“Therefore, I believe the true appeal of the blues lies in its freedom, its spontaneity, and its inventiveness. It blends the spontaneous expression of African culture with European musical structure. Think about it: if you go to a gospel church service, everyone stands up and yells "Amen!" whereas in a traditional European Christian service, people tend to sit on their hands and remain passive.”

Art Tipaldi: An Art(ist) of Blues Music

Art Tipaldi is one of the world's most respected and dedicated blues journalists and authors. For over 25 years, he has documented the pulse of the genre, serving as the longtime Editor-in-Chief of premier publications like Blues Revue and Blues Music Magazine. A former high school English teacher from Massachusetts, Art uniquely pioneered the integration of music into education by creating the acclaimed course "Blues and Literature," teaching younger generations about African American history through the lyrics of the blues. He is the author of the landmark book Children of the Blues (2002), which explores the deep lineage between legacy acts and rising talents. In recognition of his profound impact on preserving the genre, he was honored with the prestigious Keeping the Blues Alive Award by The Blues Foundation in Memphis.

(Art Tipaldi, Editor-in-Chief of Blues Music Magazine / Photo by Laura Carbone)

In the interview he granted us, he speaks about the past, present, and future of the genre, the importance of authenticity in music, as well as his personal memories of the 'fathers' of the blues tradition. Our conversation was a journey through time, full of stories about the transformation of the blues from its roots to modern stages. He told me about how he started writing in 1994, his book Children of the Blues, the Blues Music Magazine, and what a young artist needs today to keep the flame alive.

Interview by Michael Limnios            Special Thanks: Art Tipaldi & Marilyn Stringer

First of all, you have had so many experiences in your life, especially within the blues world. What are some of the most important lessons you’ve learned from your journey with the blues?

Art Tipaldi: I guess, first and foremost, it’s how deeply this music touches people. One of the things I always tell my friends when I invite them to a show is this: they often say, "Oh, but everyone is going to be crying. Why would you want to go see something so sad?" And my answer to them is always that what I’ve learned from the blues is that this music actually takes away the sadness.

You can walk into a show—whether it’s in the tiniest club or at the biggest festival—carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and come out feeling so much better than when you went in. So, I guess that would be the primary lesson.

Another thing I absolutely love about this music is the shared experience: being in a venue with anywhere from 100 to 1,000 people, where everyone is intimately involved in that exact moment. Those are the kinds of experiences that immediately jump out at me.

For instance, I remember being at the Lucerne Blues Festival to see Otis Clay. He was performing a brunch set for about 200 or 300 people inside the hotel. He was singing with such emotion that people were literally wiping tears from their eyes, and I found myself with my arm around the guy standing next to me. Those moments simply cannot be recreated.

This music is truly the art of the moment. As you know, Michael, it is created right then and there. The performers we love create something entirely unique to that specific moment, something that will never happen the exact same way again. You could go see Derek Trucks two nights in a row, and on the second night, he will find a completely new way to create art on that stage. That is exactly what I look forward to every time.

But as you also know, getting to know these performers personally—especially the first-generation artists who actually helped create this music—has been a true blessing. To sit down with the likes of David "Honeyboy" Edwards, Luther Allison, Buddy Guy, or B.B. King... I hold all of those memories very dear to my heart. It’s just like it is for you, Michael. When they share the hardships they’ve faced and the joys they’ve encountered, those become incredibly special moments. We all feel truly blessed to be a part of that legacy.

“Well, for all the reasons we've talked about. As we both know, this is a niche music. It’s the kind of music that will only survive as long as people like you and I continue to promote it. If it stays at just a ten percent popularity level, it risks going the way of Dixieland jazz and becoming viewed as just 'old-timey' music.” (Art Tipaldi & Bonnie Tipaldi, The Blues Foundation, Memphis / Photo by Laura Carbone)

As a former teacher who connected the blues with African American literature, how do you believe education can help younger generations truly understand the history and culture behind this music?

Art Tipaldi: Well, Michael, I always like to say that blues music puts the ink back into the history books where it’s missing.

