Cream, Blues, Jack Bruce

I have been, to use the vernacular, bingeing on the blues, Cream, Clapton, Bruce, Baker, Guy, Terry, gawd the list goes on for about an hour.

Mississippi Fred McDowell was my introduction, circa the summer of 1969.

How this led me to Steve Miller, God only knows.

Actually I do. My mother's teachings...I saw a sampler album from Capitol for a whopping ninety nine cents.

Besides the universal message the blues can help us convey, the beat in a good boogie woogie makes me mental. That was gift from my father. At six he taught me to play the boogie on the piano. I could only handle one hands worth at the time but I felt it in my bones.

Which is my main point.
Rhythm is the key to music. There are only 12 or so notes, so every combination has already been played, when it comes to melodic stuff.

But the rhythms we can make are infinite.
It was rhythm that first reached me musically.
That walking bass makes me squirm...I am dancing. I cannot help myself.

Is it mom's heartbeat in the womb that begins this?
Was she dancing when I was in there? Was dad playing Fats Waller...loudly?

I am giggling now that I see my own musical genesis laid out so.
My hands are too small to play the bass. At least that is what I told myself since I think there are no limitations, just mental barriers. If Jimi could play with those huge paws what is stopping me and my teeny ones?

Al DiMeola started playing the drums at age eight.
This makes a lot of sense to me.