Perhaps the first blues artist I ever heard, other than bluesy stuff like George Thorogood and ZZ Top, was B.B. King. However, when I heard him I didn’t associate him with the blues. That is because I had no idea what blues was.

I remember hearing a song called “Nobody Loves Me But My Mother” that had the lyrics, “Nobody loves me but my mother / and she could be jivin’ too.” The lyrics were simultaneously hilarious and heart-rending. After getting to know the blues, I gained a deep appreciation for the simple, but definitely not simplistic, tones of B.B. King.

There was a recent story about B.B. King on CNN talking about his rise from a farm hand picking cotton and driving tractors so to King of the Blues. He also talked abou the lack of attention and respect for blues artists. The US$10,000,000 B.B. King Museum will be opening soon.

Here is the article from CNN:

INDIANOLA, Mississippi (AP) — Through his agile fingers, still soft despite decades of making love to the taut strings of his guitar, B.B. King becomes immersed in his music.

The high-pitched wail of the notes he coaxes out of the instrument, nicknamed Lucille, is salve to the soul of the nearly 80-year-old bluesman, who shows no signs of slowing down as he prepares to kick off a world tour this month in Holland.

It’s been a good year for King, named by Rolling Stone magazine as the third-greatest guitarist of all time. He’s recording a new album of duets with Elton John, Eric Clapton and Gloria Estefan, a memorabilia book bearing his name soon will be released, and he recently broke ground on the B.B. King Museum and Delta Interpretative Center in this small Mississippi Delta town.

Yet King, acclaimed around the world, still laments what he believes is a lack of respect for blues music in America, where radio stations mostly play hip-hop, pop and rock.

“We get treated poorly,” he says. “I’m thinking about the younger ones, who are coming along today, not B.B. We’ve had several superstars, like the late Stevie Ray Vaughan, like the young Robert Cray, and they don’t get play. They don’t get exposed.”

Blues music is a historical form, inspiring rock guitarists such as Clapton and Jeff Beck, but radio stations don’t consider it as commercially viable as other genres, says Anthony DeCurtis, contributing editor of Rolling Stone.

“That certainly doesn’t mean it’s not significant. How much jazz gets played on the radio?” DeCurtis says.

Floyd Lieberman, King’s manager, says there’s been a slight resurgence of the blues with the advent of XM Satellite Radio, on which King serves as Mayor of Bluesville.

The blues channel has 4 million listeners, Lieberman says, but “Jackson, Mississippi, stations play more blues than New York. That’s the problem.”

‘I picked cotton. I drove tractors’
At his recent museum groundbreaking, King took a break from his fans, finding a comfortable chair to relax his hefty frame. Family and friends urged him to eat mini muffaletta sandwiches, broccoli and fruit to help control his diabetes.

King gently pushed the food aside; he wanted to talk.

He reminisced about his early years, working as a laborer on a cotton plantation in the heart of the Delta. And without a hint of bitterness, he explained how difficult life was back then for the man born Riley B. King on September 16, 1925.

“I was a regular hand when I was 7. I picked cotton. I drove tractors. Children grew up not thinking that this is what they must do. We thought this was the thing to do to help your family,” says King, who now lives in Nevada.

The interminably humble bluesman envisions his museum, to be located at the site of the brick cotton gin where he once worked, as a conduit for Delta youth trying to escape the cycle of poverty and illiteracy. Many in the community hold King up as the standard of success.

“In the Delta, they think he can walk on water,” says Carver Randle, one of King’s longtime friends.

As a young boy in the 1950s, Randle remembers seeing King drive his Cadillac around Indianola when the musician was in town visiting relatives.

“There was a time when nobody, black people or white people, cared for the blues. And in spite of that, B.B. stuck with the blues,” says Randle, now an attorney. “Anybody, whether they’re in politics, law or education, would do well to just emulate what B.B. has done.”

The museum, to be finished by 2007, will be a $10 million, 18,000-square-foot edifice, showcasing the various phases of King’s career with a state-of-the-art theater, a studio and artifacts. Organizers have raised about half the cost of the project through private donations, no small feat in town of about 12,000.

‘He doesn’t play a lot of notes’
King’s long career took off in 1948 after he performed on a radio program on KWEM out of West Memphis. He’s been cutting tracks ever since, with perhaps the best-known being “The Thrill Is Gone” in 1970 or “Three O’clock Blues” in 1951.

In 2000, he collaborated with Clapton to record “Riding With the King.”

