Driving up the Blues Trail on Highway 61, along the great Mississippi river, the Nomads have arrived at the Ground Zero of the Blues, Clarksdale. Time to pay homage to the old masters and creators of that ol' Blues Music.
One way of pulling visitors to this state is by capitalising on its' rich musical heritage. It's one of its prodigal native sons that has returned home (since the passing of his father) that has taken a lead in bringing visitors to Mississippi. Morgan Freeman himself has opened a Blues Club in the middle of downtown Clarksdale. Above the club there are studios for rent and that's exactly where were staying.
It's our ground zero from where we intend to explore Blues country. Our very first night we got lucky and found both the blues in the club downstairs, as well as an upgrade to Morgans Room upstairs. Downstairs a local Blues cat named Kid was playing his ass off. He said: "This is what my granpa thought me.." and broke out with a groovy Blues tune I had never heard before.
The fabled crossroad where Blues legend Robert Johnson (1911-1938) sold his soul to the Devil for the gift of unrivaled musical mastery is supposed to be where highway 61 and 49 meet. The crossroad of these modern highways is located just off Clarksdale and many Blues aficionado travel there to find that legendary spot. Now the fact of the matter is that the new highways are not the old ones from Robert Johnson's time and the original roads are to be found elsewhere. The more inquisitive Blues aficionados go there. Of course as it turns out there is no such crossroad. When we meet Clarksdale's last surviving knowledge owner of the era at the equally legendary Riverside Hotel he tells us it's just a song steeped in mystical and mythological meaning.
Notwithstanding other equally anguished Robert Johnson songs like 'Me and the Devil', it is more likely po'Bob was describing the despair of walking unfamiliar roads at sun down and the not unimaginable fear of a lynching party.
The Riverside Hotel
When we met Rat the friendly proprietor of the Riverside hotel I clung to his every word, when he started telling tales of a bygone Blues era. His grandmother once managed the Riverside hotel and as a child he had witnesses much of the musical ongoings of the Blues patrons staying at this historic hotel. Stimulated by my sincere interest in the hotels history he starts showing me the rooms and shares their remarkable stories. Many legendary musicians like for instance Howling Wolf had their own rooms in the hotel and Rat tells me they also jammed and wrote music there. Clarksdale resident Ike Turner even composed and recorded the demo for the song 'Rocket 88' in it's basement studio creating Rock & Roll history.
Clarksdale is located on the route from Mississippi to Tenessee and as the town's only black hotel in the old segregated South it was the place where most Blues artists stayed on their way North (or back South). Before it was turned into a hotel it was actually Clarksdale's black hospital and Rat shows me the actual room where Blues Empress Bessy Smith passed away after her car accident. Rat keeps the old hotel in an authentic state and the rooms are refurnished, but still have much of the old furniture. It felt like I was getting a museum tour, but Rat is quick to emphasise that he's operating an actual hotel and all rooms, including the Bessy Smith room, can be booked.
From the outside the hotel and the 'shabby' cabins next to it look like picture perfect remnants of the historic Blues age. However when Rat shows me the inside of the 'shabby cabins' I find totally refurbished and air-conditioned rooms. He tells me he is slightly disappointed many visitors believe his hotel is just a historic site or museum. I reply by saying that he should defintely keep the authentic look and not turn into some Blues Disney land. Rat doesn't maintain a fancy website and whatever is online is made by befriended visitors. When we leave I ask him where his visitors mostly come from and he shows me his guestbook with many European names.
Tomorrow we will drive on to Memphis, but a Nomad knows where he's going to stay next time he's in Clarksdale.
Walking in the summer heat of the Mississippi Delta, mosquitoes buzzin' all around, I'm finding appreciation why this old cotton picking country became the birthplace of the Blues. Today the state of Mississippi is still one of the poorest places in the USA. However there does not seem to be much racial segregation here anymore. In fact one graffiti on a wall said: "Ain't no Black or White here, just poor folk."
One early night driving up to Clarksdale we pit stop in a very small Mississippi town. My fellow Nomad goes into a little road cafe for a sanitary stop. When she returns to our car she smiles and says: "All the girls in the shop were looking at me funny." Only then we start to notice this place here was a 100% all black town, which even with our dark complexion made us stand out. Although we have often been to all black neighbourhoods in the big city, this was a little different. When we cruise through the residential area in the simmering summer heat I was fascinated by the fact that the scenes of folks sitting and chatting on the veranda and girls braiding each others hair was more reminiscent of traditional tribal villages I had visited in East Indonesia, than anything else we've seen before of 21st century USA.
