
This blues masterpiece, by the guy who sold his soul to the devil, reminds me of making tea in a freezing-cold caravan in the winter of 2003. It was about -30, and we were at the top end of Sweden, training huskies. There was only a few hours of sunlight a day. The guy who ran the place put us up in this caravan amongst the kennels. The heater kept packing up. At the time, I think I was miserable and the cold made me constantly hungry. New Orleans blues seemed like the only music that worked in the situation.




