In a suburban living room in 1967, two teenage rock ’n’ roll fans, happy to have the house to themselves on a Saturday night, slipped an LP onto the turntable and cranked up the volume. The record was not a predictable favorite by the Beatles or the Rolling Stones, but one by an American artist that they’d seen mentioned in articles about Britain’s most heralded electric guitarist, Eric Clapton. It was a live recording of a concert, and as the needle hit the grooves, the murmur of the audience seemed to fill the room. “Ladies and gentleman,” said the announcer, “how about a nice warm round of applause to welcome the world’s greatest blues singer, the king of the blues, B.B. King!”
B.B. King’s Live at the Regal was recorded in November of 1964 in front of an enthusiastic black audience in Chicago, and for a couple of white suburban kids, it made for thrilling, even exotic listening. King’s music was certainly different from the blues-rock Clapton was making with Cream. The choice of that record with my friend Paul reflects the way that many in the 1960s got introduced to the blues, the soulful bedrock of American music.
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