Suicide week continues apace with some blues for blues sake. Joe Bonamassa plays guitar like angles crying from the heavens. This moody brooding groove let’s him do his thing. He’ll croon about being numbed like novacaine, born on the same day as Robert Johnson and he’ll tell tall tales of “Knock down drag out bar fights” where he came off better, worse or disinterested in learning from the experience.
So far so Raymond Chandler. He’s got the blues the way gumshoe detectives and hookers with hearts of gold get the blues. It’s all sepia tone palm trees and good hats.
“I’m alone, severely broke and I’m a dislocated boy”
You’ll bob along nicely for three minutes and a few seconds nodding to the consummate musicality of it all. You’re waiting though. Waiting for the flourish of the ace player who steps up for the second half of the song and sears the room with a flurry of heartfelt notes that speak more lyrically than the vocals about loss, about sadness and about looking good when sulking.
Steve For The Deaf 