When you listen to Charley Patton sing “High Water Everywhere,” he’s singing about the great Mississippi River flood of 1927. He sings the line, “I would go to the high country, but they had poor Charley barred,”meaning Black Americans weren't allowed to leave the flood zones—they were forced to stay and work. I used to tell my students, "You aren't going to read about this in a standard history book."

The same goes for Big Bill Broonzy singing “When Do I Get to be Called a Man” in the 1930s; using tongue-in-cheek humor, it’s a powerful way to teach kids about the Jim Crow South and the Black experience. Samson Pittman’s “Cotton Farmer Blues” does the exact same thing. Or take “Boll Weevil Blues,” which sings about the destruction of cotton crops by a tiny insect—a harsh reality that echoed from Louisiana to Arkansas, Texas, and Mississippi. I always tried to stress to my students that the stories this music tells are the ones left out of the history books. That was one way of bringing music into the classroom.

Back then, I was teaching English in a middle-class, suburban community in western Massachusetts, where the student body was about 90% white. A typical English curriculum meant studying Romeo and Juliet, grammar, To Kill a Mockingbird, and essay writing skills. But I found a way to weave the blues into our curriculum to connect it directly with the African American literature we were reading.

There would be literary references—for instance, a character might say, "Oh, you know, my daddy's been to the crossroads." I’d ask the students, "Do you know the crossroads?", hoping they'd connect it to Eric Clapton. But they’d say, "We've never heard of that." So, I would take a day or two to share the myth of the crossroads, play them Robert Johnson’s songs, and analyze the lyrics as poetry and literature.

Eventually, my principal told me, "I think you’ve got a great idea here. Why don’t you keep doing it? Can you turn this into a full-year course?" And that’s how I ended up teaching a course called "Blues and Literature," which combined African American history, music, and literature. Out of the six classes I taught a year, four were "Blues and Lit." It gave me the incredible opportunity to teach about a hundred high school kids a year what makes the blues so special.

And a lot of them really dug into it! To hook them at the beginning, I used a lot of audio and video. I’d play Mississippi John Hurt, and they’d instantly go, "Oh, I really like this guy." Then I’d play Taj Mahal, who actually grew up in Springfield, Massachusetts—right next to our town. I’d play his song “Fishin' Blues,” and they absolutely loved it. From there, I’d mix in tracks by Keb' Mo', Shemekia Copeland, B.B. King, and Charley Patton. I'd even throw in some Stevie Ray Vaughan to show them that the blues can really rock, too. I wanted them to see all the different colors within this music. And it worked.

Now, Michael, I can strum three chords on a guitar, but I certainly can’t do the intricate fingerpicking of a country blues player. So, I started bringing in professional musicians. Our small town was right off the highway that touring artists took to get from Boston to New York City. I knew a few of them, and by securing small grants from the local arts council, I could offer them a couple hundred bucks to help fund their trip to the next gig.

Because of that, Keb' Mo' came to my school three times in the 1990s to play for my students. Shemekia Copeland came, as did Ronnie Baker Brooks, Coco Montoya, and Corey Harris. Then, in 1999, I managed to work some magic: I got B.B. King himself to come to my school, perform, and talk about the blues with 70 high school students.

That is the kind of impact music can have. Teenagers love music, so why not leverage that passion in the classroom? Today, some of those former students are lifelong music and blues fans. More importantly, I hope they are better human beings because they understand the historical injustices the blues culture endured while giving this beautiful gift of music to the world.

“However, artists like Debbie Davies, Coco Montoya, and Ronnie Baker Brooks would constantly share stories with me about Albert and what it was truly like to work with him. So, my core idea for the book was to let young musicians tell the stories of the older legends they had worked with, sat with, shared tour vans with, and shared stages with. It was a way to keep the memory and the profound importance of giants like Albert Collins, Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, Mississippi John Hurt, and John Lee Hooker alive.” (Art Tipaldi with Kenny Neal & Ronnie Baker Brooks, Art Tipaldi talk about the Blues Music Magazine, Shemekia Copeland, and Bernard Allison / Photos by Laura Carbone)

As Editor-in-Chief at Blues Revue and Blues Music Magazine, what were the biggest challenges, the most difficult moments, and the highlights of your career?

