“These three middle aged women look more like fugitives from a Tupperware party than a typical blues band. But appearances can be deceiving, as these musicians demonstrated by tearing up the stage with their high powered, take-no-prisoners approach.”

- The Chicago Tribune

The great Muddy Waters would have been reduced to a whispered, “Yes Ma’am;” John Lee Hooker’s hard lines (on face and paper) would have softened like Crisco in a hot skillet; and B.B. King would have given Lucille the second chair. No, I’m not talking about their mothers. Think bigger, think uppity, and multiply it by three. Now imagine sweltering blues mixed with dazzling instrumentation, humor, and enough sass to liberate a sloth.

Give up? Allow me to introduce Saffire — The Uppity Blues Women, a scorching blues trio that resembles a three-headed Bessie Smith. Their newest CD, “Ain’t Gonna Hush” (Alligator Records), is a response to Big Joe Turner’s classic, “Honey Hush.” The picture on the cover boils down their intentions (musically and personally) to perfection. The three of them — Gaye Adegbalola (guitar, harmonica, vocals), Andra Faye (bass, guitar, mandolin, fiddle, vocals), and Ann Rabson (piano, vocals, guitar) — stand ruefully defiant. Each of them is armed with a bullhorn, ready to tell any silencer that muted vocals are not an option.

I craved interviews with all three, but I knew a solitary voice would still resonate like the aforementioned bullhorn. I was granted an interview with Gaye Adegbalola, one of the founding members of Saffire. In 1990, Gaye won the W.C. Handy Blues Award (a Grammy in the blues universe) for her composition, “Middle Aged Blues Boogie” from Saffire’s self-titled debut. She is also the founding member of the Blues Music Association. Whether she likes it or not (and she will never pad her own ego), Gaye is an icon for women who want to have strong footing in the male-dominated music business.

A former Virginia teacher of the year in 1982, Gaye is also a model for any woman who strives for external and internal freedoms. Her powerful song, “Blues for Sharon Bottoms” (found on “Ain’t Gonna Hush”) tells the true story of a 1993 Richmond, Va., court decision handing custody of a lesbian’s child over to her mother who brought the suit, alleging Sharon was unfit due to her sexual orientation. Even more resounding is the song “1-800-799-7233” (found on “Live and Uppity” from Alligator Records), which is the number for the domestic violence hotline.

“Last year, a guy called from Southside, Virginia,” said Gaye from her home in Virginia. “A girlfriend of his had been beaten a few times, and he had no earthly idea what to tell her. Then he remembered that song and he gave her the phone number and she was able to get help.”

Saffire’s powerful messages and presence has inspirations from blues mama, Bessie Smith, a booming diva who stood on her own during the early 20th century, a time where being a black woman was even less than the three-fifths clause.

“Bessie is a mentor to the three of us,” said Gaye. “We have varied influences, but we would all put Bessie at the top. She was strong. She was bigger than life, her music was inspirational in that it was exquisite in its delivery — jazz and blues combined. She had range, stage presence-she did it all, the total package. Her music was about empowerment long before we knew the term, and her musical content was affirming. Songs like “Ain’t Nobody’s Business What I do” commands and demands. And as Ann (Rabson) says, ‘you don’t get anymore uppity than that.’”

“The other inspiration was that she was a phenomenal businesswoman,” continued Adegbalola. “She had her own show, her own railroad (now, this was in the ‘20s, this is a black woman who had a train that took her whole show around). This was incredible to me.”

As much as Saffire thrives on their original cuts (some numbers have enough cutting precision to shave an eyebrow), they know who got them to stir the blues in the first place.

“On stage, we draw upon our foremothers a great deal, and in spirit, and oft times, in the song itself,” said Gaye. “We like to carry on (Bessie’s) legacy and acquaint audiences with who she is. A lot of the songs we do we like to say who wrote it and let the audience know if they want to get the real deal, go to x-y-z and check it out.”

Their live shows are more like an event. Set lists are tossed to the side like a warped Frisbee.

“Our shows are real different in that we have three lead singers and we rotate the vocals, and who is ever on lead vocal gets to choose what songs,” revealed Adegbalola. “We never have a set list. Since we don’t have a set list, it calls for some lack of smoothness (laughs). We don’t even know who’s going to open half the time. We’ll even do 1-2-3 shoot backstage.”

