Last night, I listened to Mississippi Records’s latest Abner Jay release, Last Ole Ministrel Man, a lovingly packaged 10”, three songs on each side, rawer than winter in New York City.
I listened over and over while reading Jack Teague’s wonderful liner notes, telling his story of how he got to know Abner Jay, how he got scolded by Abner Jay, how he got to mow the man’s lawn one hot summer day, how he got to rub lotion on the man’s dry legs when the man was finally confined to a hospital bed, getting ready to leave this world.
I just kept flipping the record over and over until I had finished reading through the entire 15 pages of notes and had tired of staring at the brilliant photographs, each one trying to contain a little bit of the man named Abner Jay, the man whose middle name was The Blues.
When I was done thinking and staring, and when the record had come to another end, I closed the book and turned off the hi-fi. Then I finished my glass of wine, went to bed, and waited for the snow to fall.
I just kept flipping the record over and over until I had finished reading through the entire 15 pages of notes and had tired of staring at the brilliant photographs, each one trying to contain a little bit of the man named Abner Jay, the man whose middle name was The Blues.
