Artwork by Art AI Gallery
Going to Memphis
After hearing Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf
on the radio, how could I find solacelistening to trills and crickets
in the evenings?The urge to make music
was as irrepressibleas a fiddle at a dance—or a spring
deep in the woods, where fewtook notice. Church held me
with its harmonies. But my saviorwas my uncle, who passed me
down a guitar, as beat upas my daddy's pickup. I banged
out songs as fervently as anyrainmaker in a drought.
Singers passed through our farm townfrom mysterious places like Chicago
and Baltimore. Blues and Country Westernput a jump in my pulse. Talk
of sharecropping or workingthe mill didn't last long.
Carl, Elvis, Earl and Robert Johnsonschooled me in rhythm, teaching me
what all true musicians know:Music should be like good whisky,
smooth but raw, and leavea burning in your gut
for more.