He’s made countless appearances in Europe, where he says the people have long memories.

“Tunes that we made many years ago, they know them today. They don’t belittle you because you sing gospel or you sing blues. We get that at home sometimes,” he says, moments before a group of fans from France had their picture taken with him.

Blues music was born out of the hardships of black people, who sang as they worked on cotton plantations in the Mississippi Delta. King’s single-note playing style sets him apart from other musicians, DeCurtis says.

“B.B. has a very specific kind of style, very lyrical. He doesn’t play a lot of notes. In a slow blues arrangement, you can really hear the kind of elegance of his playing. He’s not down and dirty,” DeCurtis says.

King plays about 150 dates a year, but it’s not because he needs the money.

“He hasn’t had to work since he was 65 years old,” says Lieberman, King’s manager for 41 years. “He’s financially sound.”

Lieberman says the upcoming duets album, to be released prior to King’s birthday, won’t all be blues songs, but King doesn’t believe that should be interpreted as infidelity.

“Who said I’m supposed to do nothing but traditional blues music?” King says. “Blues players like to hear other things like other people.”

The 15th anniversary of the death of blues guitarist Stevie Ray Vaughan is a little more than one month away.  My intention was to write something about SRV around the anniversary of his death.  However, I have been listening to SRV and watching him on DVD for the past five days virtually non-stop.   Thus, his life and music have been on my mind. 

There has been so much written about Stevie Ray Vaughan in print and on the net.  Typing his name into Google returns 190,000 hits.  I could say nothing about him that has hasn’t been said before by other, more knowledgeable, people.  Because of that, I wish to share my thoughts and impressions about him and his music.

I knew of Jimmie Vaughan, the leader of The Fabulous Thunderbirds band. I don’t know when I first heard the name Stevie Ray Vaughan, Jimmie’s younger brother.  I do, however, remember when i first became fully aware of Stevie Ray.  It was August 27, 1990, just two months after returning from my first time living in Korea.  Unfortunately, that was the day of Stevie Ray’s death.

I clearly remember all of my guitar-playing friends being quite surprised, shocked and amazed that he had died in a helicopter accident.  I remember seeing pictures of the wreckage and news stories on TV.  To me, it was only a passing news story about a musician I was not acquainted with.

I had missed the SRV heyday.  Although SRV began to make a national and international name for himself with his big break in 1982, I didn’t get turned onto the blues until 1986, the year that SRV went into rehab for a drug and alcohol addiction.  Even then, my interest in the blues was limited to the early acoustic blues of the 30s, 40s, and 50s.  Although I had seen SRV tapes and discs available, I didn’t listen to them because I wasn’t interested in modern electric blues.  Then I was isolated from the blues from July 1988 through June 1990.  Two months later SRV was gone.

Due to other extended stays in Korea, law school, and other things in my life explained in other postings I didn’t get interested in or caught up in Stevie Ray’s music until much later.

During my second stay in Korea from 1991 and 1992, I had discovered Johnny Winter.  As with SRV, I had seen his music, but never took the opportunity to listen to it.  Johnny Winter’s screaming electric blues sucked me in.  The feeling of the Texas Blues, the lightning fast licks, and the powerful slide of Johnny Winter were incredibly intense.  I was instantly hooked.

Later, when I finally got around to hearing Stevie Ray Vaughan, I felt a lot of the same feelings and had a lot of the same impressions that I had listening to Johnny Winter.  I was amazed by the same Texas Blues feeling, the speed, the intensity, the prowess, the intimate knowledge of the fretboard, and the musical flair of Stevie Ray.  I was also interested to note the many similarities between them such as both being hard and fast electric blues-playing white boys from Texas with musical and successful brothers.  They even shared the same bass player, legendary bassist Tommy Shannon.  Shannon, who knew SRV since SRV was 14 years old and played with him for several years until SRV’s death, had also played bass for Johnny Winter in the late 60S.

It was then that I started to backtrack through Stevie Ray Vaughan’s musical career and background to find out who and what he was. One of the first things I discovered was that he had provided the lead guitar tracks for David Bowie’s album Let’s Dance, including the hit songs, “Let’s Dance” and “China Girl”.

Simply listening to his music, you can hear that SRV is a great guitarist.  I was thoroughly impressed by his talent.  However, to only hear SRV and Double Trouble play is to miss out on an important aspect of the musical experience, and that is the visual element.