Debauchery and humor are thrown on top of the blues numbers for extra spice. Gasps from the audience are more common than a clap, and laughter is more spontaneous than an evening at the Improv. One of the most requested songs is Gaye’s number, “Silver Beaver” (reader, let your imagination run free with this one), and the powerfully reaffirming, “Big Ovaries, Baby.”

And no, they’re not afraid of their sexuality. The multi-talented Andra Faye will declare that “There’s lightening in these thunder thighs,” and their new album has a wonderful cover song called “Footprints on the Ceiling” (once again, unleash the imagination).

Sometimes, even the words are forgotten — “If we make a mistake,” they tell the audience, “we play it again louder and call it jazz.” Traces of Leadbelly and Memphis Minnie float in the stratosphere as the gals delve into numbers from the early 20th century. The pinnacle cherry is the immaculate musicianship that gushes from the stage — Rabson can melt into a boogie-woogie piano stride that would have made Fats Waller blubber; Faye has more instruments than an octopus could handle, and her booming soprano infiltrates every crevice of a music hall; and of course, Gaye, who sings and plays like she’s auditioning for the boss of the crossroads.

If Gaye did sign on the dotted line, she did it her way. Like the blues greats ahead of her, Gaye’s “her story” is fascinating and full of mental speed bumps that would have unnerved many.

Adegbalola was born in the small, segregated town of Fredericksburg, Va., in 1944. Her parents, both community leaders, were also ingrained in music. Her father, Clarence Todd, was the first black school board member in Fredericksburg and played as a part-time jazz musician. Her mother, Gladys Todd, always brought home the old records when the jukebox was changed at the Youth Canteen where she worked. Gaye’s first instrument was the flute, and she treated it like a third appendage. Her proclivity for the instrument garnered her all-state band honors (in high school) three separate years.

After her first job (sorting dirty laundry for 45 cents an hour), Gaye’s interest in the civil rights movement began.

“Music has been an integral part of the Civil Rights, and especially back in the ‘60s when I was sitting in,” she said. “Songs like [Gaye singing] ‘If you miss me from the back of the bus, and you can’t find me nowhere, come on over to the front of the bus, I’ll be driving up there.’ And songs like, of course, ‘We shall Overcome’. A lot of the rallying cry in the movement came from the music ... I distinctly remember being very scared of carrying a picket sign one day in front of a store in Fredericksburg. In my head I kept singing ‘Battle Hymn of the Republic’, and it was those songs that gave us strength.”

Gaye’s interest in the movement intensified. After college in New England (where she first picked up the guitar), she moved to New York City where she became a militant and changed her name to Adegbalola, a Nigerian name meaning, “I’m reclaiming my royalty.”

“The group I worked with started writing songs,” Gaye recalled, “and I would play guitar on the street corner in Harlem, and there would be five of us trying to catch the ear of the public. Once we had a crowd around us, then we would talk about the issues at hand. Early on, we learned that we could use music to grab people’s attention and then educate.”

Priorities of a different nature sprung up in 1969. Gaye gave birth to a son, Juno Lumumba Kahlil, and she soon found that she needed a steady income to provide for her newborn. She moved back to Fredericksburg in 1970 and began a three-fold illustrious career away from music. As the guitar sprouted cobwebs under the bed, Gaye became director of the theatre group Harambee 360. She also worked as a biochemical researcher and bacteriologist before teaching 8th grade science from 1971 through 1987, and was honored as Virginia State Teacher of the Year in 1982.

Of course, Gaye may have remained an impeccable teacher if she hadn’t heard Ann Rabson perform. Rabson, the other founding member, has the most impressive resume of the three Uppitys. A former computer analyst and guitar teacher, Rabson has had three nominations for W.C. Handy Female Artist of the Year; and her solo album, “Music Makin’ Mama” (Alligator) was nominated for W.C. Handy Album of the Year in 1997.

“In mid ‘70s, I heard Ann, and I heard her repertoire and I fell in love with the music. I followed her around, begging for lessons, and she finally relented, and we’ve been glued to the hip ever since 1978.”

As gifted as the duet was, they had to start from scratch.

“I got a call to do a solo show at the Holiday Inn, and it was too big just for me,” said Gaye. “I called up Ann, and she said, ‘I’m playing piano now too. Let’s go.’ We didn’t even own a piano at the time. We would (laughs) sneak into the college and find a practice room.”

The Holiday Inn soon found out that they were too small for Ann and Gaye.

“When we started at the Holiday Inn, we were playing Monday nights. It was one of those rooms where you could open the door and make it bigger, one room got packed and they opened up the door, and the next room would fill up and they would open that door. The next thing I knew, the three-part room was full on a Monday night.”

