Traversing Blues Trail 61 to Clarksdale in Mississippi

A sleepy little town, bohemian as it can get without any unnecessary attachments, Clarksdale's corners and streets are full of graffiti. It was a place devoid of too many humans, businesses and other extras that cities carry. Many claim that Clarksdale, Mississippi is the birthplace of blues. Many Blues Musicians started here and traveled up north to Chicago etc to seek their fortunes. Since then it has been home to famous blues musicians like Muddy Waters and Son House and Blues festivals and gatherings for people from around the world.

Morgan Freeman's Ground Zero Blues Club

 Ground Zero Blues Club covered in Graffiti

Clarksdale's eating places and bars like one owned by Hollywood actor Morgan Freeman, have everything rich, fried and filling. Ground Zero Blues Club even had its ceiling full of graffiti and apparently Shaquillle O Neal's shoes were hiding from the heat of southern cooking. Clarksdale's blocks are dotted with plenty of Blues tucked in its rickety spaces; this is what Clarksdale is; it is one of those historic dots on the Blues Trail, the road that took many Blues artists from the south to the north where the music evolved from a blue hue to one of  burgeoning business. 

In Clarksdale, you'll find plenty stories from current generations descended from Blues artists and musicians. Riverside Hotel, somewhat a dark, sun-less place with its curtains down but nonetheless was full of life and beds where Bessie Smith and  Duke Ellington had slept while en route to other places. We found succor in hanging outside the hotel on metal benches with its owner Zee; here passing musicians like RazorBlade stopped, chatted and gave us their philosophy of life plus sold us some CDs; the CD-buying-business was repeated throughout the trip.

RazorBlade and Me

Barry, Zee, Me

Zee is perhaps the best of hosts a hotel can provide; we shared jokes and guffawed till it was time to leave. This is also the place where Herman the Hermit lived and took my husband for a visit to the great Mississippi River; we now have mud from the big river which we can easily pass off as exotic chocolate from some unknown lands. 

While in search of Blues, we found Clint Eastwood looming large on the wall of the city along with many others sans guns. 

Clint Eastwood and I in Clarksdale, Mississippi

Wall Paintings in Clarksdale

Wall Paintings in Clarksdale

I thought we had lost our minds and way when we arrived at a desolate area known as Shack Up Inn. With the darkness of the night, no lights and absolutely miserable looking conditions of the place, I was ready to entertain some ghosts. This was supposed to be sharecroppers' shacks during America's slave era. We were going to stay the night here, in shacks complete with sheets of tin as ceiling and black and white photographs of people from the 18th century, tissue paper stuck in holes in walls, other knick knacks stuck wherever prior visitors thought was good, and of course graffiti. We were kicked out after one night because a horde of Norwegians had booked the entire place for their Blues' Show the next day in Clarksdale.

Shack Up Inn in Clarksdale (we stayed in this shack)

With Lightnin' Malcolm, Musician, in Shack Up Inn

Thanks to Big Malcolm or Lightnin Malcolm, who jumped in our Jeep and thus became our first unofficial guide; big man brought us to Red's, a small dark and red place with some loud Blues. Big Malcolm is a Blues musician and we ended up buying his CD plus got some pictures and signatures with him. Stan Street, an artist and musician from NY did a performance while we drank beer and bought some art while hanging around his chic art gallery; Deaks played his harmonica while we bought his CD; Steve Kolbus, the effervescent Salesman, who seemed to be everywhere, talked us into buying some of his CDs as well! All in all, we from up North got thoroughly played into buying plenty of music, one way or another. 

An exhilarating performance was given by Watermelon Slim; this Blues artist clearly outdid all rock performers despite having a few teeth; we bought more CDs. From ones who didn't sell us anything were crazies like Herman, Custard Pie and beautiful Marge.

Clarksdale tricked us; it only looked sleepy!

Shack Up Inn in Clarksdale

Steve the Salesman/Musician

Private Session by Artist/Musician Stan Street, Gallery Ham Bone

OPEN sign is a joke: in search of food, exhausted

Iconic Crossroads of Highway 61 and 49

Crossroads of Highway 61 and 49

Iconic Crossroads sign of Highway 61 and 49, is what made my sis-in-law finally become overwhelmed with emotion. This is the site where allegedly Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil! We got thoroughly sold ourselves and promised to return there, again, sometime in life, when the Aussies come back for another trip to America.

