The intersection looks no different from any other here: wide, empty streets, asphalt strips that meet and then diverge again. But it is said that one of the greatest miracles in music history happened here.
The intersection was not in the blazing sunlight like today, but bathed in the light of a pale moon when a very young musician, Robert Johnson, took his guitar from his shoulder, laid it in the parched grass by the side of the road, and began to wait.
He was afraid, but he was also full of expectation. The devil would soon appear and grant him - who so desperately wanted to be a brilliant guitarist but had only been able to acquire modest skills due to a lack of natural talent- the gift of masterful guitar playing in exchange for his soul.
The Crossroads
All of this took place here, at the dusty intersection of Highways 61 and 49 in Clarksdale, Mississippi. Today, the two main roads in Coahoma County are ordinary highways, used by locals and tourists in search of the blues.
But back then, 100 years ago - no one knows the exact year - guitarist Ike Zinneman gave his young, ambitious student Robert the tip to make an alliance with the devil so he could play just like him. Zinneman shared his secret: he, too, had given his soul to the devil one night in a cemetery, where he sat on a gravestone and practiced until the Lord of Hell transformed him into an exceptional guitarist.
Driving people crazy
Johnson’s attempt was also successful. Just a moment earlier, bluesman Son House had said his guitar skills were capable of “driving people crazy.” Johnson disappeared for a while, and when he returned, he was a master of his craft.
This sudden transformation fueled the legend of the pact with the devil - a story that Johnson himself never denied, but cleverly wove into songs like “Cross Road Blues” and “Me and the Devil Blues.”
Only 29 recordings of him exist, made in Texas in 1936 and 1937, but they were enough to make him immortal. Songs like “Sweet Home Chicago” and “Hellhound on My Trail” reveal a depth that still gives listeners goosebumps today.
The Devil's guitarist
And today, the legend of the devil’s guitarist is as deeply rooted in the Mississippi Delta as cotton roots are in its fertile soil. Suddenly a true virtuoso, Robert Johnson set off, wandering across the USA with his guitar, leaving an indelible mark on music history with his rough, pain-filled voice and virtuoso sounds.
The Delta Blues, as it is known today, would not be the same without him. Here in Clarksdale - a small town that at first glance seems dead and long abandoned - the heart of music still beats. An old blues fan, wandering admiringly through the exhibition, says without prompting: “The blues is more than music. Every note is a piece of our soul.”
The Capital of Blues
You can hear it when you visit the Delta Blues Museum, an inconspicuous brick building in the middle of a cityscape reminiscent of lost places. The exhibition transports you into a world full of myths, music, and big names - from Johnson’s “Crossroads,” marked by three huge blue metal guitars on a pole, to the place that was once so mysterious.
Clarksdale, the “Capital of Blues,” is the “Ground Zero” of the Delta Blues, a region shaped by poverty, cotton plantations, and unbridled creativity. The Delta Blues Museum is like an elevator back to the past.
The museum is housed in an old train station building from 1918, its weathered brick walls alone breathing history. As you enter, you’re immediately enveloped in the atmosphere of the Delta Blues. The air is filled with quiet sounds - perhaps a song by Muddy Waters or John Lee Hooker, who also have their roots here. Because the Delta Blues is more than just Robert Johnson.
So many giants
The museum also honors other giants: Charley Patton, considered the “father of the Delta Blues,” influenced Johnson with his raw singing and innovative guitar playing. Then there’s Muddy Waters, born near Clarksdale, whose cabin - or rather its remains - is a central exhibit in the museum. Waters took the Delta Blues to Chicago and electrified it, laying the foundation for modern blues and rock. John Lee Hooker, Howlin’ Wolf, and B.B. King also tell their stories.
Guitars, faded sheet music, personal items: each piece speaks of a life full of passion and pain. One wall is dedicated to the migration of blues musicians north along the “Blues Highway” 61, showing how the Delta Blues conquered the world. But the thread always leads back to Johnson, whose mysterious death in 1938 at the age of just 27 - possibly from poisoning, syphilis, or a jealous husband - only reinforced the myth. He became part of the infamous “27 Club,” the group of musicians who died at 27.
The 27 Club
The museum is a true gem for anyone interested in the history of the blues. It’s not only a tribute to Robert Johnson but also to the many other great names of the Delta Blues who shaped this style of music.
From Muddy Waters to B.B. King to Howlin’ Wolf, the walls of the museum are lined with memories and artifacts that document the development of the blues. This brings the history of the Delta Blues to life - the exhibition is lovingly designed, as traditional as it is modern. It goes far beyond the music, telling of the harsh living conditions of the African-American population in the Mississippi Delta, who used the blues as an expression of their grief, struggles, and hopes.
Deals with the devil
Outside, where it seems so quiet, you can experience the blues live. In the numerous bars, cafés, and pubs around town, unknown but brilliant blues musicians play time and again, even in the afternoon. Most of them are from the city, or at most the region. But many sound so brilliant, it’s as if they, too, had made a deal with the devil.
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Hiya, @ybanezkim26 here, just swinging by to let you know that this post made it into our Honorable Mentions in Your post has been manually curated by the @worldmappin team. If you like what we're doing, please drop by to check out all the rest of today's great posts and consider supporting other authors like yourself and us so we can keep the project going!The post, photos, everything - it made me feel I was there. I was mad for Delta blues back when I a teenager. My Dad's best mate used to record cassettes of his vinyl for me.
Isn't it funny how good guitar playing was equated with the devil rather than the other side? Seems to me an idea of heaven. Not that I subscribe to those kind of beliefs.
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