An interracial blues duo born in 1980s Harlem was a symbol of harmony in a tense time. But times have changed.

By Alex Vadukul

“I can’t believe how many white people are in Harlem now,” Adam Gussow said. He was strolling around the neighborhood, marveling at how much the place had changed since he was a Columbia University grad-school dropout in the 1980s. “I was the only white guy in Harlem at the time. I just saw a white guy jogging. You never used to see that.”

But he was more than an interloper in Harlem all those years ago. He was the harmonica player in a blues duo called Satan & Adam that started off playing on the sidewalk of 125th Street and then went on to tour the country, make a record that charted, and even appear briefly on a U2 album.

“Back then,” he said, “everyone used to tell me, ‘Don’t go to Harlem.’ I would say, ‘Why not?’”

It was in Harlem that he met Sterling Magee, the guitarist he would play with for the next 12 years. Mr. Gussow was in town for the New York premiere of a documentary about the band. The movie, “Satan & Adam,” opened in theaters last month, and it starts streaming on Netflix early this summer.

“I feel like Rip Van Winkle. I’ve finally woken up, and now everything is different.” He turned reflective: “I wonder if anyone still remembers Sterling.”

Long before Mr. Gussow’s arrival in Harlem, Sterling Magee had been a neighborhood eccentric who called himself “Mr. Satan.” He was the bluesman of 125th Street, wailing on electric guitar, singing soulfully, and stamping out a rhythm with a pair of high-hat cymbals. He had a Moses-like beard, and rumor was he used to play in the bands of Ray Charles and Etta James and had performed with James Brown at the Apollo.

As the story goes, Mr. Gussow was getting over a bad breakup, and he wandered up into Harlem one day and encountered Mr. Magee. Feeling the blues in his bones, Mr. Gussow took out his harmonica and started jamming with him. Passers-by were riveted by the unlikely pair, and Mr. Magee’s tip jar filled up quickly, so he said Mr. Gussow could come back.

Racial tensions in the winter of 1986 were boiling over in New York in the wake of the Howard Beach attacks and the massive protests that followed. The duo’s image of musical harmony was soon picked up by the media, and they became a local news sensation. They played Central Park SummerStage, appeared on U2’s “Rattle and Hum” album, toured with Bo Diddley, and performed at the New Orleans jazz festival.

“They were playing the kind of Chicago blues I don’t think anyone was playing anymore much less in New York,” said David Fricke, a writer for Rolling Stone. “Here was this guy who did his time in the trenches, and this other guy who could play in that school and galvanize him.” He added, “The fact that they united at a time of racial tension is something important that should be paid mind, but if they sucked, no one would have cared.”

Mr. Gussow is now 61 and lives in Oxford, Miss. He received his Ph.D. from Princeton and he teaches English and Southern studies at the University of Mississippi. After his flight into town for the premiere, he was eager to retrace his footsteps in Harlem. Mr. Magee did not make the trip. He is now 82 and lives in a nursing home in Gulfport, Fla. He doesn’t play the guitar much anymore and his thoughts about the documentary were scattered during a phone interview last month.

“I’m still Mr. Satan,” he said. “I’m Mr. Satan all the way. There’s no explanation. I am truly Satan. The message I’m giving is the truth, and the truth shall set me free.”

I asked if he liked the documentary. After some silence, his caretaker spoke.

“We’ve shown it three times here,” he said, addressing Mr. Magee. “Your family saw it at a big showing. Then here at Boca Ciega. Don’t you remember all the fan mail, Sterling?”

I asked about Harlem.

“I miss Harlem,” he said. “My music reflects the energy of Harlem because it is my home and she was pretty. Maybe Harlem has changed but I haven’t.”

The tale of two musicians from different walks of life is the familiar heart of the documentary, but as a roiling national conversation about race is taking place in 2019, it’s hard not to wonder how their story fits into New York today. In the film, the Rev. Al Sharpton, who rose to prominence as the organizer of the Howard Beach protests that winter of 1986, considers as much. “To see two people that came from two diametrically opposite existences in the streets of Harlem,” he said, “even if it violates tribal code, takes a lot of self-confidence, a lot of courage, or a lot of ignorance to the environment that you’re in.”

