
At times when I think I have it all worked out, have made some kind of fuckin’ statement or found a new path to follow the blues comes back with renewed strength and knocks me out. ”So, you thought that you could get rid of me?” ”Pick up that slide boy, and play some mean delta blues now, that’s the path you have chosen and that’s what you going to do until the day you die”…
I guess you can't argue with the Devil? That's what I'm thinking, or could it be God? I will know the truth on judgment day. We all will.
Sometimes I wonder what really happened that day back in early 90’s when I discovered the blues of Robert Johnson, Son House and all the other legends. In just a few weeks time my whole life changed and I knew that playing the blues was what I was supposed to do with my life. And every time I think I might be doing something else…I just can’t do it, I just fuckin’ can’t.
God knows I tried to play music that might be resulting in more money, I've tried my hand on more jobs than I care to remember, I sure have tried to adjust and live a "normal" life but it's no use. It's like I'm possessed. Hellhounds on my trail.
And I ain't kiddin’, this is not a joke. I can’t get rid of the blues. I’m in it for life. Get out of my way, don't tell me what to do, don't mess with my blues. That's why I've always preferred to play solo or with a band that play the blues my way.
This ain't no interest, no hobby, no fuckin' social club or a job. The blues is what I am. Something deeply personal, something that emerge from my soul, the truth, MY truth. Hellhounds on my trail.
Slim
