Too Blue or Not Too Blue

   -John ‘blueshammer’ Hammer

    Hello. My name is John. I am a friend of the blues. I cannot control my desire to seek out and listen to more blues. I am a blueser. As I started the twelve bar program to gain control of my passions, I searched the internet to gain insight and camaraderie from others similarly afflicted. I feel compelled to share what I found in hopes that you too can be saved.

    To start my journey to salvation, I began by looking for a common definition of this powerful force of nature, the Blues. Of course, I was eminently aware of the different flavors that make up the blues; Acoustic blues, Piedmont blues, Acoustic Chicago blues, Gospel blues, British Blues, Chicago-Memphis-Texas-West Coast-Delta blues, Pre-War Blues, and on and on. By the time I was done counting I was up to forty-seven recognized styles; and I am relatively positive there are more I missed, or just had never been introduced to ….yet.

     Now, academics and professionals will blog on ad infinitum as to what is really blues and what is not. Is it performed behind, on top of, or after the beat? If it is blues riffs played to a rock beat, how can they call that blues? Dare it be too funky; too jazzy; just a little too Motown? It appeared as though they had cut back the definition of true blues to an incredibly small amount of the music I crave. Well; after trying to digest what the heck they were talkin’ ‘bout, I had an epiphany. Follow along with me now: If I, as a hopeless and uncontrollable blueser, could just control my intake of these ‘true blues’; my life would be back in balance! I could happily seek out and listen to all the ‘other’ music I had previously called blues, (in my ignorance). Free at last, free at last; thank those who need to pigeon-hole; I’m free at last! In that small revelation a dynamic paradigm shift took place. In accepting others’ definition of the blues, it became eminently apparent I had no problem at all! Hmmm, I wonder if this could work with my other vices…..?

    As a rational and somewhat ‘aware’ human being, I felt I could be deluding myself. However; truly, reality is only perceptions in which we strongly believe. Unfortunately sometimes the logic we base our perceptions on can be a little ‘fuzzy’. I’m OK with that.

    Now that I had a new perception, I felt the need to understand the hook that causes this undeniable craving. Was it just simple eight and twelve bar progressions? Was it fiery guitar, poundin’ ivories or stratospheric brass? Was it empathy with lyrics that dwell on oppression by the man, cheatin’ on or by a lover, misery, goodtimes with good buddies, or just plain bumpin’ grindin’ sex? Well, yeah. that’s all good. But the hook is something much more substantial; something that connects directly to a bluesers heart and soul. It is the pure poetry and bedrock honesty of the genre as shared by artists. These artists channel something they feel inside, rather than just play notes they memorized. This presents for your enjoyment, the passion of the artist, and his or her interpretation of a force of nature deep inside. That passion, communicated intimately to the audience is THE Magic. In this respect the blues is a living thing; given to turns unpredictable and indefinable.

    So my friends, we have defined the affliction and its undeniable draw. The connection goes way beyond sociological. I’m pretty sure it is not genetically inherited, nor learned behavior through some twisted Pavlovian backbeat. Though I’m not sure what causes it, I believe bluesers lust may be ingrained at a cellular level at a prominent location in the cerebral cortex. Oh Yeah, I know. None of us want to go messin’ with no cerebral cortex. They’re all tangly and electro-statical like! Why, to do that you’d need a degree from some ivy league school….like Yale or some such.

    It became as clear as piercing feedback thru a 12’X 8 foot stack of Marshalls in a 30’ X 50 foot cheap Tequila bar: We simply cannot accept pigeon holed, constrained definitions of others to avoid dealing with our problem. We’ll just have to tackle it head on; commonsensical like. Now I believe that the most expedient and effective way to deal with ‘excess’ is to change it to: ‘just right’. So, in effect, I needed to make a plan to control my intake of this powerful force….THE BLUES.

