John Grey It’s The Blues Despair? Destruction? How about guitar and a little jump blues. Hurt’s like a hunter looking for game, finding six strings, taking its chances. Good old gloom. It’s got itself a preacher. A crowd gathers, white as rolls of bread. Strange irony. All here to hear the history of a black man’s pain. Stomp their feet. Clap their hands. Not enough so he can leave in a gold Cadillac but there’s always food and shelter, medical care, what his brethren could have used in the ‘20s, now all it takes is some of that Jack Daniels waiting for him in his dressing room 4
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