Art Tipaldi: The absolute biggest challenge was financial. I served as the editor for Blues Revue for 17 issues—I think it was from 2010 to 2013. The reality was that nobody at Blues Music Magazine got paid—not me, not the publisher, not the writers, nor the photographers. It costs an enormous amount of money to print a physical magazine and distribute it to bookstores. Ultimately, that financial strain is what killed Blues Revue; it just couldn't sustain itself anymore. When there was no money left to print issues, we had to pivot, dream up a completely different magazine, and try to make a go of it again.

That was the birth of Blues Music Magazine. Thanks to the relentless efforts of our publisher, Jack Sullivan, his wife Susan—who acts as our advertising sales rep—and myself as the editor, we formed what I call a "three-legged stool." Somehow, against the odds, we’ve kept this thing going through 51 issues.

So yes, financials remain the biggest challenge. The other major hurdle I face as an editor links back to a philosophy Jack and I share: we just stay in our lane. We aren't trying to be Living Blues or copy any other publication. We just want to do what we do, and do it exceptionally well.

What we do, Michael, is publish four print issues a year. Each issue features exactly five artist profiles, and the rest of the pages are dedicated to CD reviews. We do this to help the artists sell their music and to encourage readers to go see them live when they tour nearby. The entire operation is designed to help blues artists survive.

But my dilemma is that with only four issues and five profiles per issue, I can only feature 20 artists a year. Out of the vast abyss of talented blues musicians out there, how on earth do I choose just 20?

For example, about a year ago, we ran features on Kenny Wayne Shepherd and Bobby Rush. Now, every time Kenny releases a new album, his publicist reaches out asking for another feature or a story about the new record. But I have to tell them we just covered him last year, so we need to wait three or four years because space is limited. The same thing happened with Keb' Mo' and Taj Mahal. Keb' Mo' just put out a brand new CD, and I’d love to do another feature, but we just did one.

If we had a bi-monthly digital issue—which we experimented with for a while—it would be so easy to publish quick Q&As with artists like Keb' Mo' alongside some CD reviews. That would go a long way in covering many more people. That’s my second biggest challenge: I hate having to tell a musician, "I'm sorry, I just don't have the room to run a story on you." We want to prioritize artists whom our readers can physically go out to see, whose CDs they can buy, and who get nominated for the Blues Music Awards in Memphis—which is always a very special honor.

I also deeply wish we had the means to pay our writers for the incredible, dedicated job they do. If a CD drops right before we go to press and we desperately need a review, I have three or four writers who will jump on it at the drop of a hat.

Despite the hardships, I am extremely proud that we’ve found a way to keep Blues Music Magazine running and to maintain the immense respect it commands in the industry. My vision has always been to strike a balance: I want to cover legacy acts like Buddy Guy, Taj Mahal, or Bobby Rush; up-and-coming new artists like D.K. Harrell, Sean "Mack" McDonald, and Young Rell Davenport; and ensure a diverse mix of both men and women.

Above all, I want the magazine to educate. When I interviewed Mitch Woods for our current issue, I made sure to ask him about the people he's played with. What was it like? What did he learn from sitting with John Lee Hooker or playing with the Fats Domino Band? We have a lot of readers who are brand new to the genre, and these stories introduce them to the legends. Hopefully, it inspires them to do what you and I did, Michael—to go backward and dig into the roots to find out who Otis Spann, Roosevelt Sykes, or Sunnyland Slim were.

I frequently hand out copies of the magazine to my friends at the golf course or while watching soccer games at the local high school. People will come up to me the very next day and say, "I learned so much reading these stories, your writers do a fantastic job." Those are the true highlights and moments of pride for me—our photography, our writers, and the incredible array of people we get to cover.

We try to keep it as varied as possible. I've run stories on Fantastic Negrito, Reverend Sekou, and Jontavious Willis. They are all highly innovative, avant-garde musicians who are expanding the boundaries of the blues. They take the traditional form they were handed and modernize it for a contemporary audience. I felt our readers needed to know them and seek them out. Even if an artist like Reverend Sekou isn't mainstream, it is entirely worth putting him in the magazine just to give a voice to the profound social concerns he addresses through his music.

