His playing was everywhere, and we just got used to this guitar sound, whether played by himself or one of his many disciples, from Buddy Guy to U2, Eric Clapton or John Mayer… Even if you’re not a fan of the blues, even if you’ve never heard the man himself, you’ve heard someone emulate his playing, his singing, his showmanship, and more often than not a combination of the three. For someone whose style and sound is so ubiquitous, he is not nearly as famous as he should have been. Of course, he’s a superstar and a legend but he never achieved icon status like, say, Elvis or Michael Jackson.
Yet everything we hear today owes a little something to BB King. He was truly one of the foundations of everything we now take for granted, along with Chuck Berry and Bob Dylan.
When I got to see him, he was already decades past his prime but he could still bring it. He could still stand, he could still walk and more importantly he could still sing. With his voice, and his guitar. He would have the most beautiful conversations with Lucille: he would talk and she would reply. Sometimes they would even fight. Lovers’ quarrels, nothing a good rhythm section couldn’t fix. And woodwinds. Strings, even.
So the purists would inevitably throw their hands in the air. Yes, he lived in Vegas, yes he was an entertainer. Yes he got paid handsomely. He didn’t conform to the cliché of the cotton picker playing steel guitar on his porch. He plaid the blues because it was his trade, he played the blues because it was his life, he played the blues because it was his crown. BB, King of the Blues.