Son Seals. born 1942 / died Dec 2004

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I was in Chicago during this fucked up winter and even though it was a cold assed night I was determined to get out and see if I could find some shit going on. I knew there had to be somebody around this muthafucker I knew and could hang out with, so that was my goal. As I climbed into my car it came to me that one of my old roommates still lived in Chicago and worked up on north Halsted at a club called Blues, so off in that general direction I headed. After getting lost in China Town and hearing a ration of shit from a couple of unfriendly Chicago cops who I tried to get directions from, I finally pulled up in front of Blues. I walked in and the first person I saw was the waitress who happened to be my old roommate. She moved out some time ago to come to Chicago to fulfill her lifelong dream of flatbackin every blues musician she could find. Shit, the girl hit so many blues players that if you held her nekked, backwards to a mirror you’d see Sealy Posturepedic mattress imprinted between her shoulder blades. The little girl did not fuck around. Over the years thru her I got to meet many many famous blues musicians. But anyway there she was as fine as ever looking surprised as fuck to see me. We hugged and she sat me down at one of the few empty spots in the club which happened to be at the bar just a few feet from the band. Yeah, with a few exceptions, most of the “legendary” clubs were always small. You hear about this famous club all your life and it’s usually like a Mecca for whatever music you’re into. And when you finally make it to the club and walk in, you always go; “this is it? This place is smaller then a muthafucker”. So I sat down and she got me a drink and the band fired it up. Even before the ex-roomie introduced us I recognized the guitar player as Son Seals. Hell, I had what, four of his albums at home and here he was at Blues getting ready to play with a full horn section? That was the loudest shit I ever heard in my life cause my spot at the bar had me close enough where I could’a reached out and slapped five with the trumpet player. The band was eye bulging loud but sounded so fucking good that it didn’t really matter much. It was like the blues just seeped and flowed throughout every pore in my body. If I closed my eye’s I felt like I was falling down this deep shaft and below waited the blues to catch me. And every now and then Son’s growl would shatter my serenity and bring me back up for air. I’d take a sip from my drink, look around the room and close my eyes and start nodding the blues again. Being that close to the band and hearing the shit they put out was like heaven to me. I’ve heard people talk about how the blues is depressing. But to me the blues is some of the happiest music I’ve ever heard cause it touches me where other music doesn’t. This was all years ago and even though life has changed and all that good shit, the blues still affects me that way. And I feel bad thinking about this but I’ve kind’a run away from the blues. But hey, life is a full circle right? I’ll hear it and embrace it again I’m sure. But I’ll never forget that fucked up winter in Chicago when I got lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time and was able to meet and hear the great Son Seals.

"and the monkey flipped the switch"