“This music is truly the art of the moment. As you know, Michael, it is created right then and there. The performers we love create something entirely unique to that specific moment, something that will never happen the exact same way again. You could go see Derek Trucks two nights in a row, and on the second night, he will find a completely new way to create art on that stage. That is exactly what I look forward to every time.” (Art Tipaldi’s book Children of the blues | Art Tipaldi / Photo by Aigars Lapsa)

your book, Children of the Blues, you feature 49 musicians who represent the new blues bloodline. What are the differences and similarities between the old cats and these younger generations?

Art Tipaldi: What I envisioned with that book came from a personal realization. I used to hear so many incredible stories about Albert Collins. If you were to ask me who I most regret never seeing live, Albert Collins would be at the very top of my list. He used to come and play in our area twice a year, and I would always tell myself, "Oh, I'll catch him next year. I'll see him next time." And then, he passed away.

However, artists like Debbie Davies, Coco Montoya, and Ronnie Baker Brooks would constantly share stories with me about Albert and what it was truly like to work with him. So, my core idea for the book was to let young musicians tell the stories of the older legends they had worked with, sat with, shared tour vans with, and shared stages with. It was a way to keep the memory and the profound importance of giants like Albert Collins, Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, Mississippi John Hurt, and John Lee Hooker alive.

At the same time, by interviewing actual biological children, we could preserve the legacies of fathers like Luther Allison, Johnny Copeland, Lonnie Brooks, Lucky Peterson's dad (James Peterson), and Raful Neal. I wanted to explore questions like: What did you learn growing up in the same house as Ronnie and Wayne Baker Brooks? What did your dad teach you about the music? I think when people read these pages, they come away witnessing the deep humanity that each of these legends passed down to their children—and in some cases, Michael, to their metaphorical children.

Take Bob Margolin, for instance. His parents weren't blues musicians, but Muddy Waters became a father figure to him. Bob essentially learned the essence of the music directly from Muddy. Through these connections, I wanted to pass those stories along and keep those vital first and second-generation musicians alive in people's minds. My biggest regret is simply that I couldn't include more people; I had to leave a bunch out.

Ultimately, I wanted readers to feel as though they were right there in the van, riding to the next gig alongside Rod Piazza, just listening to him swap stories. Or hearing Tommy Shannon open up about what it was like when he and Stevie Ray Vaughan battled their addictions, and how they both successfully came out clean on the other side.

There are a lot of profound side roads you can travel down in this book. One of them is the theme of sobriety—the reality that you can play this music so much better without the cloud of addiction. A number of performers in the book candidly discuss how drugs and alcohol were actively killing their creative vision.

Another major theme is songwriting. Several artists break down what they learned about the craft and how they are passing that knowledge down to the younger generation. There is a beautiful learning curve involved: how these young musicians dedicate themselves day in and day out to learning how to fearlessly express themselves through music, eventually finding a sound and a direction that is uniquely their own.

That is exactly what I wanted the book to achieve. I’ve probably sold about 3,000 copies, but I always tell people: it reached the right 3,000 people. I've personally made sure to hand out copies to the new crop of young musicians under the age of 25—like D.K. Harrell, Sean "Mack" McDonald, Stephen Hull, and Young Rell Davenport. I wanted to ensure they could read about and connect with the legendary musicians they never had the chance to meet in person.

“That is the kind of impact music can have. Teenagers love music, so why not leverage that passion in the classroom? Today, some of those former students are lifelong music and blues fans. More importantly, I hope they are better human beings because they understand the historical injustices the blues culture endured while giving this beautiful gift of music to the world.” (Art Tipaldi & Bonnie Tipaldi, Notodden Blues Festival / Photo by Aigars Lapsa)

Based on your experience at Norway’s festivals, why do you think blues music continues to generate such a highly developed following in Europe?

Art Tipaldi: To me, this music is uniquely American. Let me see if I can explain this clearly. I conduct a workshop in Lucerne every year, teaching a class for students during their "Blues at School" day. I always tell the kids, just as I say wherever I go: the blues is uniquely American.

Of course, you have your own uniquely Greek music, which is deeply rooted in folklore, comes from the villages, and goes back centuries. The blues, however, is a combination of two distinct cultures: African culture and European culture. It was the meeting of these two cultures in America as the country was being founded in the 1600s that gave the music a flavor no single European country possesses.

