St. Louis Blues

St Louis Blues
by W C Handy

I hate to see that evenin’ sun go down . . .

The Blues are a state of mind, a musical structure and a style of poetry. They are a uniquely American creation, but they must tap into something universal about the human condition, because even with the most spare of musical and verbal parts, there seems to be an inexhaustible supply of variations worldwide.

There are only 12 musical bars and three chords involved, and the lyrics are even sparer. Usually, the first line is repeated as the second line, then a third line puts everything in reverse logical order – i.e., not cause-effect but rather effect-effect-cause. But, like haiku and limericks, this severely limiting structure distills the writer’s thoughts to their essence, allowing the singer and musicians to add emotional intensity.

Maybe the Proverbs are another such structure. Do you think Proverbs 15:1 could sell in blues form?

A soft answer turneth away wrath
A soft answer turneth away wrath
But grievous words stir up anger.

W C Handy is known as the “father of the blues”. In the 1910’s and 20’s, he brought the music of rural African-Americans into mainstream popular music. Many purists insist that such background is also another limiting factor of The Blues. I got an email a few years ago that light-heartedly spelled out who could and could not sing the blues (example: “if you are corporate bond trader, you may not sing the blues”).

But back to Handy’s “St Louis Blues”. The cause of the singer’s plaintive cry is “’cause the woman I’m loving, she done left this town”. Now, many of us might be able to relate to that on some level, but we all can relate to (or at some time have related to) the effect: “I hate to see the evenin’ sun go down.” Why do you suppose that is?

As children, I think we look forward to the next day. We go to bed with an excitement for what lies ahead. With the possible exception of the night before school starts, every night feels to some extent like Christmas Eve. If we have lost that childlike anticipation toward life, Lent may be a good time to ask ourselves and the Lord what happened. Like Mr Handy’s singer, do we have an unrequited love? Do the cares of being an adult weigh us down? Do just the lengthening shadows of evening remind us of what we have left undone that day?

In the film Field of Dreams, Ray Kinsella is stunned at his father’s youthful appearance when he first emerges from the corn field. “I never remember him looking that young,” he says, before all the worries of being a father, husband, worker, and provider took their toll. It might take us longer than 12 bars of music, but we can begin in this Lenten season to reclaim our youthful exuberance for life.

Some friends of mine in Florida used to attend a church that stressed a return to the Hebrew idea that the day begins at sundown. They said it was as old as Genesis: “and there was evening and there was morning, a first day . . .” They were blessed by the idea that the day started with gathering the family for a meal and a time of relaxation together, before intentionally releasing everything to the Lord’s keeping in sleep. This is something I’m going to try this Lent. Sounds like it might just play – in St Louis and elsewhere.