And here's to the blues, the real blues— where there's a hint of hope in every cry of desperation.

We start our lives with blues . . . with music. It's our first language. It's the rhythm of the womb. It's your mama's heartbeat inside your head.

The music echoes in the emptiness. It reminds us where we came from and where we’re bound.

You got infinite channels and limitless rhymes, but the riddles of livin' stay undefined?

Your muse ain't singin' on your MTV? Can't even see him on your HD TV?

The music plays . . . and your sense of reality is heightened to a dream.