It is not uncommon to hear people say that concerts are a waste of money because you can spend half as much on the CD and sit home and hear the same songs in a quieter, more listener-friendly environment and the CD performance is better than live anyway.  While this may be the case in a few instances, it is generally not true.  Listening to audio only can be a satisfying and fulfilling experience, but attending a live concert where you get the sights, sounds, smells, psychology, and vibe of the audience and can see the intensity, effort, and body language of the musicians can be a transcendent experience.

It wasn’t until I obtained the DVD “Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble Live at Montreux 1982 & 1985″ that I because truly awed by Stevie Ray.  I had heard it said several times that SRV played every piece of music as if his life depended on it.  Watching the DVD, I saw that people people said such things because it was true.  He did, indeed, play every piece as if his life depended on it.  The absolutely raw and intense emotion he poured into and pulled out of his guitar is breathtaking.  He never gave up or lessened his intensity regardless of how long he played.  Literally soaked in sweat, near the end of a performance, he is still slamming the strings, bending the strings as fast and far, shimmying across the stage as continuously, and growling as loudly as he did at the beginning.

This awe of SRV as a performer and my never-to-be-humble opinion of him as one of the greatest guitarists ever to have lived is not limited to lowly blues musicians such as myself and die-hard fans.  This sentiment was shared by his peers as well as those who came before and went after.  Here are a few comments about Stevie Ray Vaughan from three blues guitarists who are legendary in their own rights:

Jimmie Vaughan:

If you’re a guitar player, or a jazz musician, or any kind of musician that plays from the heart that kind of music, it’s sort of like a radio.  You’ve got to tune it in.  But once you get it on the station, you just sort of receive it.  He could go to that place when he was playing on stage. He would walk out on stage, pick up the guitar, and within a couple of songs, just go to that place where he was receiving inspiration…And that’s not easy to do.

B.B. King:

You stop and think, “My God!  Listen to this guy play!” His Hands! — They seemed to be flawless the way he moved with it.  When I play, I play sort of like talking.  Syllables.  You say a sentence here, a sentence there.  And then I’ve got to stop and think of something else to keep my conversation going.  Be he didn’t seem to be doing that at all. It was fluent.  He flowed when he played….It would just go on and on, and ideas continuously flowed.  I don’t have that.

Eric Clapton:

About three or four times in my life…in a car listening to the radio, where I’ve stopped the car, pulled over and listened, and thought “I’ve got to find out, before the end of the day…not sooner or later… but I have to know NOW who that is”….He never ever seemed to be lost in any way.  It wasn’t ever that he took a breather, or paused to think where he was going to go next.  It just flowed out of him.  It always seemed to flow out of him…

He seemed to be an open channel and it just flowed through him…I sometimes stop every now and then I stop and think, “What am I going to do now” or “I don’t want to repeat myself.”  So I’ll get caught up somehow.  You freeze.  You kind of freeze. Most players do, and I never saw him do that.  He was a channel in some way…

When we were at Alpine Valley [The concert after which SRV was killed].  I couldn’t let myself [surrender completely to his music].  I had to put up a bit of resistance in order to keep my own self-esteem up. Because I wouldn’t have been able to go on otherwise.  I’m not joking!  To have been completely absorbed by what he was doing, I would have thought “What’s the point?” and done a runner, cleared off, run away.

Praise like that could easily go to your head.  During my five years as a radio DJ at some of the top stations in Northern Utah, I attended an unbelievable number of concerts and met many top recording stars of the late 1980S. They ran the gamut from humble, grateful, appreciative artists who realized they were blessed to some of the most self-centered, arrogant people I have ever met.  From everything I have ever read about Stevie Ray, he never lost site of who he was, where he came from, and who came before him.  He appears to me to have be a real human’s human.

He may have been a little too human. Like many great musicians and others, he fell into the trap of alcohol and drugs.  These vices very nearly killed both Stevie Ray and his bassist Tommy Shannon.

Thankfully, Stevie Ray and Tommy Shannon entered treatment on the same day in 1986, thus saving the lives of two great musicians.  Unfortunately, Stevie Ray was preserved for only four more years.  How he used those remaining years to affect the lives of others both through his music and outside of his music is a testament to the heart of a real human being.

One of the most moving statements I have read about Stevie Ray’s last few years was a letter written by Tommy Shannon in October 1996.  The letter can be found on Tommy Shannon’s website at tommyshannon.com.  The full text of the letter reads:

October 3, 1996

My name is Tommy Shannon. I would like to share a brief letter with you about my friend Stevie Ray Vaughan.

