Three of Four

Feeling a distinct lack of log cabin whimsy for the foreseeable. Down to the final five and then on to kid projects. I should start shopping patterns.

By the dawn of what would be called the American Century, the social cohesiveness of the communities that gave birth to the nation was already on the wane. American life had already begun its inevitable collapse into the hyper-individualism, the fluidity, the cultural tumult so characteristic of modern times. Perhaps the African American musician, from the start torn assunder from the rich heritage and traditions of the old kingdoms — whose self-conciousness was permeated with a sense of loss from that very fact — was most sensitive to the essence of this situation.

Perhaps the outsider was best capable of giving expression to what was destined to become the mainstream reality. To the emotional landscape of a world in which no ties held fast, no ground remained firm underfoot, no certainties stood unquestioned. Here all meanings were provisional, all relationships temporary. Only the particularities of the day-to-day — again the perennial “I woke this morning” of so many blues lyrics — held sway. In essence, the blues, the stepchild of Africa, the legacy of slaves, had already plumbed the depths of these bracing new waters, long before most Americans had even noticed a change in the currents. It’s old as the hills wisdom, as it turned out, would prove very much up-to-date.

~Ted Gioia, Delta Blues: The Life and Times of the Mississippi Masters who Revolutionized American Music, 2009.