One of the greatest blues shouters who’s ever lived.

I’ve spent my weekend editing my latest story, working on my scooter, and thinking about what to post on my Sunday. I was halfway through an entry triggering off of Caroline’s whiny masterpiece, with all sorts of examples of how horrid it is to be an elderly male. But it was gonna end up being uplifting and inspirational, in a weary-wise sort of way.

Unlike Caroline’s.

Then I had an insight, and said, aloud actually, “Hey, fuck it. I wanna play with the toys.”

I’ve been monkeying around, even more than usual, with a lot of audio-related software for the past couple of weeks. The damn stuff’s addictive. (We’ll talk about addiction in the near future…)

Anyhow, I pulled out the trusty Los Blues Guys tapes again, and played, as if I were a child.

This one is ArmadilloCon ’92. Toward the end of the evening, we were getting pretty loose and crazy.

I’d never met Tappan before that night, though I knew him from the old GEnie bulletin board days. (Yes, Virginia, there was on-line before the Web.) Tappan was also the editor of Twilight Zone magazine, but I never managed to sell to him. The bastard.

(Stevie Chuck, on the other hand, was delighted when we chatted this evening and I mentioned what I was planning, because Tappan is Beth Meacham’s sigoth, and Stevie still likes to suck up to her.)

We had absolutely NOT rehearsed this song ahead of time.

Which, considering LBG, may have been a blessing.

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