Every once in awhile I'll call up Eddie (Van Halen) and ask, Found that fourth chord yet?

In 1950, the biggest amp you could get was no bigger than a tabletop radio.

Lightnin' Hopkins was something of a fixture on the Houston coffee house scene so we were witness to eccentric blues brilliance close up. Then, believe it or not, along came the wave of the English cats like John Mayall, Eric Clapton and the Stones embracing the great American art form - the blues.

I probably owe as much to Jeff Beck as I do to Son House with connections to the blues.

One springs to mind: one of our very first gigs in a small East Texas town was not well promoted. At least, that was our conclusion. After the band loaded in and the curtain opened, we realized there was exactly one paying customer in the audience. We kind of made the best of it playing through the first set, took a break and bought him a Coke and then went on to perform for the remainder of the night. It wasn't exactly a catastrophe but it certainly stands as legendary.

Ever since I was a little kid and first heard Jimmy Reed's 'Honey, Don't Let Me Go,' the blues has been in my blood.

Each guitar has its own character and personality, which can be magnified once the player engages in beatin' it up