
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.

At least they had recognised the importance of one of their great alumni. There was a statue and museum to the great Howlin’ Wolf.


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.

Murals on the wall showing scenes of yesteryear.

Howlin’ Wolf peering across the street at us. Â 
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.