What the hell: Clarksdale Pt. 2 in photos

Google Maps directs me to the crossroads. You know, sell your soul, etc.

Those 3 guitars behind the Abe’s sign = crossroads.

New Roxy on Issaquena Ave

Paramount on Yazoo Ave

Just purty.

Wade Walton’s Barbershop/BBQ/blues club.

Preston Rumbaugh & Henry Swain Club at Cathead. This bass player was especially fun to listen to.

I couldn’t find much about this now-vacant store, but the Kerstine family records would be fun to comb through (http://www.lib.usm.edu/legacy/archives/kerstine.htm).

Delta Ave

Griot Arts on Sunflower Ave

Robert “Bilbo” Walker, blues legend.

Along Yazoo Ave.

I briefly talked to the gentleman taking the photo here and his bandmate behind him. They said to come to a club which I couldn’t find; if you know who these guys are, lemme know!

Jerron “Blind Boy” Paxton, the best acoustic blues player ever, and a real funny guy to boot (and Bilbo in the background).

Leo “Bud” Welch and Big Jon Short at the Delta Blues Museum

Cathead stage, not sure who’s in this band.

Christone “Kingfish” Ingram absolutely shredding at the Delta Furniture Stage on Issaqueena Ave.

Meat box.

Sunset.

What the hell: a blues tourist in Clarksdale.

I’m irritatingly skeptical of everything “fun.” It might be the New Englander in me. Breaking into an abandoned building to read old medical records? That’s fun. Disneyland, cruise ships, guided tours? The possibility that some one-size-fits-all, for-profit construction of “fun” could actually be fun seems nonexistent. If you’ve never been a grad student, I’ll tell you what year one is like: you read books by weighty authors and are expected to speak confidently about how wrong their posited ideas are, how unpleasing their writing is, or how outdated and idealistic their notions of authenticity, racial essentialism, ethics, aesthetics, gender, and politics are. So I can still do my skeptical schtick, I just need footnotes. Sometimes, we even talk about blues (read: we talk about what Elijah Wald says about blues, because he’s done the skepticaling for us).

As a blues fan, I embrace some aspects of blues tourism while finding others problematic. Yes, I used the Mississippi Blues Trail markers to visit Magic Sam’s house in Grenada several years ago, and it was awesome. But I also wrote an undergrad paper on the impact of urban renewal on Beale Street. In short, Beale was closed for a decade-ish and then rebuilt as the tourist destination we know today. There’s very little literature detailing the institutionalized and systemic racism and classism that led to the closure of Beale; sweeping that stuff under the rug keeps the “home of the blues” mythology neat and simple. I get it. Blues needs landmarks, Memphis needs tourist dollars, and people want to experience music in a bar that opened when W.C. Handy was alive, but I’m uncomfortable with reproductions being passed off as authentic, lineage narratives that are gussied up for the general public, and the fetishization of physical places that come to represent “blues.” It is a musical genre and culture filled with folklore and fakelore, and that’s part of the appeal for me, but the complicated, problematic parts of the story are often unrecorded, inaccessible, and certainly not promoted. If something in blues is aimed at blues fans, I usually skip it.

Weirdly, I’ve been told by starry-eyed blues tourists as well as eye-rolling blues skeptics that the Juke Joint Festival in Clarksdale, Mississippi is worth a trip, worth a pilgrimage, even. And I find myself in Mississippi for the Blues Symposium at Ole Miss (yes, blues has a symposium!) with the fest starting today, my one free day, the day I figured I’d finally break into the Sterick Building in Memphis. I had hoped to catch guitarist Josh Roberts in Memphis last night, but a long day and a severe weather warning kept me inside the Best Western, so I’m jonesing for a music fix…

What the hell. Juke Joint Fest it is.