By the early 1950s record companies were scouring the South for talent but few of the musicians they found went on to have full-blown recording careers. Many featured here made a handful of records and some are represented by the only record to their name. In the succeeding decades much has come to light that was thought lost or not worthy of preservation. Some sides have attained mythical status. This reflected the large-scale disappearance of the juke joint itself. Life has moved on. Hard physical work has been replaced by machinery, so weekends of drink-fuelled indulgence are no longer righteous. But, man they did have fun. Multi-instrumentalist Howard Armstrong, spent many nights in juke joints as a young man. A jook (as it was properly termed) was a place that opened it's doors, you might say, to all comers. It was no place for snobs and what we black people call 'saditty' people. I know the first ones I played in, they had a wick stuck in a Coca-Cola bottle with oil, coal oil or kerosene hanging around on the walls or even out on the trees, a line near the trees for light. Nobody wanted a lot of light in the first place. Every strata of society would be rubbing elbows or whatever part of their anatomy they were rubbing on that dance floor. Some guy might be dressed in his old plough clothes and brogan shoes. And maybe one of the good reverends was there on a little they sneaked away with one of the choir sisters. They were all on common ground. And everybody seem to have a good time. By popular demand, here's another generous serving of the solidest sounds you're ever likely to stomp to.