Therefore, I believe the true appeal of the blues lies in its freedom, its spontaneity, and its inventiveness. It blends the spontaneous expression of African culture with European musical structure. Think about it: if you go to a gospel church service, everyone stands up and yells "Amen!" whereas in a traditional European Christian service, people tend to sit on their hands and remain passive. European culture contributed the structure—the bars, the 12-bar progression, the I-IV-V chord changes. African culture, on the other hand, infused it with spontaneity and raw inventiveness.

Europeans view it much like we view foreign cuisine in America. What makes Thai food so popular here? It’s because it comes from a place outside of America, and we are enjoying the unique benefits of it. I think that is a big part of the appeal.

I also think the blues speaks to people during hard times. I often wonder what it was about the blues that resonated so deeply with Eric Clapton, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Van Morrison, and Eric Burdon back in the 1960s. Coming out of the bleak post-World War II era, British society desperately needed hope. And as we said when we started this conversation, the blues is not sad music; it provided the exact hopefulness they needed.

Notodden in Norway is a prime example of this. I don't know if you know their story, but it used to be a steel mill town. When the mills closed down, Jostein and a bunch of other unemployed, bored residents—who had assumed the steel mill would be their entire life—decided to get together to raise the community's spirits.

They hosted a tiny little blues festival in a hotel lobby, and it completely sold out. Year after year, it grew larger and larger, until by the late 1990s, that small town had transformed into a major tourist destination because of this massive festival. We literally call Notodden "the town that blues saved."

There are many other regions in Europe where the blues speaks to the local population in a similar way. What was it about the blues that spoke to Ana Popovic in Serbia during the war? It was the fact that this music offered a beacon of hope. European blues fans, in particular, truly recognize the emotional gifts that the blues can offer.

Meanwhile, here in America, we are often too busy moving on to the next big thing. We constantly chase what is trending today. TV talent shows will feature a 15-year-old singer, and I’ll be sitting on my couch watching them, thinking: "Well, what about Ronnie Baker Brooks? Why don’t you put him on? He would blow people's minds!" Why not showcase musicians who are actually playing real instruments instead of relying on electronic production and lip-syncing?

Regardless, I am absolutely thrilled that cultures throughout Europe, South America, and Asia have discovered and continue to passionately support the blues. They truly understand what this music gives back to the human spirit.

“I miss the club scene that I was a part of in the '90s. Back then, we had about seven different blues venues nearby. I deeply miss that '90s blues culture, where, for instance, you could find four blues bars right in Boston.” (Art Tipaldi with Earl Thomas & D.K. Harrell, Bonnie Tipaldi with his award, Albert Castilian & Mike Zito, Notodden Blues Festival, Norway / Photos by Aigars Lapsa)

You have interviewed legends as well as rising talents. What is the most interesting interview you have ever done?

Art Tipaldi: There are just too many. But yes, one that stands out is Robert Lockwood Jr. I only had about 20 minutes with him. For the first five minutes, Michael, all he did was give me one-word answers: "Yes," "No," "Yes," "No."

Coincidentally, I had recently assigned my students to write research papers on blues musicians, and one girl had written hers on Robert Lockwood. Deciding to break the ice, I read him the final paragraph of her paper, which detailed just how important he was to the history of the music. Holy smokes, Michael, after that, I couldn't shut him up! That turned into a truly great interview.

You know this yourself, Michael, because you do so many interviews too. There are those rare moments where, after a 45-minute or an hour-long conversation, you step back and think, "Oh my God, where was I?" The entire thing just flows seamlessly, like an improvised guitar solo you didn't even have to think about. One question naturally leads to the next, and when you hang up the phone, you just look at your wife and say, "Oh my God, that was amazing."

I had Eddie Kirkland tell me on the phone about going to the crossroads at midnight and choosing not to sell his soul. I remember sitting there thinking, "Art, whatever you do, do not interrupt him right now, because this is something you never get to hear."

