I Hate the Blues

I’m not sure I feel comfortable discussing this subject. I’ll be honest, I think that people around here and on this site have made it nearly impossible to have a serious discussion about this subject without calling one another horrible names. So even to write about it under as suedonympho could get me in huge amounts of trouble.

When you see something, say something. I’ve seen enough, and I’m going to say something.

I don’t like the blues.

There, I said it. I feel better. Perhaps I do feel a little shameful. Only because it took this long for me to say it. And yes, perhaps someone may even try to shame me. I can see this post has the potential to cause quite a shit storm if published. Oy vey, how some people are going to react.

Seriously. I’ve tried to like the blues. I’ve listened. I’ve even attended sessions in basements; brisket and wine night. Not a fan. I just can’t like them, the blues. After a while it’s the same stupid shit over and over and over. It’s just said in a different way. I can’t stand the incantation like nature of the message. The way they preach on and on. Jesus Christ enough already with that. It’s almost lecturing, but it’s paternalistic. Like ohhhhhhhhh listen to me, you don’t know the suffering I’ve had. Allow me to sing to you my wisdoms. My people this, my woman that, my dad this.

If you don’t love everything about the blues then you hate all the blues. Period. That’s what happened today. If I don’t like one, I don’t like any. I’m immediately cast off as a radical. A threat. A terrorist. All or none. You don’t like them, I don’t like them, the solution? Split the record down the middle and now you both have half of an album you can’t play on the record player.

Some of them, with the way they dress. It’s always the same. White shirt, black pants, simple leather shoes. As if they are sooo god damn poor. Their whole life they were. The way they speak. They have their own secret language for god sake. They refuse to stop singing from on high about all their problems.

How long are you going to complain about how bad you have it? The blues this. The blues that. If you knew how bad it was, you’d be blue too. How long before you finally own your shit, and accept some of the blame for where you are in life?

The thrill is gone for me. Yes, it is. I can’t take the blues. Their mojo or mysticism as some call it, well it isn’t working on me anymore. I could care less about how you people only want bowlegged women. I mean really, who needs to hear how bad it is that you have a woman so large it hurts when she gets on top? Yes, the blues are offensive. I quit you, so don’t beg me, please don’t beg me not to go.

You people, yes, I said you people, I’ll say it again probably because I’m running out of material, you people have a global platform that promotes your “culture”. It broadcasts it in my car, on my phone, on my twitter, I even see it on youtube. But the second I go and criticize the blues, you can sure count an entire army roaring back on me like Goliath on David. They’ll scream that I wish all their records cut up into pieces, tossed into an incinerator, and deleted from hard drives all across the earth.

Why can’t I just not like the blues without being called names? Why can’t I say that I tried to like the blues and it never worked out? It isn’t personal. It’s a choice I made and stick too. Listen, I even dated one. But the parents? Oy, they hated me. They didn’t choose me as the one, I guess. Something about their daughter idolizing me as if I was her god. (not the first woman to have done this btw)

But because of my job I could only really go out one night a week. And this one little thing seemed to be what caused the biggest problem. I tried to explain that Saturday was it for me and traditionally it had become my family’s movie night. I explained that it was the way I was raised. Saturday, we go out, Sunday we rest.

Her parents insisted that Saturday was for the blues. That was the way god intended it and so god forbid I be allowed to take her out for a cheeseburger and movie, even worse do it on Saturday. So, we broke up.

She did give me back my Led Zeppelin Albums. She wasn’t allowed to keep them in her house. Some kind of laws would have been broken. Her peoples laws she said. Blue laws. When I came to pick them up, she threw them at me. Crying, she screamed, “My people will never accept this. This is not real blues! It’s not even blues inspired!” Sobbing, her dark locks covering her face.

“Everyone will learn that they just copied their works from a bunch of other blues. History will show that they stole from my people, and collected their sheckles without shame.”

Awkward right? Out on the front step. She did this. I schlepped back to my car and drove away, Physical Graffiti blaring. Screw the uppity blues. Their standards. Oh how devout they are, but in time the will just Muddy their waters when it suits them.

It’s not how I was raised, to not like blues. I blame social media. I don’t remember even really knowing anything about the blues growing up. I was raised as a progressive. Sure, some people say I was Rushed into adulthood. I like to think that I was Rolling Stone and had tried to branch out into other culturally acceptable sects.

Yes, I admit I went through a Moody period, but all those Doors seemed to shut over time. I tried to go the Alternative route, but it got to Emotional, and it just delved into a popular culture that everyone liked regardless of how empty the message seemed to become.

Man, If I got a Nickle Back for every bad blues album I bought I’d be rich. And so as I struggle to find ways to wrap this post up, I’ll just come back to where I started.

I don’t like blues and I am willing to accept all the anger and hate that comes with it.

Especially from a cabal that say they are progressive, but between you, and me will be the first person to laugh at a joke about the blues.

Ed Note: I posted this Donviti guest post without reading beyond the first sentence. I hope it doesn’t suck.