If you’re an ardent fan of blues music, you’re well aware of John Mayall. If you like the blues but don’t know much about its best practitioners, it’s important for you to know more about the pivotal role Mayall played in keeping the genre alive and popular through the many decades of his long career.

Mayall, who died this week at the ripe old age of 90, did nearly as much for the proliferation of blues music as did the early pioneers who first wrote and played the blues back in the ’20s, ’30s and ’40s in the rural American South.

He had a well-earned reputation as a mentor and talent spotter of some of the more iconic names in British rock. Between 1965 and 2019, nearly a hundred different musicians have recorded with Mayall on more than 70 albums he released as a solo artist or under the name of his erstwhile band brand, The Bluesbreakers. Alumni include guitarist luminaries like Eric Clapton, Mick Taylor, Peter Green, Harvey Mandel, Rick Vito and Coco Montoya; drummers Mick Fleetwood, Aynsley Dunbar and Jon Hiseman; bassists John McVie, Jack Bruce, Larry Taylor and Andy Fraser; and sax greats Ernie Watts and James Holloway.

My introduction to Mayall came in 1969 when a friend turned me on to “John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers With Eric Clapton,” a 1966 album of extraordinary blues tracks brimming with instrumental and vocal prowess from Clapton and Mayall. At 14, I had already become a huge fan of Clapton through his incendiary work with Cream, but here was where I marveled at the talent he showed in his formative years as both a soloist and accompanist to Mayall on original songs (“Little Girl,” “Double Crossing Time,” “Have You Heard”) and classic covers (“All Your Love,” “Hideaway,” “Ramblin On My Mind”).

Mayall was a Brit from the Manchester area who was inspired by the Chicago and Mississippi blues records his father collected in the 1950s, rapidly becoming obsessed with the structure, emotion and appeal of blues music. Mayall developed a distinctive songwriting style that was both heavily indebted to an American art form and somehow still uniquely British. Mayall played piano, harmonica and guitar, and sang the blues with uncanny authenticity, sparking widespread interest in the blues among British musicians and listeners. They in turn triggered a ’60s blues revival in the US, as listeners who had been unfamiliar with the likes of homegrown blues talents like Freddie King, Otis Rush and Robert Johnson were snatching up albums by British blues-rock bands like the early Rolling Stones, The Animals and The Yardbirds.

Rather than limiting himself to traditional blues themes like unfaithful women or bad luck, Mayall distinguished himself by writing about the world around him. On “Nature’s Disappearing,” from 1970, he tackled pollution; on “Plan Your Revolution,” another track from that year, he sang about constructive political and social change. More recently, on “World Gone Crazy,” he explored the relationship between religious conflict and war. “Blues musicians ought to be singing songs about their own lives,” he said in 2014. “A lot of borrowing goes on in the blues, but it’s not just a matter of copying other people. You’ve got to think about representing your own life in the music. Blues has always been about that raw honesty with which it expresses our experiences in life, something which all comes together not only in the lyrics but the music as well.”

Though Mayall never approached the fame of some of his illustrious alumni — he was still performing in his late 80s, pounding out his version of Chicago blues — he wasn’t shy about expressing his disappointment about being eclipsed by his former mates. “I’ve never had a hit record, I never won a Grammy Award, and Rolling Stone has never done a piece about me,” he said in 2010. “I’m basically still an underground performer to most of the public. But I guess it’s just a part of my history. It really sums up the period of my life when I was in London. There was such a swift turnover of musicians at the time. All of them were just young guys who were just trying to find their feet, and I was able to help them along.”

Following Clapton’s departure in 1966, Peter Green became the focus for the next Bluesbreakers LP, “A Hard Road,” but he too left to form Fleetwood Mac, and Mick Taylor assumed guitar duties for “Crusade.” But by 1968, Mayall found himself drawn to America, specifically Los Angeles, where he bought a house in Laurel Canyon and ended up living in the area for the rest of his life. He cast aside the Bluebreakers moniker for a spell, instead releasing solo efforts like “Blues From Laurel Canyon” and the popular live LP “The Turning Point,” which went gold and put Mayall in the Top 40 of the US albums chart with its compelling harmonica workout, “Room to Move.”

Mayall continued to experiment, recording his next album, 1970’s “USA Union,” with a new drummer-less band that included ex-Mothers Of Invention violinist Don “Sugarcane” Harris, which became his highest-charting album in America, reaching number 22 in the Billboard 200. For his follow-up, a sprawling 1971 double LP called “Back to the Roots,” he surprised fans by reuniting with Clapton and Taylor; it was the first in a series of line-up changes during his career in America, which gave Mayall an air of unpredictability. “My record label – Polydor at the time – asked me for new albums every few months, it seemed,” he explained in his autobiography. “To achieve this, I needed to keep the music fresh, and that meant rebuilding my line-up from time to time.”