I have known Stevie since he was fourteen years old. That’s a long time. There is no way I can say everything I would like to in this letter. However, I would like to share with you what kind of person Stevie was. The books and articles written about him focused mostly on his guitar playing. They never talked much about the depth and beauty of his spirit.

Like I said, I have known Stevie since he was a kid. We became friends then. About a year after I met Stevie, we played in a band called, “Blackbird,” and then later in a band called, “Kracker Jack.” Then, in 1981, I joined him in Double Trouble.

About Stevie:

First of all, I have to say Stevie Ray Vaughan was not perfect. He was a human being like you and I. He had problems just like everyone else. He had to work on those problems like anyone who has the courage to try and live a spiritual life. It’s not easy. Many people dare not to choose that path. It means letting go of an old self and by the grace of God becoming our true selves: that which we were meant to be all along. I do not want to sound like I am preaching. I’m not qualified to do that. However, to write about Stevie and who he really is, I have to write about spirituality.

Stevie is the best friend I have ever known. We shared things with each other that no one will ever know. While I was playing with him in Double Trouble, I lived with him and his wife, Lenny (until I got married). While we were on the road, we always had adjoining rooms, so we could always be in touch. I love him so much, it can not be put into words.

Stevie and I went through a lot of changes together. When we were much younger, (before Double Trouble) we had no money. Sometimes we went without food, and other things we needed. However, we didn’t mind this much. We were playing music…that seemed to be the only thing that mattered.

About my nine years with Double Trouble:

During the first few years, Stevie and I were doing a lot of drugs and alcohol. For a long time, we were having a lot of fun. Sex, Drugs, and Rock n’ Roll…that’s how we lived. Eventually, things got worse. Our personal lives, and our relationships with others kept getting worse, and worse. We reached a point where we knew we were in deep trouble. The truth is, at that time we couldn’t stop. There was no human power that could help us. Our friends tried to help, but they couldn’t. I will always remember one night, we got down on our knees and prayed for help. There was no instant answer. We continued getting high. Was that prayer unanswered because we kept using?

That prayer was answered in the most profound way. That prayer was the turning point of our lives. We had to continue doing what we were doing until the pain became too hard to bear. We were broken inside. First Stevie, and then myself. We had no power, nothing to stand upon. We were beaten. However, that was the best thing that ever happened to us. Even that suffering was a gift from God. We had to reach the bottom, before we could be open to God’s grace.

On October 13, 1986, we checked ourselves into treatment…Stevie in Atlanta, and me here in Austin. After that, we started in a program in which we worked on twelve steps which transformed our lives. I watched Stevie grow and change. Stevie was always kind and helpful to others. Whenever he had a chance to help someone else who was suffering what he had suffered, he was there. His eyes would light up and you could see his love and sincerity.

Stevie helped more people get clean and sober than anyone I know. So many people were blessed by his life. So was I blessed by his life.

All of you reading this know how beautiful his music was, how great his talent. I wish you could have known him, I really do…because his spirit was even more beautiful. He was humble, yet strong. All of Stevie’s life he wanted to do the right thing. Even when he was still using drugs and alcohol, he wanted to do the right things. He was always that way.

I believe that if Stevie could speak to you right now, he would say:

“Take care of each other. Learn to love. Turn to God. He has all power. No matter how bad your condition is, he can and will change it…if you let him. Have faith, no matter what.”

On October 13th, 1996, I will have ten years of living clean and sober.  Each year, in the program, we celebrate by picking up a chip (or medallion) with the number of years of sobriety on it. Stevie had four years of sobriety when he died. Each year, when I pick up my chip, I also pick one up for Stevie. I will do so this year also, and I will do so for as long as I stay sober. When I pick up these chips, I always talk about, and to Stevie.

In closing this letter, I would like to say that Chris Layton and myself are doing fine. We are playing in a band called “Storyville.” We just released a record on the Code Blue/Atlantic label, entitled, “A Piece of Your Soul.” Also, I would like to say Chris is a wonderful person. Stevie loved him as much as any friend. We were all like family. That also includes Reese.

I would like to thank Martha Vaughan, Stevie’s wonderful mother. In her, I see where Stevie’s gifts come from. I have no doubt that she lives in the spirit of God. I have never known anyone with more strength and faith.

I would also like to thank Jimmie Vaughan. Without him, Stevie would never have become what he was. Jimmie was Stevie’s biggest influence, and his biggest inspiration.

