I saw B.B. King once, at Snowbird Resort in Utah, in 1992 I think. He was the concluding act of a big blues tour, and the penultimate performer was Buddy Guy, who utterly tore the place to pieces, walking among the audience with his electric guitar, wailing away like nobody’s business. Compared to him, King, who came on with his own big band, seemed staid and unexciting. I didn’t stay through his whole set—-and really, I probably should have. Who knows what musical memories I missed being able to make that night? Ah well, time wears us all down, eventually. R.I.P., Mr. King.
No comments:
Post a Comment