
regional tours, all the scrappy indie labels.
The brass ring is finally right in front of him.
But the deal falls through. It just evaporates.
And this becomes the breaking point for him.
The disappointments in his career just pile up
too high. And he makes a decision that is. honestly
stunning when you consider his background it
is he completely walks away from show business
it is a crushing disappointment i want you to
really imagine the psychological weight of that
moment he had been performing since he was a
seven -year -old holding a cup for his father
right His whole life. He had shared stages with
Howlin' Wolf. He had given his entire youth and
adulthood to the stage. To finally get the promise
of a major deal in Los Angeles, only to have
it pulled out from under you, it is devastating.
It's heartbreaking. It highlights the deeply
unforgiving nature of the music business. Raw
talent and relentless hard work do not always
equate to industry support or financial stability.
The choice he makes next is one of the most unexpected
career shifts I think we've ever seen in these
sources. Seriously. He doesn't just get a quiet
job in a warehouse to pay the bills. He gets
a job with the Los Angeles Sheriff's Department.
A complete pivot. And he stays there. For 14
long years, he works in the Sheriff's Department,
eventually working his way up to his supervisor
role. It is the ultimate contrast in lifestyles.
think about the cultural whiplash there oh it's
night and day he trades the exuberant unpredictable,
sweaty late night stage of a Chicago blues club
for the rigid, highly structured, rule bound
daytime environment of a sheriff's department
supervisor. It takes a very specific kind of
discipline to make that transition and actually
succeed at it for over a decade. Exactly. There
is a profound nobility in that choice. It is
the decision to put down a lifelong passion,
swallow your pride and prioritize earning a stable
living and securing a future after decades of
chasing a dream that kept breaking his heart.
you really have to respect it. But put yourself
in those shoes for a second. What does it feel
like for a six foot three dynamo who used to
move like Jackie Wilson to put on a law enforcement
uniform every single day for 14 years? He had
to be hiding so much energy. He's overseeing
staff, filling out paperwork, enforcing rules.
The music had to still be vibrating and siding
the entire time. It definitely was. Which brings
us to the next chapter of his life. And it's
a testament to the fact that you can't outrun
your own calling. At age 55, Ernest retires from
the sheriff's department. He did his time. He
has done his time. He has earned his pension.
And that itch to perform returns. Naturally.
Driven by encouragement from his cousin, Bobby
Bland, and a promoter and producer named Randy
Chortkov, he decides it is time to return to
the stage. This is where his absolute lack of
ego really shines. He has this pedigree, right?
He's played with the greats. But he's been out
of the game for a long time. So how does he put
a new band together in Los Angeles in the mid
-1990s? I couldn't believe this detail when I
read it. He literally puts classified ads in
local Los Angeles newspapers. I love that so
much. That is how he recruits the musicians for
his new band, which he calls King Ernest and
the Wild Knights. Can you imagine flipping through
a local weekly paper and seeing a classified
ad from a guy who used to open for Buddy Guy
just looking for a bass player? In the era before
social media, paying by the word in a local paper
was how you got things done. It shows a pure,
unadulterated desire to just get back to the
music by any means necessary. Just putting the
work in. And the mix of musicians he found through
those ads was clearly special. They blended R
&B, funk, gospel, and blues, and they started
playing the clubs in Los Angeles' black neighborhoods.
Building it from the ground up again. Exactly.
Randy Chortkoff, the promoter who encouraged
him, hired Baker as the featured singer for his
blues review. He backed Ernest with some of L
.A.'s best blues musicians and started booking
King Ernest and the Wild Knights up and down
the West Coast. This is the definition of a late
career renaissance. The momentum he built was
incredible. It was rapid fire success once he
got his foot back in the door. By 1996, he's
backed by John Marks and the Blues Patrol playing
the Ojai Bull Full of Blues. Then he finally
gets the one thing that eluded him his entire
life, a solid recording contract. In January
1997. At almost 60 years old, he releases his
very first full CD album. It's called King of
Hearts, released on the Evidence label. You see
him fully reclaiming his identity here. He is
no longer the retired sheriff supervisor making
sure the shift runs smoothly. He is King Ernest
again. And the music world responds. The world
absolutely responds. By May 1999, he is touring
internationally. International tours. The source
notes he does a short tour in Israel, playing
eight shows across Tel Aviv and Eilat. That's
incredible. Backed by a local band called the
Daily Blues, which was led by a harmonica player
named Dov Hammer. Taking his music to places
like Tel Aviv and Eilat proves how universal
his sound was. To cross international borders
and connect with audiences in Israel using a
local backing band, it'd be a stunning victory
over the industry that had rejected him almost
two decades earlier. So what does this all mean?
