The blues is a mighty long road. Or it could be a river, one that twists and turns and flows into a sea of limitless musical potential.

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

When I was around 7 or 8 my Dad took me to a B.B. King recording session, well, that really did it. Huge and lasting impressions. After all that I pretty much knew playing guitar was something I was going to do because I just had to do it. And I did.

White people get nervous and speed things up. You don't have to be in a hurry because you ain't got nothing to gain and you ain't got nothin' to lose. And that's where the groove lies.

My mom took my sister and me to see Elvis [Presley] in concert when was, maybe 5 or 6, and I liked everything about it.

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.