Broadway babe turned blues teen with a bottle on her flipping-off finger, she lived fast ’til Prince put her right. Now, at 72, she sees clearer than ever. “John Lee Hooker was so cool at this age,” says Bonnie Raitt.

Interview by BOB MEHR

Portrait by MARINA CHAVEZ

ASK BONNIE RAITT ABOUT HER FIRST couple of albums – landmark records on many levels, not least for a white woman playing the blues – and she cringes.

“It sounds like I’m so young! I hated my voice. That’s probably why I drank. I was tr ying to smoke and drink to get my voice lower.”

At 72, looking back over a 50-year career, Raitt concedes that she grew into the role. On this afternoon, as late winter light streams through the windows of her northern California office, catching the corona of those famous red locks, she crackles with excitement as she reels off the current demands on her time: rehearsals for a first tour since 2019 and preparations for the release of her eighteenth album, Just Like That.

“It’s been nonstop,” she says. “When I get on the road I’ll have a break.”

Raitt was born in Los Angeles in 1949, the middle child of Broadway star John Raitt and pianist Marjorie Haydock, left-leaning Quakers who emphasised hard work and social responsibility over showbiz glitz. But rather than follow her family into musical theatre, Raitt found her passion in the blues, literally sitting at the feet of the old masters, Son House and Muddy Waters, Mance Lipscomb and Howlin’ Wolf. When she scored a surprise deal with Warner Brothers at the age of 21, Raitt –a gifted singer and slide guitarist – used her platform to champion her mentors, among them rediscovered 1920s blueswoman Sippie Wallace and bottleneck guitar guru Fred McDowell.

“That was a privilege,” she says today. “To be able to honour the people who hadn’t been paid right or give them more exposure.”

Real fame and success also found Raitt later, in her early forties, with the release of 1989’s Nick Of Time. She was hoping at best for a modest comeback after a fallow decade marked by substance abuse, label woes and dwindling record sales. Instead, it sold five million copies and earned multiple Grammys. Raitt’s 1991 follow-up, Luck Of The Draw, would outstrip it, selling 12 million copies worldwide. Her subsequent albums have set successive benchmarks in quality: top-end songs, mostly covers but many of her own, defined by Raitt’s forthright singing and eloquent slide guitar playing.

While Raitt admits a desire to be one of the boys has led her down some darker paths, Just Like That will be accompanied by a long run of shows with Mavis Staples and Lucinda Williams. Informally, they’re calling it the ‘Mighty Tight Women Tour’ after an old Sippie Wallace song.

“To say that I’m ready to go is an understatement,” enthuses Raitt, as she settles in to consider the unlikely journey that’s brought her to this point. “I’m usually always pushing for ward, but this feels like a good moment to look back.”

You were brought up in a very musical environment. What are the first things that you remember hearing?

My dad was on Broadway at the time when I was little. My mom was his accompanist so there was a lot of warming up and rehearsing going on. My parents would listen to Ella Fitzgerald, Tony Bennett and Frank Sinatra records. And my grandfather was a Methodist minister – he played hymns on Hawaiian lap steel guitar. He showed me how to make the chords by just moving the bar across the neck, tuned in open tuning. I thought it was so cool.