Monday September 6, 2021 “The Wind Cries Mary“ Jimi Hendrix

Not planned for this week but a fine suggestion from song of the dayer Paul who said, why not do a “27 Club “ week, so let’s get right into those pacts with the devil and the dark side of rock and roll and take a listen to some of those soul-sellers who are members of the “27 Club”.

This popular myth seemingly started with the death of legendary blues guitarist Robert Johnson who died at the age of 27 back in 1938.  According to legend, Robert was not that great a guitarist but then he went to the crossroads and sold his soul to the devil for the ability to play great guitar.

The bargain was that he would only have until he was twenty seven and the price was his eternal soul.  And so it began.

There are many rock stars who shot to stardom and then left at age twenty seven so although it may be just coincidence, it somehow feels like it really could be more than that.  Although he is not the first, we will begin with the first of the 60s trinity of 27 club members, Jimi Hendrix.  

Hendrix was a struggling musician who had been a player in the Isley Brothers band, in Little Richard's band, who played in the Curtis Knight band and fronted his own band Jimmy James and the Flames before his path crossed with Chas Chandler of the rock group the Animals.

Chandler, impressed with Hendrix’s guitar virtuosity brought him to the UK and formed a trio around him as well as introducing him musically to Chandler's friends in a showcase performance.  The friends included members of the Beatles, Pete Townsend of the Who and Eric Clapton among others, all of whom, according to legend, were spellbound by Jimi’s style and ability.

Jimi’s “Crossroads agreement’ gave him four years of superstardom and then the contract came due.

Jimi Hendrix died September 18, 1970, age 27.

After all the jacks are in their boxes

and the clowns have all gone to bed

You can hear happiness staggering on down the street

footprints dressed in red

And the wind whispers Mary

A broom is drearily sweeping

up the broken pieces of yesterdays life

Somewhere a queen is weeping

Somewhere a king has no wife

And the wind, it cries Mary

The traffic lights, they turn, uh, blue tomorrow

and shine their emptiness down on my bed

The tiny island sags down stream

'cause the life that lived is,

is dead

And the wind screams Mary

Uh-will the wind ever remember

the names it has blown in the past?

And with this crutch, its old age, and its wisdom

it whispers no, this will be the last

And the wind cries Mary