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Why Can’t We Escape the 12-Bar Mud? Ghosts of the Mississippi Delta and the Testament of Honeyboy Edwards Pouring cheap bourbon into a glass and listening to the ice clink, I often find myself thinking: "Why doesn't my life resolve cleanly through a verse, pre-chorus, and chorus, instead endlessly looping in a three-chord mire?" The world is overflowing with cutting-edge electronic beats and dazzling pop, yet before I know it, I’m dropping the needle on a dusty Delta blues record. It’s a chronic condition. If I went to a doctor, I'd probably just end up with a prescription for "sleep and moderate exercise," but there isn’t a pill on earth that can cure blues addiction. The only real remedy is the gritty scrape of a distorted slide bar. Tonight, to all my beloved comrades afflicted with this incurable disease, let me bring you some scorching news straight from our spiritual homeland. …