My woman's left me, and all I have now is her cat
It's soft and fuzzy, and if I?m tired I can pet
The fuzzy critter till I?m bloated, cuz I?ve got an allergy, bitch
During the old days, when slavery wasn't yet invented by mass colonizers, there were a bunch of Africans. In fact, there were a HELL OF A LOT of Africans. Many of these also knew how to play some type of instrument. The easiest and most rhythmic of these instruments was the drum. Mind you, not the Sonor 24? sets you know today. I mean your good old fashioned dear-deer-over-hollow-stump drum. Now these guys could smack the skin good. THEN came the colonizers. They stole various people here and there, and pretended they just ?found them? so they could sell them off. Which they did. This is sort of Eli Whitney's fault, because he came up with the idea for his cotton gin, and thereby spawned a need for cheap labor on the cotton fields. This was done by, convenient, black slaves. While poor Eli didn't want this of course, he did cause a near tripling of slavestates in the US. Now, the interesting part is that without this, the blues would never have been what it is today.
You really didn't want to read that did you? Something lecturing in a guide? What's this, you thought the point of a guide was to principally make you laugh? I may have been drunk, but I also clearly recall writing point 2: to teach you something. So to those who already knew this: tough beans. Process and move on.
We come back to the actuality of the blues. See now, the black slave labors were bored. Sure, there was plenty to do, but much like being whipped into fixing systems and yanking help-desk phones out the wallsocket, they got bored nevertheless. And you can imagine their frustration with the fact that there was no napster or internet or computers for that matter. They couldn't play MP3s. So they decided to play the fawkin? music themselves then.
There was, however, very little to sing about. Basically their lives were crap. And there were very little instruments to accompany with. So they just started singing. Which is in itself a pretty solid idea, you know if you don't have instruments and all.. this went on for a generation or so, and caused a subtle change in the genes of most slaves that were also able to sing properly. It is today recognized as the blues-gene. The blues gene causes the brain to start packing negative experience in a musical super-class, in effect, ?wrapping? it in a commercialisable thought-pattern. What we were in fact left with, was the natural ability to be a blues singer.
But it doesn't end there. Some very important factors are needed before the ideal blues singer was born. First of all, the guitar had to be paired with the singer. This happened in a secret laboratory in the Mississippi delta, where through strict selection, people who could sing the blues were checked for string compatibility. After many nights of hard work, the result was certainly not meager. There were not just compatibilities found between singers with blues guitars, banjos, electric guitars, but even with pianos...
But there was still something missing. The blues didn't sound... Blue enough. This is where the fabled whiskey industry of the USA stepped in. You know that what they produced isn't whiskey.. it's bourbon, and often blends too. Now you know what this does to the body. It completely wrecks it. Let's face it, American whiskey is shite. I know this, with some luck you know this too. If you don't : it's true. Don't argue here, it just doesn't compare. It's crap. Filth, and all that. But they didn't have anything better, so the expermenting began, and lo and behold, the whiskey improved the singing voice! (aside from lowering blues singer life expectancy by a few years)
And to make it even better the blues-singer dna was retrofitted with a gene for ?finding the wrong woman?
What resulted was the perfect blues singer with an imminent divorce or eloping wife. Guess the result of that one... you got it! The blues ad extremum!
And so we reach today, where fine blues singer sing their woes on good blues licks, begging the guitar to respond to their singe line complaints. They do it well...
Before we finish this guide, a note must be made. It seems that in the lineage, the bluesgene mutated. It jumped from the original black, booze swiggin, wife-beating singer, to a lot of races, and it must be said that some of these ?new? blues artists aren't half bad. Some are even very good.. but they miss the last, essential thing. You see, singing the blues isn't about making you feel better. It's about making others feel worse than you by singing.
Drown your sorrows in Tennessee whiskeys, I?ll be turning up some more B.B.King and enjoying a quiet malt. This was your devoted teacher, and you were a lovely audience.. now where's that cat...