Saffire was officially formed in 1984 (with original bass player Erlene Lewis). Weekend gigs ensued, and the gals found they had more work than they could handle. When Rabson’s daughter graduated college in 1988, she approached the other two about doing Saffire full time. They agreed, and Saffire began touring out of the state.

However, the name, Uppity Blues Women had yet to manifest. The moniker materialized quite by accident.

“At the very beginning, in order to get money to buy equipment, we had T-shirts printed up and it said, ‘I Love Uppity Blues Women-Saffire.’ People just started calling us those Uppity Blues Women. Personally, we still called ourselves Saffire, but there was a Latino woman who had a top 40 hit and her name was ‘Sa-fire.’ Her fans were coming to our shows, and our fans were going to her shows. To avoid litigation (we had been around longer, but she was bigger), and in order to keep our name, we changed it to Saffire-Uppity Blues Women.”

The respect was almost instantaneous. Alligator Records, the granddaddy of blues labels, signed them in 1987, and the blues greats were standing in line to shower praise. Songwriting shaman Willie Dixon declared that “they knock me out,” and Saffire was soon sharing the stage with performers like Koko Taylor, B.B. King, and Ray Charles.

The final ingredient was added in 1992. Saffire was already scary good, but the addition of Andra Faye (Lewis had left the band shortly before) was akin to Ellington discovering Billy Strayhorn for the first time.

“Andra’s my heart,” affirmed Gaye. “She is just like my little sister I never had. She’s such a spirit and light that people want to be around her. She’s a phenomenal musician, and her voice is a powerful soprano. A lot of sopranos you hear are either very operatic or very thin ... and she is neither (laughs). She brings textures to the band with all the different instrumentations.”

The addition of Faye almost didn’t happen. Her reluctance to join is now an open joke with the trio.

“We met her at a blues camp in West Virginia, and we would jam all night long. We called her and asked her to be a guest on broadcasting in 1992. She was like, ‘Oh No, why don’t you call so and so!’ We said, ‘no, we heard you, we played with you, we want you!’ Reluctantly she did it. During the studio sessions, we saw how good she was. As it happened Erl left, and we were able to give her the job.”

The triumvirate has gelled to perfection, and Gaye believes that their studio albums have matured with each offering. The newest “Ain’t Gonna Hush” (the title track is actually a cover of Cordelia Demilo’s response to Big Joe Turner’s, “Honey Hush”) is Gaye’s favorite recording so far.

“We put a lot of the songs onstage before we put them on ‘Hush’,” said Gaye. “This is our tightest, and musically shows a lot of maturation as individual artists, and as a group.”

Adegbalola’s proudest moments, however, have come via her solo career. Her solo debut, “Bitter Sweet Blues,” is quite different from her Saffire recordings. She had an outside producer in blues great Rory Block. She cut the album and several of the songs were done with an electric band (a first considering Saffire is all acoustic), as well as a few a capella cuts.

“Another thing that’s different from Saffire is that I’m able to tell my story from A-Z,” said Gaye, “and every song that relates to me personally. I like to say it’s audio-biographical.”

It was also the first time that Gaye was able to express her sexuality fully.

“I was out of the closet, but not out of the house. This (album) was about opening the door a little wider. It was not discussed. It was there and it was known. I didn’t really try to hide it, but I didn’t say it either. It was very hard when I was teaching school.”

“When we went into an advertising plan,” Gaye continued, “we took it to the gay and lesbian audiences, and I was real pleased because it garnered a nomination from the Gay and Lesbian Music Awards, GLAMA, for debut album of the year. It was a thrill to have that kind of acceptance and embracing from that organization.”

For now, though, Gaye is snug in her surroundings with Saffire. Their tour was to commence the day after I talked to her, and she seemed titillated by the prospect of being on the road. Wherever they go, Saffire seems to attract fans from all shades of the woodwork, and their inspiration is a religion to many.

“Yesterday I got a letter from a group called Olympia’s Daughters,” said Adegbalola as she looked for the letter on her desk. “They are from New Jersey — they are a 20-voice acapella woman’s choir. The note says we sing for the healing, and empowerment of our listeners and ourselves.”

Their favorite Saffire song? “Big Ovaries, Baby.”

Robert Johnson, wherever you are, I know you’re sweating.

(Hunter Pope writes about entertainment for The Smoky Mountain News. He can be reached at w.h.pope@worldnet.att.net)