Jerron ‘Blind Boy’ Paxton
‘Things Done Changed’
Smithsonian Folkways

Jerron ‘Blind Boy’ Paxton and Dennis Lichtman
‘Paxton & Lichtman’
Paxton Lichtman 

Jerron ‘Blind Boy’ Paxton and Dennis Lichtman
Symphony Space (Leonard Nimoy Thalia)
December 5 & December 12

Thurgood Marshall is, inarguably, one of the great men of American history, but I don’t know if I would trust the Supreme Court justice as a music critic. In 1956, for instance, when he wanted to chastise Nat King Cole for not doing enough for the civil rights movement, the worst insult Marshall could hurl at the the great pianist and singer was so say that “the only thing Cole needs to complete his role as an Uncle Tom is a banjo.”  

It was clear what he meant: The music of the banjo was then regarded as an embarrassment to African Americans, a symbol of enslavement and submission. Nearly 70 years later, attitudes have changed; both the banjo and the career of Nat King Cole have become powerful icons of African American achievement.

If there’s one young artist who exemplifies why all Americans should feel proud of the banjo and those who play it, it’s Jerron Paxton, who is also frequently billed as “Blind Boy.” At 35, Mr. Paxton is best described as a multi-instrumentalist; on his new album, “Things Done Changed,” he plays banjo, guitar, harmonica, and piano. Yet he’s also a multi-everything: He is both African American and Jewish, and he creates music in a wide range of styles: jazz, blues, folk, and country.

In addition to playing at least four instruments, Mr. Paxon is a first-rate singer of the blues and, frequently, the Great American Songbook. On this new album, he asserts himself as a songwriter as well.  

In many forms of music, there’s a distinct differentiation between writing original music and interpreting works that already exist; the latter practice is much too often referred to with the demeaning term of “covers.” Still, in the roots music genres in which Mr. Paxton specializes, the boundaries between the two are less rigid. The 12 songs of “Things Done Changed” are so authentic-sounding, and so steeped in the deep traditions that inspired them, that it’s often a strain to remember that this is a brand-new recording by a 21st century artist singing newly written songs: It sounds like a collection of notes, tones, stories, and emotions from fully a hundred years ago.

In the best folk-blues tradition, Mr. Paxton, while being highly original all the while, leans into familiar chord changes and images and ideas from classic blues: “So Much Weed” isn’t, as one might expect, a paean to getting high but more of a social commentary; he observes how his parents’ generation had to keep their consumption of marijuana a dark secret, but, reinforcing the general idea that things done changed, he tells us: “My poor uncles used to have to run and hide / Now they sit on their porch with pride,”and it ends with a quote from “Blueberry HIll.” 

Likewise, “Mississippi Bottom” references Jimmie Rodgers’s original “Blue Yodel,” one of the most famous blues numbers ever written.

Indeed, Mr. Paxton sings in such a rich, authentic voice — with such a completely natural and organic sound — that it’s easy to overlook the craft and hard work that goes into his music. In “Brown Bear Blues,” a title referencing his home state of California, he slips into the mode of the bragging song, a 12-bar blues in which the singer-songwriter essentially tells everybody how great he is — at making music or making love. “I’m just like that bear / I’m nice and brown / I can lift you up high / And let your love come down.” It’s a template of the blues used by everybody from Jelly Roll Morton to Louis Jordan.  

If, on one song, he comments on how legal weed is now easily obtainable, the reverse is true of his major piano feature here, “Oxtail Blues.” Here, he observes that the price of that delicacy has now risen out of the reach of the principal market for it. One conclusion might be that in 2024, it’s easier to obtain reefer than oxtail.

On a collaboration with another multi-instrumentalist who specializes in roots music, Dennis Lichtman, the canvas and the options expand exponentially. In addition to the genres in “Things Done Changed,” the album “Paxton & Lichtman” also includes ragtime, western swing, and Tin Pan Alley songs, as well as a Tex-Mex waltz called “Matizada.”

For more than a dozen years Mr. Lichtman has been one of the thought leaders in the new hot jazz movement, by virtue of being the bandleader and organizer at the all-night sessions on Tuesdays at Mona’s in Manhattan’s East Village. He’s primarily known as a clarinetist, but he also shows his proficiency throughout on violin and mandolin, and sings on the Bob Wills classic “Time Changes Everything.”

For his part, Mr. Paxton shines on “Sunshine,” a lesser-known 1928 song by Irving Berlin, as well as on Jelly Roll Morton’s “Good Old New York.” He sings lustily a memorable original blues dedicated to Queens County, enhanced by his own piano and Mr. Lichtman’s clarinet. On a medley of “old timey” fiddle tunes, both men play violins on three songs that illuminate the Old World origins of American bluegrass and folk, with traditional airs from Scotland (“Comin’ Thro’ the Rye”) and England (“The Girl I Left Behind Me”) as well as a Polish mazurka.

Both albums are delightful in the authenticity of their production, with no 21st century frippery like autotune or excessive processing on the vocals. You can hear the strings wheeze, with Mr. Lichtman’s bow fairly blushing as it presses against the fiddle, and when the two men are duetting, on banjo and guitar or mandolin, you can get a true sense of who is playing what.  Frequently, you can hear their feet stomp — if it’s not overpowered by the sound of your own feet stomping away.

The album ends with “When the World Is at Rest,” a sweetly sentimental ballad written by Lou Davis and Sammy Fain from 1929, sung wistfully by Mr. Paxton, who is as accomplished a crooner as he is a blues shouter. But don’t let the song fool you:  There’s none of that nostalgic yearning for a simpler time here; in fact, these sounds are considerably more complex and highly nuanced — albeit made by man rather than machine — than anything that might be considered pop or country music today.