    First thing on my list was a no-brainer: If it ain’t got ‘the magic’; if it’s just a string of notes memorized and repeated without heart; if it just plain sucks, I will stop listening immediately. Now I felt we were gettin’ somewhere! We cut out the adulterated crap in one fell swoop. My second thing on the list was pretty much self serving by any definition. I want the pure stuff. I want to make sure it is always available. I figured ya gotta go to the source and support it. Yep, you got it: LIVE MUSIC!!!!  I vowed to spend less time with my I-Pod and catch live blues at all opportunities, (well, except the part of the day I can’t catch live blues for some scheduled thing like work or an appendectomy  or whatever….). Oh yeah! Then ya gotta have quantity! Say; ya know,… Blues Festivals are like…. huge orgasmic smorgasbords of the blues!! I get quality, variety and quantity all in one fell swoop.

    I checked my personal laminated copy of the Blues Festival Guide that I keep chained to the dashboard in my truck, (for convenience and security of course). My eyes glazed over like a wino who just hit the end of the tour at the Gallo Bros. Vineyards and was offered all the free samples he could drink in 6 months. The selection was beyond my wildest dreams. Even as I salivate, I know in my twisted little heart of hearts, I could not possibly hit all those festivals. Why, some actually take place at the same time in different locations. Even a rabid Blueser has limitations…..but Oh…just the thought…..!

    So I pull out my Blues Legends Photo Calendar and start to develop a plan of attack. Call it dyslectic or idiosyncratic, but prefer to start filling in the fall dates and work my way backward thru the year, (kind of a festival moonwalk). I carefully build a plan totally balanced in types of blues, the locations, and the scheduled times. I double check to make sure my plan is devoid of conflicts to that tedious ‘scheduled’ stuff we mentioned earlier. I meticulously plot out on my Rand McNally, the trail for this year’s odyssey; (noting I needed to e-mail the D O T to petition for national designation of a ‘Blues Highway’). Caught up in the thrill of the chase, I pull out the tools of the trade and start to pack. I checkout camera gear, grab extra batteries and memory cards. I pack suntan lotion, bug spray, sunburn lotion, some BenGay and a tube of Head On. I toss in tums, foot powder, aspirin, vitamins B,C, D and E. I add an appropriate variety of hats/caps, shades, lanyards, (to keep tickets close to my heart), sandals, athletic shoes and boots. You know I had an assortment of shorts, jeans, t-shirts, windbreaker, sweatshirts, more t-shirts, a jacket or two, and foul weather gear. I would never forget creature comforts of camping chairs, air mattresses, large capacity coolers, and ear plugs (only if I become in danger of OD-ing on sweet, sweet blues music). I also packed pictures and periodicals and gifts for my friends I’ll run into, old and new.

   So I load all this into my truck. I put on my favorite obnoxious Hawaiian print shirt, sandals and shorts. I slide on my best Ray Bans. I drop a homemade compellation CD in the player. I don’t remember who’s on it, and don’t care….it is ALL  screamin’ guitar, pounding ivories and stratospheric brass with catchy lyrics I could empathize with. I cranked ‘er up as loud as I could take and still breathe normally. I AM IN THE ZONE AND READY!!!!! I could feel my pulse race and a ten inch smile spread across my eight inch face. I hit the garage door opener as I start to salivate at the thought of this incredible orgasmic blues smorgasbord. The door seemed a little slow….until…….the vision that greeted my eyes was three feet of snow and squirrels still bundled in winters coat…….OH MY GAWD!!!!!! IT IS STILL FEBRUARY!!!!!

    My stunned shock was interrupted when my wife yelled down to find out what the heck I was doing in the garage for so long. I replied, “Nuthin’ Honey. I gotta head downtown to meet up with some buddies”. I pulled out before she could see the truck was packed for adventure. As I drove down to that old familiar watering hole, I reflected on the slim possibility that I MIGHT have a tiny obsession problem. Of course by the time I parked my truck and walked into our gathering spot I had totally gotten over my concern. I ordered a cold one and went over to a gaggle of tables in the corner near the jukebox. I dropped some coinage into the old Wurlitzer and selected Mr. B.B. King croonin’ ‘The Thrill is Gone’. I turned to my comrades, who were sitting there all dressed similarly to me, and started the meeting. “Hello. My Name is John. I am a friend of the blues. I am a Blueser.”