Mother Earth
Memphis Slim
I was working as a bartender at Antone’s: Austin’s Home of the Blues when blue piano player and shouter Memphis Slim came to play, which was a big deal for blues fans—it was his first stateside gig since he had expatriated himself to Paris in the 60s. And his gig fell on my night off, so I’d really be able to listen. On the appointed night, I banged in through the screen door in the alley out back, found my favorite seat stage right and took Ecstasy.

The band played a few numbers before bringing Memphis Slim up to a standing ovation. He sat down and began with “Mother Earth,” one of his best-known songs.

I don’t care how great you are,
Don’t give a damn what you’re worth.
When it all comes down,
You’ve got to come back to Mother Earth.

His playing was completely relaxed and his voice boomed out, commanding and round. My new boyfriend, the guitar player in the house band, was on stage backing Memphis Slim, and he sounded like a genius to me—knew exactly where to fill, where to lay back, where to mimic the old records, and where to throw in something completely new. Between numbers, he would look to make sure I was still there and wink when he saw me.

I began to feel happier and happier, maybe even beyond the beyond of any happiness I had ever experienced. Was it the drug or was it the music, so present and real but about to pass out of existence altogether? Maybe it was my new boyfriend, on stage, playing like a dream, so subtle, so exact. With each note, each perfect fill, each full stop, my sense of happiness escalated. There was nothing but happiness everywhere I looked. Happiness didn’t feel like I imagined it would, all giggly and bouncy. No. It was quiet and deep and completely everywhere. Tears began to stream from my eyes.

Why couldn’t it be like this all the time, I asked myself and the moment I did, it was. Something ceased to be and its cessation is what caused me to notice it, like when you turn off a television you hadn’t realized was on. I realized that I had spent every moment until that point fighting some kind of fear. Every job, every boyfriend, every haircut, phone call, and trip to the market had been motivated in some way by fear. In an instant, it all disappeared. I stopped being afraid. I drew in the antenna that checks the environment for malicious content and saw that everything was actually okay. Then, like every moment, it passed into non-being—along with the song I was hearing, the song I wasn’t hearing, along with Memphis Slim, the Blues itself, and all those friendly waves and winks. I was alone again with my conventional mind. So I exhaled and came back to Mother Earth.

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