Thank you, Beverly Howell, for asking me to write this letter. There will be more in the future.

God Bless, and thank you,

Tommy

Although it took a decade or more longer for me than it did for others, I finally came to understand the shock and sadness at the loss of Stevie Ray Vaughan.

I will never be able to play anything like SRV played.  I will never come close.  I take comfort in knowing that his legacy as an icon will be preserved because no one else can or will play like him.

I recently obtained another DVD titled “A Tribute To Stevie Ray Vaughan.”  That DVD contains a song written by Aaron Neville titled “Six Strings Down” performed live by blues and jazz greats Jimmie Vaughan, Eric Clapton, Bonnie Raitt, Robert Cray, B.B. King, Buddy Guy, Dr. John, and Aaron Neville.

As I watched and listened to Jimmie Vaughan’s smooth vocals launch into the incredibly touching song about his six-string guitar-playing brother’s tragic death in a downed helicopter after a concert at Alpine Valley in August 1990, backed up by Clapton and Guy, who were also at that last SRV concert, and other great musicians, I did something that I have not done while listening to music in a long time.   I cried.

I choke up now, just reading the lyrics to that song.  They lyrics are:

Six Strings Down - by Art Neville

Alpine valley
In the middle of the night
Six strings down
On the heaven-bound flight

Got a pick, a strap, guitar on his back
Ain’t gonna cut the angels no slack
Heaven done called
Another blues-stringer back home

See the voodoo chile
Holding out his hand
I’ve been waitin’ on you brother
Welcome to the band

Good blues-stringin’
Heaven-fine singin’
Jesus, Mary and Joseph
Been lis’nin’ to your playin’

Heaven done called
Another blues-stringer back home
Lord they called
Another blues-stringer back home

Albert Collins up there
Muddy an’ Lightnin’ too
Albert King and Freddy
Playin’ the blues

T-Bone Walker, Guitar Slim
Little Son Jackson and
Frankie Lee Sims

Heaven done called
Another blues-stringer back home
Lord they called
Another blues-stringer back home

During the next year or so, I caught every performance by Harry Harpoon that I possibly could. I enjoyed every moment of the performances. I made a few more halfhearted attempts at playing the guitar, but nothing ever came of it.

In 1993, I moved to Salt Lake to begin law school. With law school and family obligations I gave up thinking about the guitar. It was about that time my brother hooked me up with the BMG CD club. I joined the classical music program and began collecting classical music CDs. I didn’t listen to or even really think about the blues for a couple of years.

There was a small music shop two doors down from my apartment. During my third year of law school, I looked into the window of the store for the first time in the more than two years I lived next to the shop. When I looked into the window of the shop, I saw a shiny, new, metal resonator guitar hanging on the wall. I stared and felt the musical beast within me starting to stir.

I entered the shop and spoke with the owner of the shop. We talked about the resonator guitar. We talked about the blues. The blues hunger was back. I picked up a beginning blues book and cassette. I played diligently for about three days. But my sore fingers, musical clumsiness from being out of musical condition for so long, and my lack of time contributed to yet another failed attempt at playing the guitar.

I didn’t pick up the guitar again for a very, very long time. I finished law school, took the bar exam, and moved to Korea. I got caught up with my new job at the law firm. I kept promising myself that I would start playing the guitar as soon as I had enough money and time to start again. That never happened. I never seemed to find the time or the money for a new acoustic guitar.

A little more than a year ago in the late spring of 2004, I suddenly had a thought. I am a successful, 34 year old international lawyer. I have money. I will never have more time than I have now. Why not start playing guitar seriously.

I went searching for a new guitar. Through a few people I know and a few connections, I was turned on to my new baby:

I named her Arlene. Arlene is a temperamental broad with a wicked personality. She can be a nasty, ornery, scratchy beast one minute and sing the sweetest lullabies imaginable the next. A girl like that could only be named after…my mother, Arlene.

I picked up a few books on the blues, set aside an hour or so each night, and began to play the blues. Now here I am, 13 months later. Having the time of my life.

I returned to the United States from Korean in July 1990. During my two years in Korea I had stopped playing guitar all together. Due to the lack of blues available in Korea, I had also stopped listening to blues.

Once I was back home, I made a few half-hearted attempts to pick up the guitar and start playing again. However, I had become occupied with college life and didn’t take playing the guitar seriously. I would play for a few days or a week on my classical or electric guitar, but I would become dismayed at the lack of instant progress and the pain of blisters on all of my fingers. Eventually, I gave up the pretense of playing and let my guitars collect dust.

