Trumpet Player

Music is always in the air on Beale Street in Memphis, even on a Tuesday afternoon. Each restaurant and souvenir shop comes armed with speakers aimed out towards the sidewalk. Aretha faded into Elvis who faded into B.B. King as we wandered down the street. A roots rock group strutted and sweated on the stage in a tiny park right off Beale Street. This gentleman played the blues with confidence and skill. The notes mingled with barbecue smoke---burnt offerings to the gods of music. I noticed the bits of red everywhere, right down to the trumpeter's hat band. Beale Street may be the home of the blues but its main color seems to be red.