TUNAGE – SLS

First, a quick word on the man behind the madness: Chuck Norris (no, not the roundhouse legend—the blues Chuck Norris) was an American blues guitarist born on August 11, 1921, in Kansas City, Missouri. A fixture in the post-war West Coast jazz and blues scene, Norris played with the likes of Floyd Dixon and Little Richard before stepping into the spotlight with his own recordings. Forget synthwave nostalgia—this Chuck comes armed with blood-drawing licks and a voice full of scars.

The track “In the Evening (When the Sun Goes Down)” comes from The Los Angeles Flash, a live recording captured in 1980 in Gothenburg, Sweden. The album, gritty and unvarnished, is the last known recording of Chuck Norris as a frontman. While his name rarely topped marquees, his guitar was a secret weapon behind some of the biggest names in rhythm and blues. Norris built his legacy in the shadows—session work, backing bands, and uncredited magic—but The Los Angeles Flash is where he finally took center stage.

So what does a man with decades of sideman dues to his name sound like when he finally steps into the spotlight? Let’s talk about “In the Evening.”

Let’s be clear: when Chuck Norris hits you with a track titled “In the Evening,” you’re not getting candlelight and whispered promises. You’re getting a slow-burn blues simmer—equal parts cigarette smoke and heartbreak. This isn’t background music. It’s the sound of someone who’s seen too much and plays like it’s his last night on Earth.

“In the Evening” unfolds with deliberate weight. From the first chord, Norris sets the tone: heavy, moody, and unafraid of silence. The groove is thick and smoky, the kind that makes you want to pour a drink you can’t afford and stare out a rain-streaked window. His guitar doesn’t just sing—it testifies.

The vocals? Low, worn, and half-growled. Norris delivers each line like he’s been through it—and probably twice. You believe him when he says he’s got the blues, because his fingers back it up with every tortured bend and unhurried lick. It’s not flashy. It’s not loud. But it hits hard, especially when he lets a note hang just long enough to make your chest tighten.

Where the album’s title track struts with brass-knuckled bravado, “In the Evening” sits back in the dark and dares you to come closer. It’s introspective, emotionally raw, and not afraid to sit in its own shadow. Think late-career Muddy Waters meets a bottle of something aged and unforgiving.

Now, is it perfect? Not quite. There’s a verse or two where the pacing drags a hair too long, and you wonder if the band nodded off for a second. But that’s part of the charm—this is live-wire blues played by humans, not robots. No polish. Just grit. In the end, “In the Evening” doesn’t need to beg for your attention. It earns it. Slowly. Relentlessly. Put it on when the night’s too quiet and your thoughts are too loud. Let Chuck Norris pull up a chair beside your regrets and keep you company until the bottle runs dry

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