Please don’t tell anyone you read this. I’m trying to keep one of Memphis’ true treasures a secret. But since it’s just you…
The Blues Music Awards is one of those only-in-Memphis events and even though it gets bigger every year, it’s still one of the coolest, up-close-and-personal evenings to experience. Where else can you see Janiva Magness going to town on a waffle board or Bobby Rush backed up by three big-butt dancers following Slick Ballinger praising the Lord?
So we’re sitting at Table G8…

One table over sits Watermelon Slim with his 8th-grade daughter and his band. Ripe with style in a light green fedora and zoot suit, Slim’s having a good time, even though he doesn’t win any of the awards he’s nominated for. He obliges my friend Faye with an autograph on a CD and asks, “What are you doin’ later, Darlin’?”
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Janiva Magness, my friend Mike’s lust object, sits a couple of tables over, greeting a steady stream of well wishers. She’s wearing a silver metallic dress that shimmies like a flapper’s outfit. When she wins the award for contemporary female blues artist, she’s carefully escorted up the stairs to the stage. Last year, Magness fell flat — and I do mean flat — on her lovely face trying to make it to the stage. She said her eyesight is so bad they call her “Mrs. Magoo.”
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Tab Benoit, one of my personal faves (that’s him in the picture), still feels the pain from Katrina’s destruction of his home state. In a heartfelt plea, he urges the audience to help South Louisiana, not with money, but with action.
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Lil’ Ed, fresh from accepting his award, chases a woman across the ballroom. Not for nefarious reasons, but to return a shawl the woman dropped.
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Blind Mississippi Morris and his wife Melodie dazzle in outfits of matching red satin.
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Slick Ballinger praises Jesus and testifies (and testifies) to the crowd, thanking us for his album award. And then tells us the Lord has called him to gospel music and preaching. See ya.
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If anyone’s reeling from Slick’s testimony, they have barely enough time to catch their breath before Bobby Rush takes the stage with his backup singers. Only they don’t sing. They…well…they shake their butts. Big butts. Two in thin leotards and one in bellydancer attire. Jaws drop. Eyes bug out. I can truly say I’ve never seen buttocks move, sometimes independently, in that manner before. Hide the children!
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Faye picks up the framed poster of Barbara Blue that she won for $260 in the silent auction. Faye says she likes the colors and it’ll be cool in the place she’s hoping to buy on Beale Street in San Francisco, where she lives. She has no clue who Barbara Blue is. So when Barbara comes onstage and starts belting it out, full of pain and the kind of power Blues is supposed to have, Faye is pleasantly surprised. “And she’s got a lot of tattoos,” Faye says. “I like that in a girl.” Later, Barbara comes over to the table to personalize the back of the poster for Faye and husband Mike.
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And in the moment that touches me the most, Dion strums his accoustic guitar and sings “Abraham, Martin & John.” He talks about Martin Luther King Jr. and how his death affected him and his music. That song has always choked me up and hearing him sing it…very special.
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It’s 2:30 a.m. and the last note has sounded. Nine hours of kick-ass blues and fabulous entertainment. Roughly 44 musicians. Based on the $125 ticket, that’s about $3 an act. And we got dinner, too. But keep this to yourself. We don’t want to spoil a great only-in-Memphis thing.

(Posted by Carolyn McAtee Cerbin)