On Homesickness. - The second time I went to New England was after a prolonged time in the deep south. My tenure at Louisiana State University had come to a close (relativel...
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The blues man painted houses
The blues man painted houses. He painted the one across the street from us, growing up.
I don't remember his name. It might have been John or James. He brought his bass guitar and a small amp with him. He wrote a song with my sister, who was six or seven at the time.
My name is Su-sie, I live across the street from here...
An old school blues bass line thumped along behind her.
A cosmic smile wore his face, black skin and beard.
You might try to argue that he was too happy to be a blues man. His rebuttal was his heart, which seemed to take in the human condition. He felt. He got it.
And he took the time to plug in and help a six-year-old write and play a song. I was 11. And I can hear the song, his fingers walking on the bass, the plaster walls and old windows rattling, my sister's voice, off key, with a hint of what it sounds like now.
I can hear his smile.
The blues man painted houses. He painted the one across the street. And a couple of kids who hung out to hear him.