Still Got the Blues...

Sometimes I feel like a early 19th century black man, though I know my heart could never truly share his burden.

In the months preceding today I have been overcome, maybe possessed, by the Blues. The music of the Mississipi Delta that slowly found it's way into places as far reaching as Chicago and London and many mens souls. A music so rich in history and texture, passion and pain, that it has become the foundation for so much of what we call rock and roll today. It's music that transcends boundaries while remaining eloquently simplistic in nature. It's an art form that so many have copied, yet only very few have mastered.

I have always worshipped music, from almost as early as I can remember. Much of what I grew up with was Hard Rock and Heavy Metal, which share not only numerous musical foundations with the blues but often times mirror the anguish and pain lyrically that is so prevolent in the Blues. I suppose my early love for the Blues could have arisen from the hard driving, angst and pain fueled style of Hard Rock/Metal, but my total obsession with it has only fully blossomed of late.

Lyrically I don't tend to identify with a lot of what's being uttered by greats like Buddy Guy, John Lee Hooker, B.B King and Muddy Waters, but the emotion in their music speaks to parts of my soul I never knew existed. With each note BB King plays I can feel his mood as if it were a temperature rising through my spine. The conviction of his playing and the timing of each bended note, holding just so long to convince you of its pain, is truly breathtaking. The later generation greats like Jeff Beck, Eric Clapton, Hendrix and my personal 6 string God, Stevie Ray Vaughn, have all taken the Blues to louder, faster and more intense places and this has only caused me to become an even greater admirer. Just today while watching E.C. play his solo during "I Shot the Sheriff" on his Crossroads DVD I realized that for me there really is nothing musically more rewarding that being a part of that moment when a masterful Blues player takes you on a ride emotionally with their Minor Pentatonic notes. It's like being swept up in a captivating campfire tale that mesmerizes and saddens simultaneoulsy but always alows for hope at the end.

I like to think for me, and probably others, that the Blues is an acoustical tonic of sorts that can be swirled around in the ears of one's heart before ingesting fully. The richness of it's texture being so satisfying that even the most tortured soul can find some relief in it's intoxication. Maybe the Blues is just about feeling sad and letting others know they're not alone. For some of us, we're alone even when we're not alone and the Blues is like an invation to a members-only club. I suppose it doesn't really matter. The Blues are about whatever they are to whomever is playing and those who are listening.

For me, it's become a religion.