In the Seventies, when I was in school at Vanderbilt, I took my now-husband to see Muddy Waters at the Exit Inn.
The concert was held in a room that was rather crowded, to make an understatement. Tables were jammed in close enough that we were almost in contact with our neighbors. I was quite surprised that Muddy Waters himself, and his band members, were able to walk through part of the crowd to reach the stage.
And thus I was introduced to the blues.
I can’t remember the set list. I do remember Muddy himself sitting there on his stool, adding a note here and there to the music, Buddha-like.
white pebble 