I waited by the gate where we’d planned to meet, leaning against the metal barricade hot in the sun as sweaty arms and legs brushed by to get closer to the stage. Robert Cray was jamming, sweat dripping down his face while his mouth worked, chewing on lyrics like he was eating barbeque with a kick, fingers picking that guitar clean, leaving bare bones where meat used to be. I saw you coming, walking fast like you had somewhere to be, eyes focused on the roped off area behind the stage, guarded by a big man in red with shifty … Continue reading Hanging With the Cool