Chance meetings have always played a huge part in how Music Maker has built up its roster of partner artists over the years. From the beginning, when James “Guitar Slim” Stephens told me I had to find Guitar Gabriel, it’s been the same. One person we build a relationship with tells us about other musicians we should meet and who might need our help, and the circle keeps growing.

But without a doubt, the oddest chance meeting for me happened in 2004 on a highway in Kentucky, when Denise and I passed a van with these words painted on its side: “Adolphus Bell: One-Man Band Show.” The van had a telephone number painted on it, too, but we couldn’t find a pen to write it down. I’d never once heard of Adolphus Bell, but when I saw that van, I knew I needed to meet the man driving it. 

I came home to North Carolina and told all my friends about the experience, asking them if they’d ever heard of Adolphus. Finally, our longtime friend from Atlanta, the blues player Danny “Mudcat” Dudek, called to tell me that while he was playing a gig in Birmingham, he’d seen a little poster for Adolphus’ one-man band, and it had his phone number on it. Danny sent me the number.

I called Adolphus, introduced myself, and learned why he was a one-band — his guitar, his voice, a harmonica on a rack, and two foot pedals, one for a bass drum and the other for high-hat cymbals. Adolphus was about 60 years old then, and over his years of playing his unique blend of the blues and soul music, he had grown aggravated with band members who would show up late, show up drunk, or not show up at all. He just didn’t want to deal with that. So he had become a professional outfit all by himself. 

Adolphus Blows Everybody Away

Shortly after, I got a call from the folks at the King Biscuit Blues Festival in Helena, Arkansas. About six weeks before the festival was to begin, an artist had to cancel, and they were looking for an act to fill the vacancy. So, even though I’d still never heard Adolphus’ music or seen him play, I told the King Biscuit folks his story and asked, “Why don’t we bring him down?” The reply, thankfully, was, “Sure. Far out!”

I called Adolphus with the news, but he told me his van had broken down and he didn’t have the money to fix it, so he couldn’t get to Helena from Birmingham, where he lived. I said, “No problem. How much does it cost?” He said, “About 300 bucks.” I sent him a check for $500. When he got the check in the mail, he called and said, “You sent me $500. Why do you trust me?” My reply was simple. I said, “I’ll see you at the event. Here’s the hotel information.”

Our longtime colleague Ardie Dean and I were in the hotel lobby in Helena when Adolphus walked in, looking fine in a pressed pair of overalls. He told us, “No one has ever advanced me money in my life for anything. It meant the world to me. Hell or high water, if I had to crawl, I was coming to Helena.”

When he walked onto the festival stage, he blew me and the entire crowd away completely. Adolphus was one of the most electrifying personalities I’d ever seen play music. His enthusiasm was infectious. The crowd loved him immediately. He was an absolutely irresistible performer. He’d come out from behind his bass drum and do dances he had names for — the Mississippi Rubberleg, the Georgia Mashed Potato. 

Every crowd I ever saw him play for absolutely loved Adolphus. 

A Deep, Abiding Love

And at Music Maker, our love for him grew over the 12 years we were privileged to work with him. We produced and distributed Adolphus’ two albums, “Mississippi Rubberleg” in 2005 and “One-Man Band” in 2006. We helped him find more live gigs — including tours to Europe and beyond. As the money from the records and tours came in, we saw how responsible and dignified he was. He immediately began saving money. He’d never told us during our earliest encounters that when we first called him, he was homeless, living in that van I’d first seen on a Kentucky highway. But with the money he raised from selling records and touring, he moved into his own apartment, and became able to meet his own needs.

We also learned that Adolphus was a devout Christian. He carried a Bible with him everywhere he went, and he studied it every day. Thus, it was no surprise to us when we learned what Adolphus did every month after he got his bills paid: With whatever money he had left over, he would buy food, cook it, and take it to homeless camps around Birmingham. He fed the hungry. He told that his dream, if he became even more successful, was to launch a kitchen from which he could feed even more people.

In our conversations with him over the years, we learned Adolphus was one of the most emotionally available people Denise and I had ever met. Adolphus was present when you were with him. People talk a lot these days about being present in the moment, but to Adolphus, it came naturally. He was a keen listener, and when he talked, he was incredibly frank. He had no problem sharing where he was at emotionally and what was going on in his life. If you listen to his original songs, they reflect those qualities. He told personal stories. He was willing to make himself vulnerable enough to do that. 

As serious as he could be, Adolphus was very much a character off-stage and on. I remember many mornings on tour with him when he would arrive in the hotel’s breakfast area wearing bright red pajamas, a purple robe, and black linen slippers — plus a sandwich board over his front that said, “Adolphus Bell. One-man band. CDs for sale.” Then he would sit down with a pile of CDs, and he would sell 20 every morning while he ate his breakfast.

Music Maker lost one of its best friends — and the world lost a uniquely gifted performer — when Adolphus died of lung cancer in 2013. But we never tire of sharing our memories of him, and that’s why we retell his story today. There were many sides to Adolphus Bell, but they all added up to a genuinely special human being. 

We embedded a film we made about Adolphus below. If you’re not acquainted with his work, it will amaze you. And if you are, your memories of Adolphus will make you smile, as they always do for us here at Music Maker.

— Tim Duffy