There are plenty of people out there who play music. Every once in a while, you might find someone who plays pretty good. If you are lucky, you might come across a great musician. But very rarely do you find someone who is the music. Someone who, when they pick up an instrument, becomes possessed by the sound and vibrations and enters a trance-like state in which an outpouring of raw emotion in the form of sound waves flow out in powerful currents, sweeping away anyone who listens.
Somewhere out in the cotton fields of Mississippi, there was once a young man who could sing with his fingers as well as his mouth. He could transform all of the struggles, all of the poverty, and all of the pain of his life into something pure and sweet. Even though he played the blues, his music was pure joy. There will never be another Riley B. “Blues Boy” King. Thank you B.B., for being an inspiration to the greats (Hendrix, Clapton, Santana, just to name a few) as well as to the street musician trying to make it big, the music teacher who passes on the blues tradition, and to the kid who sits alone in his or her room, trying desperately to figure out your licks. Thank you for bringing so much soul to the world, a world that I fear is moving away from the impassioned and expressive music of your time. You will never leave us because every time you played you left every little piece of your soul in your music. There will never be another King so mighty as B.B. or a singer as sweet as Lucille. Thanks again B.B., for your great tunes and your great soul.