Ultimately, what I love most—and I can tell you share this approach—is going into these interviews as if we are just two friends talking. When we finish, the artists often tell me, "Wow, it felt like I was just talking to a good friend." That is exactly what I aim for: a genuine conversation. Sometimes I’ll write out 10 or 15 questions, Michael, and by the end of the interview, I realize I only asked one. The artist might mention that the third song on their new record is incredibly important to them, and suddenly you're off running down a path you never anticipated, asking why it's important and how the idea came together.

I’ve also had the privilege of interviewing three of the founding members of Fleetwood Mac: Mick Fleetwood, Jeremy Spencer, and Peter Green. I think I still have the Mick Fleetwood interview on tape. Back when I was doing the "Talking Blues" sessions for the festival in Norway, I often chose not to tape the conversations. I didn't want a recorder to disrupt the natural flow of the dialogue, especially back in the cassette days when you'd have to interrupt a musician to flip the tape over. But that era was incredibly special.

Interviewing Steven Van Zandt was another highlight because we connected instantly. We both grew up in New Jersey during the exact same years, living just 20 miles apart. We had an absolute ball reminiscing about the music we grew up listening to just outside of New York City.

Honestly, I feel deeply honored to have spoken with every single person featured in my book. Another memory that frequently pops up is sitting down with Scotty Moore, Elvis Presley’s original guitarist. I asked him, "Scotty, what was it like growing up and playing in a band that completely changed the face of American music?"

Scotty looked at me and said, "Art, I’ve always said I played in a band directed by an asset." I laughed, the whole audience laughed, and then he explained: "No, you don't understand. We had no stage monitors back in the 1950s. The only way we knew where we were in the arrangement of a song was by watching Elvis swivel his hips back and forth." I thought, "Oh my God, that is brilliant." Even now, two decades later, I still vividly remember that line and how profound it was.

So yes, there have been so many interviews, and I love every minute of it. The teacher in me thrives on sitting down with musicians and hearing their perspectives. I always say, Michael, that everybody essentially shares the same core story, but they all tell it differently. I love those variations. When you ask them about their learning curve on the guitar, they all went through the same process, but the memories are entirely unique. One will tell you about waking up early before high school to put on a record, constantly lifting and dropping the needle until they figured out the riff.

The harmonica player Dennis Gruenling told me he spent an entire summer transcribing every single note from his favorite albums. The sheer dedication required to do that is mind-blowing. There are just so many stories like that, and I’m sure you’ve interviewed just as many fascinating people as I have.

“Ultimately, I wanted readers to feel as though they were right there in the van, riding to the next gig alongside Rod Piazza, just listening to him swap stories. Or hearing Tommy Shannon open up about what it was like when he and Stevie Ray Vaughan battled their addictions, and how they both successfully came out clean on the other side.” (Photo: Art Tipaldi with Rod Piazza, Honey Alexander Piazza, and Bonnie Tipaldi | Art is one of the world's most respected and dedicated blues journalists and authors)

As a veteran writer, journalist, and blues lover, what do you miss most from the past, and what are your hopes and fears for the future of the blues?

Art Tipaldi: Well, looking back at the old days—for me, Michael, my journey of going out to see live music really started around 1990. Before that, I listened to a lot of music, but we were married with children, raising a family, and working. There was simply no time or money to go out.

What do I miss most? I miss the club scene that I was a part of in the '90s. Back then, we had about seven different blues venues nearby. I deeply miss that '90s blues culture, where, for instance, you could find four blues bars right in Boston. Today, there's only the House of Blues, which is really more like the "House of No Blues." We used to have seven clubs within an hour of our house. That was truly how I got to meet all those performers; I would go see Kim Wilson at one club, Honeyboy Edwards at another, and eventually write stories about them. So, I really miss that era.

I also sometimes wish I could have experienced the club scene of the late '60s and '70s. I knew about it back then, but I just didn't have the money or the time to be a part of it. On the other hand, I remind myself that those were heavy days of drinking and drugs. Since I wasn't into that lifestyle, I might not have had the same kind of access I enjoyed in 1990, when the scene had started shifting toward sobriety.

In many ways, I feel I entered music journalism at the perfect time. Today, my hope is that the young performers who are currently revitalizing the genre can reach an audience beyond the aging blues demographic.

