The famous guitarist and songwriter, Jack White, cites this as his favorite song. So, I looked it up, and felt so lucky to have been made aware of this blues master called Son House. I think I now have to rank it among my favorite lyrical poems, as well as a song.
As he sings, I can see faces that smile to him as they lie. I hear the voices that talk about him and make up their minds about him, apart from him. I feel the hurt of each discovery that people have tried to dominate him in a queasily teasing manner, to skirt trouble with him, perhaps to get something from him dishonestly or cheaply, to smooth over a wrinkle, or to deflect a pointed question.
It makes B.B King's "The Thrill is Gone" feel almost overdone and melodious by comparison. I have never heard a plaint of anger and hurt quite this raw, but controlled all the while with an acceptance of how people are to each other, and proffered wisdom: forgive and don't let it get to you.
This song, played without his guitar, and not even kept in time by his somewhat erratic clapping, might not be considered the best example of blues musicianship. But it really is one of the best lines of poetry I have ever heard, and sung with an incredible of blend of pathos and restraint. It feels to me like the root of blues, not in terms of chronology, but in essence. It also carries a stillness with it, a calming "hush now", instead of an incitement to bitterness.
All of this is like an extremely rich consommé of emotions distilled into eight words. Thank you, Jack White, you trickster. We'll come back around to talking about you here, soon.
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| Picking and grinning himself, Jack White recently performed "Mother Nature's Son" at the White House honoring Sir Paul McCartney, singing in a Beatleseque voice, playing on his old, hard-to-keep-in tune guitar, and all this following comedian Jerry Seinfeld. Only you would set for yourself that challenge. Only you. |
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