The documentary focuses heavily on the myth of Sterling Magee. Born in 1936 in Mount Olive, Miss., he grew up attending a Baptist church and worrying his mother when he discovered the blues. He served as a paratrooper in Germany before recording hits for Ray Charles’s Tangerine label in the 1960s. In the 1980s, he radically reinvented himself in Harlem as Mr. Satan. Eventually, Mr. Magee suffers a nervous breakdown and disappears and is later found by the filmmakers living in Florida.

Mr. Gussow’s origins receive less screen time. Born in 1958 and raised in Congers, N.Y., Mr. Gussow’s father, Alan, was a celebrated landscape painter, and his mother, Joan, is an influential nutritionist who The Times once called the “matriarch of the eat-locally-think-globally food movement.” A 2010 article in the Home section of The Times visited his mother’s house overlooking the Hudson River, and his uncle, Mel, was a theater critic for The Times. He discovered the harmonica in his teens and he dropped out of graduate school in his 20s to busk on the streets of Paris.

“It’s funny, I think about my class position now sometimes in regards to all this,” Mr. Gussow said. “My parents had no money. We grew up poor in a big house. My grandfather was Lithuanian and grew up dirt poor.” His grandfather, he said, later founded a successful publishing company that printed trade magazines. “I had rich grandparents. But they never gave us any money. They lived in Sutton Place, but the world of Saks Fifth Avenue was not my world. I grew up raising chickens.

“The first time I ever felt class was at school,” he continued. “All the kids would go on ski vacations, and my parents got me oversize ski shoes. I’m not complaining, but that’s when I got my first real sense of class. I had a real chip on my shoulder after that because I realized there was this whole world of privilege I didn’t know about. I went to Princeton, but I also cleaned bathrooms at Princeton.”

He added: “Sterling was colorblind to me. I needed mentoring, and he provided that.”

In 2019, this kind of racial imbalance is seen in a much less forgiving light. But Mr. Magee said such comparisons fatigued him. “When we get together, I’m Mr. Satan and he’s Mr. Gussow,” he said. “I want to put the message out that Mr. Satan is in love with this person, and that I don’t give a damn about all that stuff.”

Some might say Mr. Gussow has grappled with the blues, its appropriation, and privilege in his work as a scholar. In 1995, he wrote an essay for Harper’s Magazine about his experiences with Mr. Magee, and he later published a memoir, “Mister Satan’s Apprentice.” At the University of Mississippi, according to his faculty page, he has taught courses like “The Blues Tradition in American Literature” and “Cotton, Slavery, Travel, and the Blues.”

V. Scott Balcerek, the film’s director, started documenting the duo in the 1990s. “I guess it always occurred to me Adam might be considered problematic even when I first met him, but I knew his heart was in the right place and that’s what mattered,” he said. As the documentary tours the festival circuit, he said, he’s gotten a few critiques of “white lens,” but he added, “It’s honestly only white people who bring it up.”

As the afternoon progressed, Mr. Gussow stopped at a patch of sidewalk on 125th Street. It was his old busking spot with Mr. Magee. But the block was unrecognizable to him, and so he moved along to Mr. Magee’s old apartment building. No one there remembered much. Mr. Magee’s favorite stoop, where he displayed his street art, had become part of a hotel. But at Paris Blues, the dive bar on Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard, Samuel J. Hargress Jr., its owner, remembered the duo and was pleased to see Mr. Gussow. “Yes, I remember a good-looking white boy who played the harp,” he said.

Mr. Hargress, 83, stepped outside in his three-piece suit and pointed to where Mr. Magee used to hang out. He opened the bar in 1969, and he said that Harlem’s gentrification has been good for him. Business is lively and his building’s property value keeps rising.

“I stayed in Harlem because I couldn’t leave,” he said. “I never thought any of this would end up happening.”

“It’s like winning the lottery,” Mr. Gussow said.

Mr. Hargress then gestured proudly to his bar’s live music schedule.

“Got some rich white boys playing here tonight in fact,” he said.

Alex Vadukul is a city correspondent for The New York Times. He writes for Metropolitan and is a two-time winner of the New York Press Club award for city writing. @alexvadukul

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