Watching an In-Flight Movie Without Headphones

I watched an entire movie without sound. In fact, I saw the same movie all down the aisle on many monitors hanging from the roof where once upon a time there used to be signs you can take off your seat belts and smoke away! There was so much action, so many expressions and so many dialogues, all in silent mode that I thought this was going to be an excellent experience sans sound. I hate headphones and cannot tolerate anyone or anything sitting inside my ear. I had about 2-4 hours to teach myself how to read lips, how to interpret the slightest twitch in the eye or a tiny smirk that hovered on the mouth or the tiniest glint on those ferocious claws made of steel that served as hands for the hero. In short, I was going to become a body expert or rather body language expert.

As I had no idea of the name of the movie and turbulence of the plane jarred my memory, I quickly settled into a soundless movie experience. The movie progressed and I descended into watching disconnected chunks of actions with rapidly moving mouths, lightning like quick expressions and lots of running, jumping, flying, clawing, peeling. Added to this was also the fact the movie would disappear suddenly and signs of ‘put your seat belt on’ would come on. This kind of interplay between reality and film is enough to confuse people. Consequently, I too became confounded and wondered what kind of film editing did this film present: clawman, seatbelt, heroine, seatbelt, iron monster, seatbelt, fall from balcony, seatbelt, face melting, seatbelt!

This is finally what I figured the in-flight movie was; there was an Australian hunk surrounded by plethora of Japanese actors and actresses. While the steel-claw-man got busy with scratching, scraping, poking and occasionally arranging people on the tip of his claws, Japanese actors steeped themselves in judo chops while flying on samurai ships. There was a woman who either had bad breath or deadly breath because when she blew on people, they literally dissolved into ground. A few other women appeared and disappeared silently with loads of tears and lethal glances. The movie continued silently while the plane rumbled and grumbled towards California in the most choppy manner. I suppose it was the Captain pitted against unruly elements; latter won.

In between chunks of action and disconnect, I pondered on the goodness of words and total silence. There are so many nuances that get lost because of sound. We get busy listening but forget to connect words with real meanings. Are words slowly beginning to cringe? Are we changing their meanings? Do we mean what we say and do we say what we mean? Was the realm of silence the best one discovered for man; could civilizations have made progress without language? 

Nonetheless, as the film progressed, I dozed off and of course lost all track of the story, plot, characters, scenes, script, actors etc. I believed whatever my tired brain told me and my eyes blinked in agreement. Next time, I looked up at the monitor, I saw the heroine tumbling down quite a height! Amazing, I thought she had already fallen down once. How did she mange to climb back on and tumble down again! Or maybe it was another Japanese woman. But I suppose, it was the fact that to  non-Japanese people, all Japanese looked the same and to all non-Indians, all Indians looked the same! I would never know whether the heroine committed suicide or was it pure murder, all done twice! Lawyers could figure out at leisure whether the culprit was going to be charged with manslaughter or whether the act was intentional or accidental. More drama would have played out in court if this woman had survived. Crazy defense lawyers are known to be experts in insanity cases much more than Psychiatrists. 

I settled down in my seat to relish one terrifying action after another. Just when I was oscillating between monitors, in the distant one, I saw a ferocious looking Japanese man being thrown over a balcony. I couldn’t exactly figure out what was said despite my attempts to read their lips. However, I did notice the man was naked wearing only a tie. It is entirely possible, the man with claws objected to the Japanese man wearing only a tie as suitable attire and so in disgust, just picked him with his claws and chucked him overboard. I looked up again just in time to see the admirable steel claws getting hacked off by a steel monster. In the corner of the tiny screen, there was a woman peeling her face and turning it into some gooey stuff. I can safely say that I had indeed made a wise decision for myself; watch all movies in silent mode or devoid of all sound. Forget those in-flight sale of $5 headphones; save the money for a drink of water!