So here I am - a 75-year-old man sitting on a bar stool in a blues club, trying to figure out exactly how I got here. Any way you look at it, it's a helluva story.
Blues musicians don't retire. They drop.
When I went to Chicago, I'll put it like this: I was looking for a dime and I found a quarter.
Somebody called Muddy and told him he should come down and hear me play. I didn't even know he was out there in the audience. After the show, I was talking to some people when somebody came up and slapped me upside the head.
They just said, 'Roll the tape.' No rehearsal or nothing... Muddy [Waters] didn't come in and say 'I wanna rehearse.' He used to look at me and say 'Let's just play the blues. That's all you need to do.