During that time, and shortly after my return from Korea, I felt the urge to do some volunteer work. I drifted into the Helpline crisis intervention hotline at Utah State University. It was there that I met Jaynan Chancellor, the Helpline Director. At then end of that summer, I began my second year of university. It was during my sophomore year that I had the opportunity to return to Korea as an exchange student for a little more than one year. I went to Korea in June of 1991 and returned in August 1992.

During my second time in Korea I accidentally stumbled onto a few Johnny Winter albums in a local department store. I asked the clerk to make a copy of the albums onto cassettes (You could do that back then in Korea). When I picked up the tapes, the clerk had thrown in a Gary Moore tape as a bonus. I can’t count the number of times that I listened to those tapes.

When I finished my second time in Korea and went back home, I started volunteering at Helpline again. It was during that Summer, the Summer of 1992 that Jaynan and her husband Russ, an artist and mountain man recreationist, introduced me to other mountain man types such as “Weird Harold” and his wife. One night, Russ and Weird said that there was going to be someone performing at the White Owl bar that I should see. They said he was a good blues musician.

We went down to the Owl, ordered up some killer burgers and pickles made in jalapeno juice. That’s when he came it. A tall, well-built guy with a goatee and a long braided pony tail. He was wearing a buckskin shirt. He laid out several harmonicas and hooked up a microphone. It turned out that he was a friend of Weird Harold’s and an acquaintance of the Chancellors from various mountain man rendezvous. We were sitting the front table nearest where he would perform. He sat down at our table. That is when I was first introduced to:

When it was time to begin his first set, Harry Harpoon opened his guitar case and took out his guitar. Suddenly, the world stood still. I was transfixed. Harry was holding the most incredibly sexy-looking instrument that I had ever seen. It was what appeared to be a guitar made of polished solid steel with a funky inverted dish on the front. I had never seen anything like it.

I was literally left speechless as Harry picked the first notes on that guitar. It is impossible to describe the tone of that thing other than to say it was crisp, clean, metallic, and loud as hell. That was my first introduction to National resonator guitars. I had heard that sound before on some of my blues recordings, but I had no idea what was making that noise. Then I knew. And I knew I was in love.

I listened to a couple of sets including such songs as a particularly devilish tune about Juan Corona and one about a woman of negotiable affections. After the second set, while we were sitting around the table talking, I thought I would throw out a request to Harry and show off a bit of classic blues knowledge to impress him. I reached all the way back to the early blues of Robert Johnson.

“Hey,” I said, “Can you do ‘Hellhounds On My Trail?”

“No. I won’t,” Harry replied.

By the time the final set finished, I was taken by Harry Harpoon’s music. His deep, resonant baritone sang everything from scratchy, gut-bucket blues, to “She’ll be Comin’ Round the Mountain.” He played an incredibly mean guitar. However, when he began blowing harp, he was absolutely mesmerizing. He reached an altogether different plane when during one song he simultaneously played guitar, sang, played harmonica, and played a drum.

When it was made known to people at the table that Harry needed a place to sleep for the evening, my roommate, Courtney, and I jumped at the chance to have Harry over to our apartment. I wanted to hear more about the music he was playing. Courtney wanted him over because he was a rugged, rakishly handsome guy.

After getting to the apartment, Harry settled into a bottle of Meyer’s Dark Jamaican Rum. I put an old Lonnie Johnson tape, one that I had copied from Carl Hart. As we talked, Harry talked about some of the frustrating experiences he has had with guests. At one point, he talked about an experience he had earlier that evening.

“Some jerk,” Harry bemoaned, “actually asked me to play ‘Hellhounds on My Trail’. That loser just had no clue. Some people just don’t get it.”

“yeah. Some people just don’t get it,” I echoed.

I never to Harry that the loser that night was me. Harry was right. I just didn’t get the blues. I knew the emotions that the blues could create in me. I knew how the blues could make me feel when I listened to the music. What I came to understand much later was that I was clueless when it came to the feelings that could be raised while playing the blues. I didn’t know where playing the blues came from. I thought I was clever and knowledgeable. I didn’t know anything.

In addition to introducing me to resonator guitars, and rekindling my desire to listen to the blues. Harry taught me so much with just a few sentences. Unfortunately, it took me about 12 years to learn the lessons.