Eddy Clearwater
Mean Case of the Blues

THE REVIEW

We are in Chicago in the '90s. You might say, "And what do you know about Chicago?" Because there’s always a reader, usually of Genoese origin, who always has something to criticize. Well, my dear Genoese reader, my first experience was with Gianni Capone.

Italian-American, graduated in computer science in Chicago. A name that reminds one of the exportation of our mafia to the great US Metropolises. But instead, Gianni was my mentor during my years as a Unix sysadmin. He used to tell me that when he went to university it was so cold, but so cold, that the wind would freeze the snot running from his nose.

Yeah. Chicago. The Windy City. Listening to Blues, Chicago has always been in my dreams. Dreams that finally came true in 2023. I decided to do Route 66 from the very beginning. I arrived in Chicago and, naturally, I went into the House of Blues. A brewery where every night there’s a live performance. We "shazammed" an acoustic song and found out it was a cover of Eddy Clearwater.

Eddy “The Chief” Clearwater.

Like John McEnroe, Eddy was a lefty—a guitarist who played with standard tuning, simply turning the instrument the other way around.

Ugh, the Genoese reader distracted me. Let me start again from the beginning.

In Chicago in the ’90s, Blues is not just a memory, not a museum. It’s alive, it’s sweaty, and it brushes past you in the clubs of the West Side. While the rest of the world listens to grunge, hip hop, electronica, extreme metal, Eddy doesn’t give a damn. He plays a sharp, contagious, and highly enjoyable Blues. The voice scratches, caresses, threatens, embraces. This is a record to listen to, and it smells of bourbon.

Magic Sam, his inspiration. So much so that Eddy pays tribute to him with Look Whatcha Done. Without copying, without imitating, simply a heartfelt thank you. As if he were saying between verses, "Sam, brother, your school is not dead. I’m here and I did my homework."

This isn't a Blues that heals. It’s a Blues that turns sadness into rhythm, fatigue into a smile.

A hug to the Genoese reader, even if you are a rascal, I still love you.