Chasing the Blues All the Way to the Birthplace of Rock n Roll
Day 5 of Tour
Jess and I stumbled awake and got moving a little early for my tastes these days, but we took off through the flat Mississippi delta lands. Lands so flat they give the Midwest a jog for their money.
This is where the blues was born. So we took a 90 minute jaunt out of our way on our way to Memphis, so I could surprise Jess with a visit to the B.B. King Blues Museum. On our first ever roadtrip together she surprised me with a visit to the Kurt Vonnegut Museum in Indianapolis, so I finally had a chance to return the favor.
B.B. King is Jess’ guy. Her favorite of all time. She got to see him play, and meet him his last year alive. He sang her happy birthday. Jess’ right hand girl, her dog, is named Lucille after B.B.’s guitar. The Museum was 90 minutes out of our way, but I knew we had to stop. I kept the surprise all the way to the parking lot of the place, and to say she was shocked and happy all at once is being demure.
The B.B. King Blues Museum is in Indianola, MS, where B.B. was born and where he’s buried. He got to choose his Museum’s location before he passed. This is where he wanted to be.
The Museum tour starts with a beautiful 10 minute video, and then the life and story of B.B. King, the history of the Mississippi delta, and that of the blues, unfolds as you walk through the museum on a self guided tour. Eudora Welty, whose house and museum we’d stopped at the day before, has a quote on the wall. And as a proud former autoworker I was happy to see a snippet of UAW history there, a poster that mentions that well paying auto jobs lured many African Americans to Detroit, planting blues roots there, too. How cool is that? (That migration is mentioned in my American Labor book!)
The museum does an outstanding job of telling the history and beginnings of the blues, shows how the civil rights movement was impacted by, and how it impacted the music, and the whole thing gives an in depth study of B.B. King’s life and work. There’s relics and artifacts from King’s ancestors, and of course hundreds of his own items there, too, and several dozen other pieces from other blues legends.
Some of the highlights for me? Too many to list, but a few… overwhelmingly my favorite parts of the museum brought attention to the things not highlighted during his life, like how generous he was. Like passing a tour bus on to another musician when he got a new one. Like how many musicians credit him with giving them their start. Or how many times he played shows in prisons, because he thought everyone deserved a second chance. Or about how he would stay for hours after nearly every show greeting fans, loved ones and local dignitaries. An amazing, extraordinary human B.B. was, and he truly set an example of how to be a gentleman. A true class act and the undisputed greatest blues man of them all.
They also have King’s home office and studio there, as it was at his time of death, on display. They brought it from his home in Vegas, carpet and all. There’s a stack of notebooks under his desk, and I wonder what he wrote in them? They have his Grammy awards on display. There’s so many of them that they display them by decade. There’s a couple of his guitars, all named Lucille of course, and at the end of his tour they have his Rolls Royce, a 1984 El Camino that he loved, and his last tour bus. At the end of the whole tour you exit out into a courtyard where B.B. is buried. It is one of the coolest places I’ve ever visited, and a must see for any fan or student of music. As Jess said as we stood near his grave, “this is sacred ground.”
Jess and I spent a quick two hours there, but could have easily spent four or six. Alas, we had to get to Memphis. We had a show of our own.
It was 2.5 more hours of flat delta land to get there, and an hour from our destination we heard the tornado warning sirens going off. Lucky for us that the tornado spotted was about 30 minutes west of where we were, and we only saw a smattering of rain and many suspicious and spooky clouds. Another metaphorical bullet dodged. Thank you road gods.
When we hit town we stopped over to Sun Studios to see the building where rock n roll was discovered. Or where it was first recorded. Or where it was first played on the radio at least. Cleveland calls itself the birthplace of rock n roll because a DJ there first used those words to describe a new type of music forming, but no matter their claims, rock n roll came from Sun Studios. Johnny Cash, Elvis, Howlin Wolf, Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis and many others all first recorded there. This place is sacred ground, too. We took photos, bought a couple of stickers and souvenirs, and headed down to Cafe Noir for our scheduled reading with the Vagabond Poetry Tour.
Cafe Noir is a big community art space. There was art all over the walls, books and collage making supplies laid out, and murals and graffiti art all around. We got there a bit early, as performers should try to do, so as not to freak out the hosts.
We took a walk about the area, and sure as shit, there on the community art center wall was a giant mural from famous Toledo artist Chilly Rodriguez. Chilly is not only one of the most inspirational humans that I’ve ever met, not that he knows me, he doesn’t, I just know him, but he has also gotten a ton of national acclaim for his work. He just did a huge show at Toledo Museum of Art. And here I was standing in Memphis, TN about to read my poetry in a building he’d painted. Two Toledo artists somehow found their way to the same art center 700 miles from town. How fucking cool is that?
The reading was hosted by the Tennessee Poetry Society, and we got to meet the president Lisa, and her wonderful partner Paul, who drove across the state to greet us and host us. Ruby, the head of the Memphis wing of the society was there, too, and Jasmine, the community center manager and host. All were good to us, and welcomed us in like lost family.
The Vagabond Poetry Tour featured National Beat Poet Laureate Mark Lipman, New Hampshire Poet Jeremiah Walton, Jersey poets Damian Rucci and Alexander Ragsdale, and me.
Lightly attended, almost certainly because of the earlier tornado warnings and threats of severe weather, but so it goes on the road. The readings were passionate and full of heart, and community was had. Poetry was performed. Connections and friendships were made. The weather post storm front was a to die for 76 degrees and sunny.
After the reading, which was held minutes from Sun Studios and three minutes from Beale Street, Jess and I bopped over to that famous street where the blues live seven nights a week. There was a fucking Jeep Wrangler club show, how fucking cool is that? We people watched. Enjoyed live music. Waltzed hand in hand down another iconic American boulevard, and ate BBQ heaped french fries at the famous Blues Cafe.
Day five of tour was jammed full of pilgrimage to lost icons, several hundred more road miles, and dozens of heart filling smiles.
Today we point north to St. Louis. The gateway to the west. Home of the mighty St. Louis Cardinals. Our reading is scheduled for 7pm at the Urb Art center there, but it’s in question after the recent deadly tornado that hit there days ago. We’ll find out tomorrow, but will be headed that way either way. We’ve another reading that’s a go on Thursday in St. Louis at Dunnaway Books. I’m looking forward to the adventure to come, no matter the places and faces it brings our way.
Thanks so much for all your love and support, and for all of you that are following along. I wouldn’t be traveling these roads, reading these poems and chasing these memories without you. I’m already eternally grateful.
Love,
Dan
love it
Sounds like an amazing and most excellent time. Wooohooo.