Review Summary: Comfort by the dozen... remedy unrevised. RIP Riley B. King
Some may find solace in eventual Pearly gate 'passes', supposedly belonging to all those who lived piously, while others might turn towards a more practical, earthbound, conception or form when in need of some condolence.
As regards the traditional duodecimal form, the first four bars provide a statement-- the source of one's blues: "Well, my bad luck is falling... falling down like rain." The guitar will moan compliantly; there's no need for flash, as B.B knows. Self-taught indeed, so that the occasional trill 'round the pentatonic or the seminal bend will suffice and identify those worthy by their full names.
Bars five through eight, act as a restatement or a reminder of what one's blues is all about; in case he didn't grab your attention in the first place, that is. After all, such a universal story concerns us all. So, with an occasionally omitted, yet ever-implied, "OWW!" one shall duplicate, "Bad luck is falling... falling down like rain," then he may add the flatted fifth or perhaps vibrate towards higher Lucille frets; it's a King's way of sliding 'round--and never against the "moody" flow.
Come bar or month nine, when the skies might actually reply in accordance, revealing a punchline soaked in lucidity. The turnaround mirrors the futile situation and reinvigorates your blues into the next 12 bars, months, years--further channeling the commoner's continuum. So, "No matter what I do, seems like my luck won't ever change," says Riley B. King, as a seemingly contradictory smile crosses his face. "Seemingly" 'cause he knew that even when higher forces govern our lives, we're still inherently able to adapt, transcend, and in his case, make music that will comfort--keep 'em coming, Lord--by the dozen. Reviewing his debut was not the point of my narration, neither was rating it, other than it divides the subject matter in discussion pertinently. In truth, I just felt the need to pay my last respects to one true practitioner; still, some might have preferred a more practical conception or form... so,
"Well, I don't wanna hear you moaning, I don't wanna hear you trying
(OWW!) I don't wanna hear you moaning, I don't wanna hear you trying
For no matter how most play 'em, B.B's blues' they had it right..."
Rest In Peace
Riley B. King [September 16, 1925 – May 14, 2015]
