The Delta, dark and muddy, flows through his veins. His voice laments and wails, it prays and pleads. His fingers dance along the strings of a travel-worn guitar to an ancient and mystic melody. His heart beats sin. It beats again for salvation. There may just be a hellhound on his trail, but he's got one foot on the church step. Everything about Bill Sheffield is the blues. It's there in the intense, transcendent way he finger-picks his guitar with hints of John Hurt and Blind Blake flashing through. It's there in his songs that wrestle with earthly pleasure and the need for redemption.
No comments:
Post a Comment