Queen of the Guitar Boogie by Jimbo Mathus, 2003

Kudzu cloaked hills encroach on the feeble shacks and pull down the power lines. Here and there, ancient roadbeds can be seen in the woods following old Indian paths; worn down head-high by the hundreds of years of feet, hooves and wheels. An almost frightening silence pervades, a holy murmur, in the hardwoods and creek bottoms. This is the "hill country" of North Mississippi or, more specifically, Sherman's farm on the outskirts of Como.

My sisters and my brothers, we all gathered here today to record a CD, a high-tech field recording. All day long and, the night before, musicians have started gathering and waiting for the arrival of "Miss Jessie", Jessie Mae Hemphill, Queen of the Guitar Boogie. More than a recording session, this evening will prove to be a summit, reunion and document; an alcohol fueled juke-joint throw down presided over by sister Jessie Mae in a leopard skin cowboy hat.

Of course Miss Jessie don't drink; never has and she's thankful for that! "White whiskey'll make your head raggelly as a can of kraut, maan", she says, and of course she's right. Experience teaches you these things but sometimes it's just best not to listen.

Miss Jessie has been playing music since she was nine. Music ran in the family. Sid Hemphill, the "boar-hog musician of the hills" was her granddaddy. Fiddles, banjos, drums, guitars and quills, most hand made, hung in gunny sacks in his smoke-house, ready to be taken down and put to work. Alan Lomax described his music as representing "an early phase of African-American music" and a "clear revival of African tradition" in the south, which it does and is.

That tradition is still being carried on today and this CD will prove that. Drums were "paramount in Sid's bands" and tonight we've got the best-Kent Kimbrough and Cedric Burnside, along with the fife and drum corps of the Turner clan. A stroke in 1993 left Miss Jessie unable to play her guitar, so a string of guitar players from around the country are lined up to do the honors. Her one good hand will beat out rhythm on the tambourine. She don't sing blues no more, preferring church music. Like all natural musicians her gift is undeniable and profound and will overcome any obstacle, spiritual or physical.

So the microphones are set up, the wires run, and we're sitting on ready. What you will hear on this CD is exactly what will go down tonight in the old potato barn under a cool, clear spring night in the country outside of Como. God bless Mississippi and pass the antiseptic.