B.B King

The world is not the same without B.B King.

I was coming out as a teenager in 1966 or 67, not only confused about sexuality but
my identity as well, when I saw B.B. King play at the Shrine Auditorium on Jefferson in LA. There were regular shows there every Friday and Saturday night. I think Chet Helms from SF put them on, but I might be wrong. I know there was no seating, just the stage and the huge ballroom/auditorium, and you'd either sit on the floor or stand.

B.B was third on the bill with the English band, Procul Harem, and Moby Grape, the SF pop psychedelic power group. Bands played two long sets apiece in those days, though I suppose it was negotiated, and concerts often lasted 6 or 7 hours,

B.B. came out first. I guess the thinking was that he would 'warm up' the crowd, all of whom were pre-warmed by tabs of LSD, mescaline, and joints passed person to person. He pretty much played the entire "Live at the Regal" Lp.

I stood in the very front right, so close I could put my hands on the stage. I remember every note, every phrase of B.B.'s performance. The power in B.B.'s music at the time was a complete, living expression of a particular culture's suppression and of its inevitable triumph.

Here's the transformative element: there's no way I or anyone else could put into words what I was seeing and hearing when B.B. King and his band were playing, it was far too joyful and miserable, dirt real and sprinkled with showmanship, abject and opaque, for written language.

There are, I've discovered since that night in 1966 or 67 when I first saw B.B King and his great band, only a few things I've been lucky enough to live with without having the desire or ability to explain.

I now add to this small select list the logo of the Sherwin-Williams Paint Co. which I passed last night on a street in downtown Portland, Oregon.