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When you’ve wrestled with the ghosts of so many old lovers that it becomes an obsession it’s time to hang a shingle and call it your profession. Of course wrestling lovers while they’re still around is equally rewarding and it’s this dual occupation that fuels my love-affair with singing and picking the blues.
It’s a common held belief that white-folk sing the blues sad because they’ve seen too many happy times come to an end, while black-folk sing the blues happy because trouble is all they’ve known – so it’s best to court that trouble and get what you can from its sorry arse.
I sing sad and wailing songs because I have a thirst to know the authentic tang of my heart’s troubles – and because it just feels so damn good. I love what it shows me about myself and the myriad warped ways I view the world – I don’t necessarily do it to impress anyone, but those who are impressed and tell me so will usually see me lost for words. To them I simply say thank you.
The music that grabs me has to infiltrate my heart and turn me into a jealous lover. And it is this kind of rare lover that resonates with the songs that erupt from my casual fever. If you are such a soul, welcome! Make yourself at home – rustle us up a snack while I twang away here in the corner.
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