But it's the center of American musical art, as important to our cultural artistic heritage as the moving-picture camera and stream-of-consciousness prose. Even as we turn more and more to dance halls, guitar-driven folk and bluegrass acts have never been more popular (MUMFORD AND SONS leading the charge just like the Beatles took over American rock in the 60's - goddam brits - and if you're in SoCal, I highly suggest checking this fest out). But the whole popularity of the guitar, rock and roll, hell, all American music can be traced back to the black blues singers of the early 1900's. And none was considered more influential or important than Robert Johnson.
His musicianship was second to none back then for one simple reason: he sold his soul to the devil at the crossroads to become a great blues guitarist.
This Faustian trade is one of the last true legends of American folklore; appropriate to have this on the heel of New Orleans JazzFest, a onetime tribute to dirty blues and bloody jazz in a city steeped in voodoo and black magic that every year is becoming more and more just another music festival like one would find in cities like Dallas or Manchester, Tennessee. Today there can't be such folk stories because before Johnson could claim it everybody and his brother would have gone to the crossroads, taken pictures, done analysis, posted YouTube footage, inspected his soul; holy men would try to get his soul back while racist Baptists would claim him a hellion and launch hate-filled pickets at his shows and his publicists and handlers would tell him to recant.
While Johnson talks about his fear at being late night at the crossroads in "Cross Road Blues", it isn't until he came out with "Hellhound on My Trail" in 1936 that Johnson finally straight up said the devil is after him. It tells the story of a man running, "blues falling down like hail" and he has to just keep running 'cuz he got a "hellhound on my trail".
And he confirmed that with his later song "Devil At My Door", about the devil finally showing up at his door telling him it's time to go. Of course all sorts of white folks, from Eric Clapton on, covered RJ.
There are people who say these songs are really about being a black man and slavery. "Crossroad Blues", thought by some to be about the the devil deal, is interpreted by others as being a man meditating on his fear of lynchers on empty southern rural roads or fear of the cops thanks to the old "colored man" curfews. Hellhound on my trail can be interpreted as a slave running away, the master's dogs giving a fierce chase and all he wants is just to see his girl. But whether it's about the Devil or slavery and racism - and, really, what's the difference - it's fucking deep.
There was a time when people could believe a man would sell his soul to be the greatest musician and to hell with all other concerns. Today, with manufactured pop stars and Disney singers and overly-polished troubadours, what's the point? You won't get radio play, much less be considered a "great" musician by the people supposedly in the know. The most popular and lauded songs today don't say a thing, replacing substance with the opportunity for its performers to swagger and gyrate surrounded by all the riches of the kingdom. If anybody would sell his soul to the devil today, I would think it would be in exchange for being the head of a big financial brokerage (didn't they already - Blankfein at the crossroads?) or possibly to be Justin Bieber - rich, popular, and poised to run through groupies at a pace to make the Rolling Stones blush.
That's why we at Man's Ambition are going to find the great stories buried in our American songbook. And just like everybody knows our nation's sprawling story - rebellion, expansion, conquest - all Americans should know about the blues and the bluesmen who are sadly disappearing from the face of the earth. Because a deal with the devil is much deeper and more interesting than some bullshit about whether some teenage girl likes you enough to go steady or whatever rot those bastards are singing about today.
- Ryan
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