John Lee Hooker, 1917(?)-2001

The Air Will Never Be the Same

A couple of great things happened to me when I lived in Mississippi. I worked in the best independent bookstore in the country (no mean feat) and I got to see the best blues in the world. Old Skool. John Lee Hooker.

Oddly enough, I heard him play at a rally for Ole Miss in Jackson, MS in the fall of 1986. I don't remember who we played or why. A football game? Like I cared. It was JOHN LEE HOOKER. He was performing on a dais that was a foot taller than my eye level, but I had to get close. My neck has never been the same. He perched his bony body on an orange cafeteria chair at mid-stage. He seemed to rock forward with each downbeat on one spindly leg. More energy crackled out of his desiccated body than from a rock arena band. The crowd wasn't huge but it was ardent. I felt like all our butts were moving in unison to "Baby Lee." His signature thrumming of the guitar held us, cradled us, made us feel whole. It was like he was passing the quantum energy of life unto the throng. We inhaled the intoxication of "One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer". He saved "Boogie Chillun" and "Boom Boom" for last. At the first three chords of "Boom Boom" he leaned forward and lunged out of his chair with vibrant alacrity. We were stunned.

He walked toward the edge of the stage. He leaned down. I was two feet from John Lee Hooker. His whiskers were climbing out of his chin and his eyes had the blue translucence of a marble. We breathed the same air. His breath is gone. The air will never be the same again.

Blythe Christopher
Contributing Writer