The blues, man, the blues… the blooz! That aching' ol' heart disease and joker in the heartbreak pack, demon engine of rock, matrix of uber-amped Aerosmith, and the sould-sound of me, Steven Tyler, peripheral visionary of the tribe of Oh Yeah!
Now the blues is, was, and always has been the bitch's brew of the tormented soul. The fifth gospel of grits and groan, it starts with the first moan when Adam and Eve did the nasty thing and got eighty-sixed from the Garden of Eden.
"Once upon a time…" "In the beginning was…" That's the way it starts off. Every story, gospel, history, chronicle, myth, legend, folktale, or old wives' tale blues riff begins with "Woke up this morning'…" The blues is soiled with muddy water, funky with Storyville whorehouse sweat and jizz, smoky from juke-joint canned heat, stained with hundred-proof rotgut and cheap cologne. It's so potent 'cause it's been in every low-down, get-down joint the world has ever seen.
Everybody sucks on someone's tit, and ours was the bitch's brew of the blues.