Attendees at contemporary blues shows and festivals are predominantly older. I want to see talented young artists—such as Ronnie Baker Brooks, Shemekia Copeland, Christone 'Kingfish' Ingram, and D.K. Harrell—introduce this music to a younger generation so they can experience how special it truly is. While I would love to see more small clubs open, I understand the financial realities. Many former blues venues now book tribute bands for $200 instead of legacy acts. An Eagles or Tom Petty tribute band keeps bar sales high at a fraction of the cost of booking an artist like Shemekia Copeland for $1,500 or $2,000.

I hope to see the industry shift back toward investing in genuine blues musicians, allowing them to launch sustainable two-week tours. Some are already proving it is possible. Danielle Nicole, fronting a three-piece band, is working tirelessly to build audiences in major venues. Similarly, Kingfish is successfully selling out larger spaces and sustaining multi-week tours. Ultimately, I want these younger artists to establish flourishing careers that will last for the next 30 to 40 years.

“Despite the hardships, I am extremely proud that we’ve found a way to keep Blues Music Magazine running and to maintain the immense respect it commands in the industry. My vision has always been to strike a balance: I want to cover legacy acts like Buddy Guy, Taj Mahal, or Bobby Rush; up-and-coming new artists like D.K. Harrell, Sean "Mack" McDonald, and Young Rell Davenport; and ensure a diverse mix of both men and women.” (Photo: Art Tipaldi with Charlie Musselwhite, Henrietta Musselwhite, and Bonnie Tipaldi | Art is the author of the landmark book Children of the Blues)

You served for over 10 years on the Blues Foundation's board, and of course, you received the Keeping the Blues Alive Award. Why is it important to preserve and spread the blues?

Art Tipaldi: Well, for all the reasons we've talked about. As we both know, this is a niche music. It’s the kind of music that will only survive as long as people like you and I continue to promote it. If it stays at just a ten percent popularity level, it risks going the way of Dixieland jazz and becoming viewed as just 'old-timey' music.

That’s why I think the Blues Foundation is on such good footing to show how important, vibrant, and diverse this music is, and how it can reach people all over the world—right down to your neighbor across the street. It truly has that ability. You and I know that if we have someone over and put on a track we love, they’ll inevitably ask, 'Who is this?' The Blues Foundation plays a crucial role in creating those moments. Part of the Keeping the Blues Alive Award is honoring recipients who, through a lifetime of work, have done exactly that—taking the time and dedicating their lives to keeping the blues alive.

Whether they are in radio, journalism, festival promotion, club management, or running record labels, we both know there aren't many financial rewards in this. Sometimes people are spending their own money. When my wife and I travel to a blues festival, I'm paying for our airfare, hotel room, and meals. So, to thank those recipients, I just want to say: thank you for a lifetime of supporting the blues.

Those are the kinds of things that help keep the blues thriving. We shouldn't just say 'keep the blues alive'—we want to keep it thriving so it can reach more people.

It's funny, I was watching this detective show on Amazon Prime called Reacher, and the intro music features John Lee Hooker playing 'Boom Boom'. I hope someone else watching that, besides me, is going, 'Hey, that's John Lee Hooker!' or at least asking, 'Who is doing that music? I like that.'

I once described this to Duke Robillard: we are like a craft winery. We only make a few bottles in our vineyard, Michael, but it is a really good wine. Everybody would love it if they could only taste it. But because of distribution and because we are such a small vineyard, we can't reach everyone. Every now and then, though, someone picks up a bottle of our wine in a restaurant or a liquor store, and they say, 'Hey, this is great wine, I want to drink more of it. I want to try the Cabernet, or the Zinfandel.' That’s exactly what we are—a craft winery. We’re going to reach people, but we won't reach a thousand at once; we’ll reach them one at a time.

That is what will keep the blues alive. I hope those little seeds I planted in my high school students years ago—I don't even know how many I played blues for, but those 17-year-old brains from 25 or 30 years ago—will bear fruit. I hope that maybe in another two or three years, someone will wake up and think, 'Let me go back and listen to that music Mr. Tipaldi played for us. Let me play that Albert Collins song,' or 'I remember when Keb' Mo' came, and look, he's playing a show near us, let's go see him.' That’s how we keep the blues alive, Michael—one fan at a time.

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