Clarksdale

The main reason for going to Clarksdale is that it is considered the birthplace of the blues. There are many reasons for this in my mind...it was home to Muddy Waters is probably one of the big ones.

After we settled into our shack and had a shower to clean up (at this point it having been more than a day since I had showered...and not out of choice, but rather because the previous hotel had funny colored water) we headed over to the Hopson Commissary for a drink. Along the way we met a gentleman from I have no idea where who is an artist that does beautiful portraits of various blues artists. That is one of the most enjoyable parts of this trip is all the interesting people we are meeting along the way. Often our conversations with them will barely last a few minutes, but their impact may last much longer. At the Commissary we found a much better beer selection than in Greenville and ordered a local Mississippi beer that was brewed with pecans. We took our beers and wandered around the enormous building, which looked like it used to be a barn. The barn was filled with an immense amount of junk or collectibles depending on your perspective. There were more than a few shrines to Eli Manning, which we found out were courtesy of the owner's husband who was an Ole Miss graduate. At the bar we struck up a conversation with the bartender and then another customer who checked in at the same time we did. It turned out that the customer lives in Fisherman's Wharf and drives a tour bus for a living. He has been doing so for nearly 25 years and lives in a rent controlled place walking distance from his 'office'. Interestingly, despite all of the driving his work entails he chose to embark on a driving tour to last up to a month or so from San Francisco to Yellowstone down to Atlanta to Mississippi (to check out where he was born) up to Memphis and then heading back home.

After finishing our beers we made our way to Morgan Freeman's blues bar, Ground Zero. I'm sure there are those out there that would argue we should have gone for a more localized or more authentic juke joint. I would agree. However, on a Wednesday night in Clarksdale there is very slim picking. At the bar we were able to order some food and more beer. I had fried catfish (you can't go through the Delta without some catfish) and Dad had a pulled pork sammich (that's how they spell it...props to the HyWy for picking up on that). We hung out at the bar and listened to Bill Abel and some session players for a few hours. It was fun to listen to real blues in the heart of it all. Mr. Abel was a great guitar player who even treated us to some amazing skills as he played a homemade guitar that he made out of a cigar box.

Eventually we made our way back to the shack and as we were driving I couldn't help but let my thoughts drift to the journeymen blues artists that would have been walking along these roads at this time 80 years or so ago. It was dark and the moon was barely lighting up the road. If you stopped and listened all you heard was cicadas and crickets. I'm sure I'm grossly romanticizing the whole situation, but for me it's just amazing to walk the ground they did and know in my mind that they would have recognized where we are today as their home.

The next morning we went to the Delta Blues Museum. The museum has seen more than it's share of heavy hitters roll through to pay their respects to the men that inspired them. One of the biggest inspirations was Robert Johnson. His story is as much of a fable or legend as they come in the world of blues. I won't go into the details of the story as I'm sure you can find a good explanation on line. The myth of Robert Johnson is one of the key building blocks of modern day Clarksdale. Everywhere you go there seems to be something about the crossroads or with his image on a painting. At the Blues Museum they had a wonderful amount of information on the other artists that do not receive the recognition that they deserve.

A post to follow on what we did for lunch.