A Walk With Milton Hopkins

We have watched other award shows on TV and was made to dream and envy the glitz and the glamour.   It was something special about this event that had a different affect on me.  There was no competition going on, just a showcase of Artistry. They were the innovators and all the rest that are put in our face are the cubic zirconia and rhinestones  that we are made to fall for.  But tonight on display for me was the real deal.  What a gala.    Even though they don’t share the portion size of the spot light, their brilliance was unmistakably like rare diamonds and more appreciated by me.   To this date, I still find myself thinking of each performance and that special something that shined so bright in defining that star quality.  They had all my respect and deserving my undivided attention.  I was all eyes and ears and full of anticipation.

I could not help notice the stark contrast between old school and modern day.   The house band had a very good modern day guitarist.  I listened to his solo’s and watched him step up to his floor pedals for effects of a screech to a rumble mixed with the other instruments.  Now, when Milt got up there, so meek in his demeanor, the rest of the band turned on the dynamics and kept it sweet and low and in the pocket as any professional band would.  Milt started playing and every note that he picked and  every chord that he strummed was unadulterated, undistorted,  and simply melodic the way a harp would soothingly incline your ears to hear; because, you just don’t hear it that often.  All the table conversations stopped and you could hear a pin drop.  There it was, that moment of greatness.   The experience in having played so many venues with less electronic’s and just knowing how to play a room like the Daisy theater all came into play.  But it was more than that.  It was how he was playing.  He was at one with his instrument and then the instrument became an extension of him.  He was different from all the other modern day blues guitarist in that he was playing from his soul.  It was what you heard that commanded what you felt.  It was a spiritual connection that he had with the audience as  we unanimously  reacted to each phrase.and gave testimony by eruptions of applauses and yeah’s!  He never uttered a word.  He didn’t have to.  His fingers interpreted what his soul was feeling at that moment, then out through his heart came pouring out his blues at a decibel that all could  pleasingly hear and understand.  He did what he did best and that’s play his guitar.  What a moment to have witnessed.  For blues is not connected to a pedal effects box in order to evoke a feeling as so many may think.  It is a direct inbox connected to the soul  that  is linked to the heart and amplified out to the  fingers to express what is deep within (the circuitry of blues according to Patty).  Milton Hopkins was the recipient of the Prestigious Albert King Award on the night of the Living Legends at the Jus Blues Music Awards and deservingly so.

The next night after the Jus Blues Awards, Milt was walking out of the Historical Daisy Theater with his guitar case in his  right hand walking down Beale Street, impeccably dressed.  I caught up with him and just started talking.  He slowed down a bit.  I told him how much I enjoyed his playing and the affect it had on me.  As a preservationist I told him how his style of playing could be considered a lost art.  He slowed his pace down even more and looked at me over his glasses as his eyes invited me to expound on the topic and his ear turned to me confirming that I certainly had his attention.  He paused and  his smile left as he thought about what I was saying.  His expression changed from jovial to serious as he begin to speak on the subject.  We reached the corner where all the cabs were lined up and waiting.  I new that our conversation would end abruptly.  He  kept talking waiting for the light to change still holding his guitar in his right hand.  My feet were killing me and it was hot; but, I kept up with him as he kept talking and walking.  He expressed his opinion about the state of the Blues to the condition of the youth today.   He expressed his political views. I never felt so privileged before in my life and I will not divulge every detail  of our conversation.  We reached Union Ave and came to a stop.  So engrossed in conversation, I would have walked straight down to the mississippi river at this moment, but another stop light caught us at Union Ave. We  made a right and crossed Beale at Union and he said: “Well goodnight young lady. I wish you well and it was a pleasure talking to you”.  He ducked into the Blue Cafe or was he trying to ditch me.  I wanted to follow him thinking that he may play.  I looked through the window as I kept walking pass to see if there was a set up for a jam session.  Wow, what an opportunity to jam with him I thought.  Finally he rest his guitar case  against the counter and took a seat. I kept going as hungry as I was.  Something said turn back go get you something to eat.  Something said stop pestering the man, he gave you a gift of music the night before and  pearls of wisdom tonight.  What more can you ask for.   An extraordinary gentleman indeed.  How cool!