The Blues Ain't Nothin'

by Tina L. Jens
Design Image Group
$15.95

Much has been made elsewhere about the blues as the Devil's music, and a strong case can indeed be made for this interpretation, given some of the lyrical content in classic blues numbers. After all, legend has it Robert Johnson sold his soul to the Devil down at the Crossroads—and now he's got hellhounds on his trail. And who knows how many others have flirted with the fire down below while reaffirming their human frailty and tendency to make mistakes and kill folks who've crossed them one way or another.

Yes, the Devil's music indeed. However, just as strong a case can be made for the influence of sadness and tragedy, and the ghosts of one's past. The blues is essentially a lament on life's sense of loss and the effects of tragedy, making it a perfect fit for horror literature and its penchant for using traditional "monsters"—often allegorically—to address the psychological. The last year has seen other blues-related offerings, all worthy of note: One Way Ticket To Midnight (novel) by Gary Jonas, and Where the Southern Cross the Dog (chapbook) by Trey R. Barker, for instance. The Blues Ain't Nothin' by writer/editor Tina L. Jens fits snugly between them and forms an almost-trilogy. The styles and subjects are different, sure enough, but the 12-bar blues pattern lends itself to tale-tellin', and Jens brings the ghosts of famous bluesmen and blueswomen home to the Lonesone Blues Pub, where they become friends and mentors, and—sometimes—cranky troublemakers.

Miss Sarah's Lonesome Blues Pub (based quite literally on B.L.U.E.S. on the North Side of Chicago, where Jens hangs out with musicians and fans alike—and the occasional horror writer), had a fire years ago that killed the headline performer, you see, and now there's a resident ghost, Jayhawk, who watches over the bar and helps out with busing tables when he's not playing tricks. The place has become a magnet for other ghosts, much to the joy of Sarah's young daughter, Little Mustang, who's even been baby-sat by Jayhawk. The novel consists of several connected tales telling the history of the club from its early days right up to the present, and we watch Little Mustang turn into just plain Mustang, facing not only ghostly occurrences and hellish visitors, but also the heartbreak of growing up and growing apart from her family. Constants are Jayhawk the ghost and a couple regulars, old-timers Ratman and Old George. But Miss Sarah's not pleased by the ghosts, who seem to feed on her fear, and she opts to make a life with a smooth salesman-type, leading to the most heart-wrenching moments of this fine blend of music, the supernatural, and the tragedy of time passages. As the club changes hands from mother to daughter none too smoothly, Mustang grows up to the hard lessons. But on the way, she gets to help Robert Johnson keep ahead of a hellhound and maybe, just maybe, she'll go on the road herself to help keep the club open.

The Blues Ain't Nothin' provides a short course for horror writers—for any kind of writer—in how to shape real characters who make readers care. These are folks like you and me, not all good and not all evil, but made up of all sorts of grey shades. Folks who blurt out things they don't mean, or things they mean but which they've always suppressed. When Miss Sarah's looking to make a case against her daughter's life in the club business, she inadvertently brings race into it, not realizing that the music is colorblind. The smooth-talkin' salesman who steals Sarah's heart could so easily be portrayed as a gold-digging lout, but the fact that he isn't just proves the mastery Jens has over her people. There are moments of great sadness throughout the episodes that make up the novel, and one of the saddest is when the ghost of Memphis Minnie points out that so many bluesmen's graves are unmarked: "We gave so much laughter and good times to folks when they was poor, earned so much money for the record companies. Folks write history books 'bout us and make docoment'ries, musicians still playin' our songs in the clubs. But ain't a one of'em can be bothered to put our names over our grave. Ain't no wonder we ramble and stir trouble up."

If this is trouble, we can all stand to see more of it. The Blues Ain't Nothin' brings the magic of the blues together with quiet horror and tells us a lot about ourselves in the process. It's sad, charming, funny, evocative—and the ghosts manage a scare or two along the way.