Robert Johnson : Aye I remember him when he was a scrawny young wannabe with nothin much but dogshit on his boot.
Here's some trivia about Mr Johnson and all things related.
Now you won't find any of this stuff anywhere on the web well not the way I'm gonna tell it anyway.
There is an old saying that if you go down to the crossroads on Oct 31 at midnight and start doing strange things to yourself with goats and chickens the Dark One will appear, no it won't be Roberts mam it will be you know who.
You can't miss him he'll be the big black dude smokin a crack pipe with the white zoot suit an a couple of hoes trailing behind. You will also notice an overpowering aroma of cannabis.
He'll walk up to you smile a mouth full of gold and say " Heeeey waz up nigga " don't matter if your white he'll still say the same thing.
Then it's only polite to let him join in whatever you where doing in the dark with them animals.
Now remember to bring your guitar along or else all would have been to no avail, you would just be waking up in the morning with a headache and a sore arse.
Afterwards the Dark Lord will offer to tune your guitar for you as as a token of thanks. Let him and you will become the greatest guitar player of your generation.
Then he will disappear like a big Puff in smoke and you'll be made up for life.
Good Old Bob Pt 2
Now those of you who may have a passing interest in the history of Bob will know or even own the much critically acclaimed Robert Johnson The Complete Recordings ( Columbia ).
This small batch of recordings remain the only testament to the Legend that was Bad Bob.
Apparently recorded in some shit hole of a warehouse and the blues purists will quickly point out Bobs supernatural uncanny ability to sound like two or three guitar players at once.
" Amazing pure genius gifted beyond extreme he really must have made a pact with the Devil ".
Not really the fact of the matter is he had a bunch of mates down in that warehouse with him shooting craps and drinking the hooch and of course jamming along no that's not Robert playing an extra bass line with his knob it was one of his buddys on one of the extra guitars.
Delude yourself not cut through the hype and learn the truth.
The truth is that he was not this noble Troubadour Grandfather of the Blues.
He was a heavy smokin drinkin womanizing substance abusing Son of a Bitch which puts him on a par with the rest of us.
So it was the 1920's - 30's the Great Depression had took hold on America so yes he was immoral cheating lying stealing how else do you survive.
There where no liberal I love your black ass do-gooders around in them days for he spent quite a bit of time on the run from redneck cops who would just whoop his ass for being black and breathing.
( There's a Hell Hound on My Tail )
Good old Bob Pt 3
So how do you get by in 1930's suburbia if you happen to be a young black Afro-American male apart from mugging affluent white folks in Central Park three times a night.
Well take a tip out of old Bob's book an this is what you do, roll into town guitar in hand and make a beeline straight for the ugliest Bint you can find if she has a face like a horses head and a butt like a sack of potatoes you have found your target.
She will be overjoyed at finally getting some male attention and promptly imply that you should move in and be lovers.
So now after rolling into a strange town you have board and lodgings free of charge all you have to do is service the woman till she's satisfied an she'll be ever so grateful giving you breakfast in bed fussing and doting over you ect.
Robert was married but that never stopped him ( He's the MAN ) he eventually deserted his wife for nagging too much about his wayward ways whereupon she went insane and died a few years later.
So now once Bob set himself up in town he was ready to get to doing what he liked doing best which was playing guitar in the Jook Joints round town where he always managed to catch the eye of many a young fair-brown as long as he didn't wear his mojo out on the bag back at the house he could indulge himself later on.
Now Bob used to do this in every town up and down the Mississippi Delta never hanging around for more than three weeks at a time.
Once Bob got picked up by the cops one night ( They said it was a vagrancy charge ) where they threw him in the slammer kicked the shit out of him and smashed his guitar up probably over his skull.
A mate of Bobs turned up to bail him and gives him forty-five cents for breakfast then Bob walks across the road and starts talking to some fair-brown standing on the corner.
Bob comes back to his mate an goes " There's a lady here. She wants fifty cents and I lacks a nickel..."
Good Old Bob Pt 4
Now we are gettin to the end of the road with this tale.
Bob's contract made with Ol Nick at them crossroads years ago was just about up every dog has it's day and his was over.
The year was 1938 Bob as usual was fornicating with some dudes wife it just so happened that this one was married to the owner of the joint where Bob was gonna be playin for the next few nights.
Well the owner of the establishment threw down a half pint pitcher of hooch on Bobs table which subsequently got drunk.
Then a second pitcher was put down. But by this time Bob was starting to act mighty strange and mid set he got down on his hands and knees an started barking like a dog then staggered outside crashing out.
All I gotta say to that is man where did he get his weed from.
Anyways it so happened that the hooch had a load of poison mixed in and no Bob did NOT die.
He recovered an was fine but in a weakened state some days later he contracted pneumonia that's what done for him.
And the Owners wife well she carried on whore'in as usual.
