“Some folks will tell you the blues is a woman,/Some type of supernatural creature.” Cornelius Eady, “I’m a Fool to Love You”
He played the blues like he was playing the craps table, with the wish for luck and a little bit of good fortune. Come on, he’d whisper to his twelve-string guitar, come on and make me a winner. I need the shoes of a gambler and the soul of a preacher man to make me happy. Lucky numbers come up eventually, all you have to do is to wait long enough. It’s just this side of hell, the side with the glittery wishes and the long-toothed promises. The low-socketed throaty rumble of his voice rasps honey on the neck of the guitar and I see him sweating. Under the blue lights of the stage, he claims the prize of the gambler’s secret: there are no lucky rolls of the dice. Every roll is midnight or snake eyes.