Over the next four decades, Mayall continued to explore his love for the blues in a variety of different contexts. After taking a funkier direction in the late 1970s, he reverted back to blues rock in the 1980s, then revived the Bluesbreakers with the vital 1988 LP “Chicago Line.” In the ’90s, he even reunited with old friends like blues virtuoso John Lee Hooker on the album “Padlock on the Blues,” released just a year before Hooker’s death.

Fleetwood, one of many British musicians who owe a musical debt to Mayall, recalled his early encounters with him. “When you went around to John Mayall’s house, it was a shrine to the blues,” Fleetwood said. “He’d sit you down, almost like a school teacher, and he’d bring out this vinyl.” In the wake of Mayall’s death this week, Fleetwood added, “He created a platform, a stage, for musicians — me being one of them — that mustn’t be forgotten. John’s legacy is that he has been true to his schooling as a blues player. He has never compromised that, and he has never pretended to be anything other than that. He has stuck to his guns, and he has placed his love of the blues above anything else.”

It seems unfair that Mayall isn’t in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and almost cruel that his long-overdue induction in the Musical Influences category isn’t coming until three months after his death when he’ll be so honored in October.

It was a difficult task, but I cobbled together a playlist of some of Mayall’s finest moments under the Bluesbreakers tent and on his own. He has so much great material in his catalog that I could’ve easily doubled the length of this list and not suffered any in quality.

R.I.P., Mr. Mayall. Do yourself a favor, dear readers, and dive into the sturdy blues recordings of this unquestioned titan of British blues.

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About a year ago, I wrote a tribute to a brilliant musician who passed away named David Lindley, a multi-instrumentalist who appeared on dozens of popular albums in the ’70s and ’80s. He was widely respected among other musicians, and his performances made a substantial difference on many records known far and wide among the listening public, even if they didn’t recognize his name nor know much about him.

This week, once again I have the task of writing a tribute to another extraordinary musician — the superlative sax player David Sanborn — who passed away May 12 of prostate cancer at age 78. Like Lindley, Sanborn’s name may not be widely known to the public at large, but much of his work will be instantly familiar once you realize he was the guy responsible for so many brilliant alto sax solos on hit singles and deeper tracks alike.

So that you fully appreciate Sanborn’s oeuvre and the contributions he made during his 50 years in the business, I strongly urge you to immediately start the Spotify playlist I assembled that will demonstrate how often you’ve heard and admired his work without even knowing who it was.

Big hits by David Bowie, James Taylor, Linda Ronstadt, Carly Simon, Kenny Loggins, Pure Prairie League and Steely Dan were all made more memorable by Sanborn’s delicious sax solos. Same goes for album tracks by The Eagles, Stevie Wonder, Bryan Ferry, Michael Stanley, J.D. Souther, Elton John, Bonnie Raitt, Karla Bonoff and Phoebe Snow, on which his solos are prominently featured. His credits also include appearances on albums by Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, The Rolling Stones, Paul Simon, Toto, Roger Waters, Todd Rundgren, Little Feat, Roger Daltrey, Shawn Colvin and dozens more.

And that’s just among notable pop stars of the ’70s and ’80s. Sanborn also played sax with major blues artists like Paul Butterfield, Mose Allison, Robert Cray and Eric Clapton; R&B icons like James Brown; and leading jazz musicians such as George Benson, Michael and Randy Brecker, Bob James, Maynard Ferguson, Michael Franks, Al Jarreau and Gil Evans.

Somehow, concurrently with all these guest appearances on albums, Sanborn maintained a prolific solo career, releasing 25 albums of his own over a 40-year stretch between 1975 and 2018. Twice he won Grammy awards for Best Contemporary Jazz Album (“Voyeur” in 1981 and “Double Vision” in 1987) and four other Grammys as well.

There’s more: He spent a few years as a member of Paul Shaffer’s band on “Late Night With David Letterman” in the 1980s; co-hosted with Jools Holland a syndicated jazz-oriented TV show called “Night Music” in 1989-1990; and co-wrote orchestral, jazz and blues soundtrack music for the “Lethal Weapon” movies in the ’80s and ’90s. More recently, he hosted jazz radio programs and podcasts.

“The loss of David Sanborn has deeply saddened me,” said Bob James, the jazz pianist who collaborated many times with Sanborn. “I was so privileged to share major highlights of my career in partnership with him. His legacy will live on through the recordings. Every note he played came straight from his heart, with a passionate intensity that could make an ordinary tune extraordinary.”