One early night driving up to Clarksdale we pit stop in a very small Mississippi town. My fellow Nomad goes into a little road cafe for a sanitary stop. When she returns to our car she smiles and says: "All the girls in the shop were looking at me funny." Only then we start to notice this place here was a 100% all black town, which even with our dark complexion made us stand out. Although we have often been to all black neighbourhoods in the big city, this was a little different. When we cruise through the residential area in the simmering summer heat I was fascinated by the fact that the scenes of folks sitting and chatting on the veranda and girls braiding each others hair was more reminiscent of traditional tribal villages I had visited in East Indonesia, than anything else we've seen before of 21st century USA.
One way of pulling visitors to this state is by capitalising on its' rich musical heritage. It's one of its prodigal native sons that has returned home (since the passing of his father) that has taken a lead in bringing visitors to Mississippi. Morgan Freeman himself has opened a Blues Club in the middle of downtown Clarksdale. Above the club there are studios for rent and that's exactly where were staying.
Tomorrow a Nomad just has to find that crossroad...
***
The CrossroadThe fabled crossroad where Blues legend Robert Johnson (1911-1938) sold his soul to the Devil for the gift of unrivaled musical mastery is supposed to be where highway 61 and 49 meet. The crossroad of these modern highways is located just off Clarksdale and many Blues aficionado travel there to find that legendary spot. Now the fact of the matter is that the new highways are not the old ones from Robert Johnson's time and the original roads are to be found elsewhere. The more inquisitive Blues aficionados go there. Of course as it turns out there is no such crossroad. When we meet Clarksdale's last surviving knowledge owner of the era at the equally legendary Riverside Hotel he tells us it's just a song steeped in mystical and mythological meaning.
I went to the crossroads, fell down on my knees
I went to the crossroads, fell down on my knees
Asked the Lord above, have mercy now,
Save poor Bob if you please
Standin' at the crossroads, tried to flag a ride
Whee-hee, I tried to flag a ride
Didn't nobody seem to know me, everybody pass me by
Standin' at the crossroads, risin' sun goin' down
Standin' at the crossroads baby, the risin' sun goin' down
I believe to my soul now, po' Bob is sinkin' down
Notwithstanding other equally anguished Robert Johnson songs like 'Me and the Devil', it is more likely po'Bob was describing the despair of walking unfamiliar roads at sun down and the not unimaginable fear of a lynching party.
The Riverside Hotel
When we met Rat the friendly proprietor of the Riverside hotel I clung to his every word, when he started telling tales of a bygone Blues era. His grandmother once managed the Riverside hotel and as a child he had witnesses much of the musical ongoings of the Blues patrons staying at this historic hotel. Stimulated by my sincere interest in the hotels history he starts showing me the rooms and shares their remarkable stories. Many legendary musicians like for instance Howling Wolf had their own rooms in the hotel and Rat tells me they also jammed and wrote music there. Clarksdale resident Ike Turner even composed and recorded the demo for the song 'Rocket 88' in it's basement studio creating Rock & Roll history.
Clarksdale is located on the route from Mississippi to Tenessee and as the town's only black hotel in the old segregated South it was the place where most Blues artists stayed on their way North (or back South). Before it was turned into a hotel it was actually Clarksdale's black hospital and Rat shows me the actual room where Blues Empress Bessy Smith passed away after her car accident. Rat keeps the old hotel in an authentic state and the rooms are refurnished, but still have much of the old furniture. It felt like I was getting a museum tour, but Rat is quick to emphasise that he's operating an actual hotel and all rooms, including the Bessy Smith room, can be booked.
From the outside the hotel and the 'shabby' cabins next to it look like picture perfect remnants of the historic Blues age. However when Rat shows me the inside of the 'shabby cabins' I find totally refurbished and air-conditioned rooms. He tells me he is slightly disappointed many visitors believe his hotel is just a historic site or museum. I reply by saying that he should defintely keep the authentic look and not turn into some Blues Disney land. Rat doesn't maintain a fancy website and whatever is online is made by befriended visitors. When we leave I ask him where his visitors mostly come from and he shows me his guestbook with many European names.
Tomorrow we will drive on to Memphis, but a Nomad knows where he's going to stay next time he's in Clarksdale.
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