Most would say it's the humidity that makes the Mississippi air feel so thick. I believe it's the ghosts.
Ghosts haunt Mississippi with stories, lifetimes of stories — told with words, or in song over the slur of a blues guitar.
From Tupelo to Clarksdale and Vicksburg to Biloxi, the ghosts of the musicians who played the blues, who invented the blues, float above the fields, beckoning from dusty back roads and river bends. Their songs whisper around the corners of the long, low brick buildings on the main streets of small towns, reminding a patient traveler of old times, good times, hard times.
Charley Patton, Robert Johnson, Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters....