Posted in: Blues by c.a. ellis on January 4th, 2007 | 0 Comments
How a legend brought back from the dead can teach life’s lessons. Novice Colby Greer encounters blues legend the Elephant Seal and gets a taste of his world.
“Greer, more of that Joe.”
I handed Rick the steaming mug. Blowing over the steam, he leaned back in the chair. “It’s been quite a day in this little chair of mine.”
He was trying to get a reaction out of me. Though I hadn’t complained about doing manual labor, he sensed my frustration. How quickly I swept and dusted. How eager I was to leave.
I don’t like grunt work, for I’ve had my share of it at several menial jobs, and it seemed I would be forever cleaning and organizing furniture.
Since getting hired, I hadn’t yet put my experience to the test. I was still addressed as Mr. Greer, as if I were back in the classroom. Mr. Randolph, you let me call you Rick, so why not call me Colby?
As for perks, 101.7 FM was one of my favorite stations. Aside from the lousy early shows, a mix of classic and alternative rock kept listeners satisfied.
One night I switched to the station, looking to hear great music. The guitars I heard were out-of-tune and heavy vocals resonated in a fuzzy background.
They were those of the legendary Robert Johnson, and it grew on me, even inspired me to want to take up the guitar.
“Mr. Greer, your time runs short. Same time tomorrow. Any questions?”
The cleaning liquid’s fumes were tweaking my sinuses as I washed the windows.
“I’ve wondered who runs the station in the morning.” I said.
“Yours truly,” He yawned. “I’m not a morning person, though. I’m sure you’ve heard my voice cracking.” “Mine would, at 1in the morning, certainly.” I said.
He was baffled. “The morning show starts at 6 o’clock, and we close at midnight. When we close, the music closes, too.”
“But that devil’s music is still playing.”
“We don’t play metal or any of the subgenres, Mr. Greer.”
“I mean the blues, Rick.” “We don’t play blues.” “Every night I’m tuned into the blues on this station.” He ignored me. “Let’s call it a day. Until tomorrow, Mr. Greer.” He quickly grabbed the cleaner, and I left even quicker.
On lunch break the next day, I inspected the music collection, searching for a trace of Charley Patton or Robert Johnson, and was surprised to find none. This station played blues, but there wasn’t any proof.
