Little Walter Jacobs was a serviceable singer, but when he lifted a harmonica to his mouth, the sound he made cut the noise of crowded clubs with the authority of an angel’s trumpet. Or maybe saxophone. His earliest blues hits — recordings like his signature instrumental, " Juke " ; the rocking " Mellow Down Easy " ; the Willie Dixon–penned " My Babe " ; and the heartbroken " Last Night " — left both horn and harmonica instrumentalists of the early 1950s wondering just what the hell he was playing. Often his harp was mistaken for a sax, because a harmonica had never produced a tone like his before, full of bold and gently sculpted notes, bent with the delicacy and sweetness of thin strands of licorice.

Little Walter wasn’t the first to play harmonica through an amplifier. He was simply the best, from his first recordings with Muddy Waters’ band in 1950 until his dissipation and untimely death at age 37 on February 15, 1968. Today only a very few torchbearers can reach the same incendiary peaks on the instrument — most notably Kim Wilson, Charlie Musselwhite, and Jerry Portnoy.

It’s in describing Little Walter’s music and putting it in the context of his times that the often stiffly written new biography Blues with a Feeling succeeds best. Which is no surprise given the background of its three authors. Tony Glover has been a professional harmonica player since 1962. Part of the influential folk-blues trio Koerner, Ray & Glover, he’s also the author of one of the most popular guides to playing blues harp. Ward Gaines is likewise a musician and blues researcher, and Scott Dirks has been a blues journalist, radio host, record producer, and musician for 20 years.

One of the best passages in Blues with a Feeling provides a thoughtful, informed analysis of Little Walter’s approach. " Influenced as much by horn players as by other harmonica players, and as much by jazz as he was by blues, Little Walter freed the harmonica of [its] customary, if self-imposed, restrictions for the first time, " the authors write. They go on to describe his behind-the-beat phrasing, which made his harp swing like his inspiration Coleman Hawkins’s sax, and his knack for starting his phrases off the beat for maximum impact. They explain that his Charlie Parker–like gift for improvisation allowed him to unreel melody after melody in his solos and switch time signatures in the middle of a phrase, or even the middle of a note. And they cite his knack for veering off into unpredictable directions that seemed hell-bent for atonal destinations until he’d pivot back into the tune his band were playing to find a perfect resolution.

But the authors fail to capture the spark of Walter’s actual life. They provide detailed information about his birth (possibly under a tree, with his mother in disgrace) and convoluted early family relations, but after he begins his journey to blues fame, this biography becomes a series of recording sessions alternating with beatings. Although he was a womanizer, Walter often kept to himself and seemed withdrawn in groups. That plus his spending sprees and his hard, seemingly relentless drinking might indicate severe manic depression. Yet the notion goes unexplored here. Too often the pages of Blues with a Feeling read like a glorified set of notes to Chess Records sessions, detailing who was present and how many takes were attempted and which songs were played in the studio. That’s all of interest to the hardcore blues fan, but it does nothing for those of us who would like a glimpse into the soul of a man who could leap from the percolating beat of " Tell Me Mama " and the loving joy of the shuffle " You’re So Fine " to the rock-bottom blues of " Mean Old World " and " Sad Hours. "

In the end, one of those beatings — perhaps exacerbating an injury caused by an earlier thrashing from the police, from whom proud Walter would take no racial jive, or from a jealous husband or an argumentative gambler or musician — caused him to die in his sleep, probably from a blood clot. By then, his popularity and skills were in severe decline, in the wake of changing musical tastes and his alcoholism. He left behind not only his great recordings but the mystery of his motivations, his compulsions, and the hidden heart that was the source of his sound — all still waiting for other authors and scholars to explore.