This has got to stop. Now B.B. King is dead? Every day I have the blues!
I hope that when I’m 88, I’m still writing, the way King was still playing. I also hope that someday I’ll be 88.
The New York Times has an excellent summary of the man’s life in today’s edition. The last three paragraphs are the best:
“Growing up on the plantation there in Mississippi, I would work Monday through Saturday noon,” he said. “I’d go to town on Saturday afternoons, sit on the street corner, and I’d sing and play.
“I’d have me a hat or box or something in front of me. People that would request a gospel song would always be very polite to me, and they’d say: ‘Son, you’re mighty good. Keep it up. You’re going to be great one day.’ But they never put anything in the hat.
“But people that would ask me to sing a blues song would always tip me and maybe give me a beer. They always would do something of that kind. Sometimes I’d make 50 or 60 dollars one Saturday afternoon. Now you know why I’m a blues singer.”
RIP, B.B. King. If there’s a life after death, perhaps you’ll meet the real Lucille.
Run-DMSteve 