With his gigs on hiatus, bluesman Cornbread Harris still feels he’s ‘a blessed dude’
James “Cornbread” Harris at his North Minneapolis home. Photo by David Pierini
By David Pierini Staff Reporter
When James “Cornbread” Harris sings the song that gave him his nickname, he holds the final note for as long as he can to rising hoots, hollers and applause from a nightclub audience.
Harris pushes the note out with a Herculean breath from lungs that are 93 years of age. But when he last gave the note its heavy lift, Harris received a single “Wow! “ over the telephone.
His typically active gig calendar is now idle as nightclubs and other public spaces remain closed due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Like the final note in his signature song Cornbread, Harris says he feels like he is “going down slow.”
“I hear everything else will come back first before the pleasure of sitting and listening to music,” the Northside blues man said. “That’s my mainstay, that was my living. I’m on social security, but it’s not much.”
His status as a local music legend meant he could count on relatively steady work before the coronavirus forced life to a standstill. He had a schedule of two to four gigs each week. He was booked Friday nights at the Loring Pasta Bar, Sundays at the Grand Cafe, and an average of two appearances per month at clubs like Hell’s Kitchen and Icehouse.
A birthday bash performance at the Hook and Ladder Theater & Lounge for April 23 was canceled.
There were also steady pop-up jobs at senior centers, bar mitzvahs, weddings and fundraisers.
Harris during a 2018 performance for seniors in the adult daycare at the Cora McCorvey Health and Wellness Center. Photo by David Pierini
A friend drove him to the bank this week and it was relief enough to learn he remains above water, though “the water is up to my nose,” he said. He awaits his government stimulus check and is in the process of filing for relief available to independent contractors.
Since the closures, he has played a small concert for four people in his home. He has also put his phone on the top of his piano to play for fans who call with requests. On a call this week, he worried about losing stamina for holding the last note in Cornbread. “Do you have a stopwatch?” he asked. “Time me. Now put your earplugs in.”
The note stayed aloft for more than 30 seconds.
“I’m a blessed dude,” said Harris with a broad smile. “I can call people up and make their day. People have come by with cards and notes and food. I’m still eating cupcakes from my birthday. My fridge is stocked.”
“The Lord gave me a talent, helped me develop it and then let me take credit. The people I play for know I’m down and they’ve been looking after me making sure I’m OK. Yeah, I’m a blessed dude,” he said.
Among the friends who check in with Harris is Susan Breedlove, a retired history teacher who lives a few blocks from him.
They have been friends for 15 years, but Breedlove said she has known Harris longer because her son, now 37, took piano lessons from Harris at the Capri Theater when he was 5.
This week, she called Harris to tell him she had bought lemons. He knew instantly that a lemon meringue pie would soon come his way.
“Despite the challenges he has had, the conversation with him is always upbeat and very enriched,” she said. “The thing he talks about the most is how he misses the people and those connections.”