Modern blues recordings are a little too electric and a little too neat. And don’t get me started on the list of white guys who couldn’t find Clarksdale with a TomTom interpreting Muddy Waters.
One of blues’ hallmarks is that its lyrical subject matter rarely evolves (women, workin’, drinkin’, redemption), so delivery means everything. At least when Son Seals plugged in, your pulse reset. The same can’t be said for “Florida,” the Bees’ bloated, eight-minute snoozer whose extended section of rotating solos should’ve never made it into the control room. That said, these Stevie Ray’s mainstays have crafted a disc falling squarely under the category of party blues, and maybe that’s the point.
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