When I was a teenager, I said, “I’ll play anything. Rock, Jazz, Country, Psychedelic, Pop, I’ll give Classical a go but my true love is the Blues.”
My friends were too busy gettin’ stoned to listen but, still, I continued, “My true love is the Blues coz it’s the foundation for most American popular music (I was parrotin’ an article I had read somewhere). Also,” I said, sans parrot, “it’s one of the few musical genres where a guy can be 83 years old, and become an overnight sensation. And, I figure I’ll be at least that old before I’m ‘discovered.'”
That was a long time ago and, though I’m nowhere near 83, I would’ve figured I’ve done enough 12 bar shufflin’ by now to be approachin’, by those who would know, obscure Blues legend staus.
But it’s not to be. Go to a Blues festival and it’s the babies that get the attention. The younger the performer, the bigger the audience and press.
At Blues challenges, it’s the pretty people in their twenties who are, most times, awarded the top prizes.