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Born in Tampa and raised outside St. Louis, Sanborn began his lifelong relationship with the alto sax by way of a medical recommendation. He had contracted polio at age 3, which had long-term effects on his growth. When his musically inclined parents started him on piano lessons at age 9, his doctor suggested the boy switch to a woodwind instrument as a way to strengthen his weakened chest muscles and improved his lung capacity.

He took to it quickly, learning the alto, tenor and soprano sax and flute, and became a passionate devotee of both jazz and blues. He was only 14 when, thanks to a referral from family friend Hank Crawford, who played alto sax in Ray Charles’s band, Sanborn performed with blues musicians Albert King and Little Milton. By the age of 22, he was invited to join The Paul Butterfield Blues Band, where he remained as an active member for four years, including their performance at Woodstock in 1969.

He broke into contemporary pop/rock/soul in 1972 on sessions for Stevie Wonder’s “Talking Book” album, and then Todd Rundgren’s “A Wizard, A True Star” in 1973. By 1975, his sax solos were all over the Top Ten on hits like David Bowie’s “Young Americans” and James Taylor’s “How Sweet It Is To Be Loved By You.” Both of these turned into TV performances and touring opportunities for Sanborn.

He became an active participant in the jazz fusion scene at that point, teaming up with the Brecker brothers on his solo debut “Taking Off,” which jump-started his recording career. Although he won accolades as a reliable practitioner of the genre known as smooth jazz, he never warmed to that description of his musical oeuvre. “Not everything I play is smooth,” he chuckled during a 1988 interview. “I think it’s more accurate to say I enjoy many different musical styles.”

Indeed. Some of his solo work was more experimental and freeform, some vibrant and exhilarating, and some mellow and soothing. It was that versatility that made him so influential and in demand among artists ranging from Ian Hunter and Dr. John to Aretha Franklin and John McLaughlin.

“The ‘Sanborn’ sound is more of an extreme sound tone-wise,” the saxophonist and educator Steve Neff wrote on his blog in 2012. “It’s very raw, bright, edgy and tough sounding. It’s right in your face. What Michael Brecker did for the tenor sound, Sanborn did for the alto sound. It’s not a middle-of-the-road thing at all.”

He and James were the toast of the town in 1987 when their collaborative work “Double Vision” won a Grammy, with the opening track “Maputo” gaining a modest amount of airplay.

Among his more notable LPS was 2008’s “Here & Gone,” a tribute to Ray Charles and his musical influences. “That music was everything to me,” Sanborn said. “It kind of combined jazz, gospel, and rhythm and blues. It wasn’t any one of those things, but it was all of them kind of mixed together, and that, to me, is the essence of American music.”

Ahmir Thompson, the drummer/producer/music journalist known professionally as Questlove, recalled performing with Sanborn in Aspen, Colorado, in the early 2000s. “Doing concerts at a 6,000-foot altitude is a nightmare for many musicians. You have to acclimate your system to having less oxygen, and some cats can only play at a level 5 or 6 under those conditions. Many need a break during their sets to hit the oxygen tank backstage. I know I did. But even though (Sanborn) had dealt with diminished lung capacity all his life, he laughed and playfully scoffed, ‘I always play at a level 10. Speak for yourselves!’ He told me that since being diagnosed with cancer, he got a renewed vigor, and played like his life depended on it.”

Although he found touring to be challenging due to his declining health, he continued going out on the road regularly over the past 20 years. He was still doing upwards of 150 gigs a year as recently as 2017, mostly in Asia, Africa and Europe, where jazz has a wider appeal. As he told The New York Times, “I still want to play, and if you want to play for an audience, you’ve got to go where the audience is.”

Sanborn is survived his wife, Alice Soyer Sanborn, a pianist, vocalist and composer; his son, Jonathan; two granddaughters; and his sisters, Sallie and Barb Sanborn.

An obituary in The Guardian this week opened by saying, “So distinctive was the soaring, heart-piercing sound of David Sanborn’s alto saxophone, and yet so comprehensive in its instant evocation of the spirit of a certain essence of US popular music, that it became familiar to many millions who knew nothing of the jazz world from which it had emerged.”

This week, I have been listening to classic ’70s tracks like Michael Stanley’s “Let’s Get the Show on the Road,” Carly Simon’s “You Belong to Me,” “Michael Frank’s “Jive” and James Taylor’s “You Make It Easy” just to marinate in Sanborn’s luscious sax work. I suggest you do the same.

Rest In Peace, good sir. Your musical reputation is intact.