To me, it frames this entire story, not just...
as a music biography, but as a masterclass in
potential. Very well said. It proves that you
never age out of your own talent. He still had
the voice, he still had the commanding physical
presence, and the world was finally ready to
give him his flowers. It completely disrupts
the narrative we are usually sold, which is that
music, and particularly energetic, dynamic music,
is strictly a young person's game. Right. Ernest
Baker proved that life experience, heartbreak,
and resilience can actually season an artist.
Living through the disappointment of the 1980s
and the discipline of his time in law enforcement
likely gave his voice a depth and a gravitas
that made his return that much more powerful.
But sadly, as much as we want this to be a pure
Hollywood ending, we have to talk about how this
incredible comeback comes to a close. Yeah, it's
tough turn. We move into early 2000. Ernest is
firing on all cylinders. He had just finished
recording his second full album. It was called
Blues Got Soul, and it was set to be released
on Fat Possum Records. And we should note that
Fat Possum Records is a highly revered label
for authentic raw blues. A very respected label.
Getting a release on that label was a massive
validation of his talent and his place in the
genre's history. The Wikipedia article notes
this really poignant, specific detail. He actually
sat down and listened to the finished, mixed
CD of Blues Got Soul on March 2nd of that year.
That detail is incredibly moving when you think
about his journey. He finally had the tangible,
physical proof of his ultimate comeback. right
there in his hands. He was holding it. He heard
the final mix. He knew he'd captured lightning
in a bottle for a second time. He'd achieved
exactly what he set out to do when he placed
those classified ads. But just three days later,
the story takes a tragic turn. It's March 5th,
2000. Ernest and his band had just finished playing
a show at Mother's Tavern in San Luis Obispo,
California. They pack up the gear and they are
making the long drive back south toward Los Angeles
on Highway 101. A drive musicians have made a
thousand times. Ernest is asleep in the back
of the band's van. According to the source, the
van leaves the road near Santa Maria, rolls over
and hits a tree. Baker is thrown from the vehicle
and he is killed. He was just 60 years old. If
we connect this to the bigger picture. The timing
of his death is just unspeakably cruel. It really
is. To survive the grueling grind of the 1960s
touring circuits, to survive the crushing career
-ending disappointment of the 1980s, to successfully
navigate 14 years in law enforcement, only to
lose his life on a dark highway just three days
after holding his masterpiece. It is heartbreaking.
It's hard to even process that kind of timing.
But we also have to recognize the immense triumph
in his final years. He didn't die with his music
still locked inside him, wondering what if from
behind a supervisor's desk. That's true. He died
exactly as he was meant to live, as King Ernest
Baker, a touring recording bluesman who has successfully
reclaimed his throne. That is a deeply important
distinction. He went out on his own terms. We
have been on a real emotional roller coaster
today. I really have. We started with a seven
-year -old boy holding a cup for change in Mississippi
honky -tonks. We traveled to the wild pack stages
of Chicago alongside Howlin' Wolf. We paused
for 14 years while he kept the peace in Los Angeles.
And we cheered for the 55 -year -old comeback
kid who proved that true talent doesn't have
an expiration date. It really is a story that
forces you to look at the world around you differently.
And I want to leave you, the listener, with a
thought to mull over today. Let's hear it. Think
about the people you pass every day in ordinary
jobs. The supervisors, the clerks, your neighbors.
What dormant talents, what incredible past lives
as six -foot -three blues giants are hiding right
behind their uniforms. And more importantly,
what dream have you put on a shelf that might
just be waiting for its own classified ad comeback?
That is a brilliant question to end on and a
perfect reminder that it is never too late. Thank
you so much for joining us for this deep dive
into the extraordinary, resilient life of King
Ernest Baker. We highly encourage you to go track
down his music today. Go listen to I Feel Alright
or That's When I Woke Up to hear the king's power
for yourself. Until next time, keep digging,
keep exploring, and never count yourself out.