By Brian Turk
By Drew AIles
By Taylor Boylston
By Bree Davies
By Emerald O'Brien
By Gina Tron
By Jon Solomon
To elaborate: The two albums Harris has made for the Alligator imprint--1995's Between Midnight and Day and the just-released Fish Ain't Bitin'--have precious little in common with the kind of music you can hear in most Colorado nightspots. His blues is a deeply felt take on the styles that have echoed from the Mississippi Delta region throughout this century, and while his place of birth might cause doubters to call his authenticity into question, the discs themselves effectively quash any complaints. Give them a spin, and before long, you won't care about Harris's origins. You'll simply be glad he's around.
Now in his late twenties, Harris calls New Orleans home these days, but he spent the majority of his life in eastern Colorado. He was born at St. Joseph's Hospital and lived "near the Points," as he puts it, as an infant. His family was located in Greeley for a time, but between the ages of six and eighteen, he resided in Littleton, a part of the metro area not known for its melting-pot demographic. "I never felt like I belonged there, and a lot of the time I was made to feel that I didn't belong," concedes this graduate of Arapahoe High School. "But that's a given--that's often the truth of race relations in this country. And thankfully, I had my family. So really, it was good to be there."
So how on earth did a kid from Littleton get turned on to the Delta blues? It was easy, Harris insists. "I heard the blues at house parties and family gatherings from when I was little," he says. "The people I grew up around were all from the South. No one was from Denver; they all moved there for jobs. And wherever people move, they tend to carry what they were doing and what they liked with them.
"When you look at it that way, it really doesn't make much sense when people are surprised that I come from Denver. I mean, Jimi Hendrix came from Seattle. Taj Mahal came from Massachusetts. There's an old saying: The roots of a tree cast no shadow. Well, everyone has roots, and they come out in the creations that they make."
Harris's mother, a retired schoolteacher who for the most part raised Corey and his sister on her own, had wide-ranging musical tastes; among the records he grew up hearing were ones by Mahalia Jackson, Duke Ellington, Cannonball Adderly, Paul Robeson and Otis Redding. But it was the blues that Harris gravitated toward--particularly the music of Lightnin' Hopkins, which he discovered when he was twelve. "He was the first guy who made me say, 'Man, this is it,'" Harris notes. "It was amazing the sounds that he could make all by himself. And what made it even better was that he was doing it in only two keys--and sometimes in one key. He really worked it. He didn't need to be technical about it; he just blew you away."
Despite this reaction, Harris took some time to commit himself to the blues. His first instrument was the trumpet, which he played during the years he spent at Isaac Newton Junior High. "I was in the marching band, and we were good--state champs," he boasts. "But I got tired of the trumpet, maybe because I didn't think it was as cool as the guitar. The guitar was the thing for me, so I switched." After mastering the rudiments of his latest ax, he formed a band he declines to name. "I guess you could call what we played pop," he allows, "but I really don't know what it was. It had a kind of rhythm, but it wasn't very good."
Still, this experience wasn't negative enough to make Harris turn away from music. After the group broke up, he continued to write his own songs and poetry even as he threw himself into other challenges. Following his graduation from Arapahoe High, he enrolled at Bates College in Maine, where he earned a bachelor's degree in anthropology. A grant subsequently paid his way to Cameroon, where he studied a form of pidgin language that contains elements of English, Portuguese and numerous African tongues. (In addition to that and English, Harris speaks four other languages.) His guitar accompanied him on his travels, and he remembers fondly the experience of playing alongside African musicians.
Such impromptu gigs helped Harris solidify in his mind the roots of the blues idiom. While he is intrigued by such arcana, he does his best to prevent his songs from seeming academic. He insists that he's a musician, not a musicologist. As he puts it, "I think blues is a feeling and a mystery--and to think that you can approach it, or the knowledge of it, through scholarship is silly. It's something you have to feel and know, which is why I've never really wanted to turn it into a scholarly type of pursuit the way some people do."