I was too late for them all. RL Burnside, Junior Kimbrough and Howlin’ Wolf were all dead. The club where Burnside used to play was burnt down. All I could do was some Blues archeology.
West Point was a typical Southern town
The plaque to Chester Burnett’s wife.
The statue to Howlin’ Wolf
The Howlin’ Wolf Museum. It was shut.
I bought a pile of Blues CDs at a shop along the road.
If only I’d been here twenty years before or fifty years before. I could smell blues in the air. But I couldn’t see or hear it.