I was still in high school the first time I ever played a real nightclub.

And it wasn't just any nightclub.

It was the Ebony Club.

The Ebony Club was right up the road from where I lived in Triana, Alabama, and back then, that place was a big damn deal.

We were just kids. Had ourselves a high school band and thought we were something. Hell, maybe we were.

Music was different back then. We were heading into the disco era. Everybody was dancing. Bumping. Bump contests. Bands playing. Folks dressing up to go out on…

 Spring has finally come knocking. It’s been a long, cold ass winter, family. For a while there, I was broadcasting the livestream straight from my truck—it was the only way to stay warm when the heat gave out in this old building. It wasn’t always easy, but the Blues doesn't stop just because the temp drop. 

But today? Today feels different. I’m back in the Blues Room, and it feels good to have my feet on solid ground. The signal is pretty strong, the air is getting warmer, and the spirits is right.

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It’s that time again. The porch lights are on, the amps are humming, and the Front Porch Blues Bash is ready to crack open. This ain’t no stiff concert hall deal—it’s one big-ass open mic, where the whole world feels like it’s pullin’ up a chair. Folks fly in from near and far, and every October it sneaks up on us quicker than a payday gone wrong.

I’m honored they having me back to host again. Been doin’ this five, six years now, and every time feels like a family reunion. But this year? This year feels…

  AMAZING Last week down in Helena, Arkansas? Man… that Blues & Arts Camp was somethin’ else. I ain’t even tryin’ to hype it—it was just the truth. Five days of pure, uncut joy with a bunch of wild, beautiful kids, ages six to thirteen, all wide-eyed and full of fire. We laughed, we learned, we made some noise. I think I walked away with more lessons than they did.

Let me paint the picture for you.

We dove headfirst into the blues. Not just the sound of it, but the soul of it. Where it came from. How it rose…

 Alright now, lean in close. Let me take y’all down to the Delta for a minute—'cause some things just gotta be said. I don’t write about everything. Hell, most things don’t move me enough to bother. But every now and then, you see somethin’ so right, so rare, you gotta testify.

Let me tell you 'bout a lady named Ms Candice Dolls. Now, I don’t know her whole title over there at the Delta Cultural Center—might be Education director, coordinator, or just the glue holdin' the thing together. But what I do…

Man, we had ourselves a time last night at the Copper Top. Whole spot was jumpin’. The band? In rare damn form—tight as a new pair of funky boots. My bass player played so hard, his fingers went raw, but you know what? He kept on layin’ it down like a pro. No quit in him.

And the folks who came out? Y’all brought the fire. Dancin’, laughin’, showin’ love—just what the blues doctor ordered.

Now lemme talk about that food... Lawd. They had them smoked wings from the Fourth, grilled up just right, plus some…

 Let me take a minute to shout out a real one—Dusty, my bass player, my brother in this blues story, and the reason this band even took its first breath.

Today's his birthday, and man... I couldn’t let it pass without sayin’ somethin’.

See, before the Rick Molasses Patton Blues Band was even a whisper, Dusty was already planted in the picture. I spotted him first. I said, “Hey mister, you a bass player, ain’t you?” He looked at me sideways and said, “How’d you know?” I told him the truth—he was just reekin’…

I didn’t plan on building a band. Hell, I didn’t even see it comin’.

One day, I was out street-performin’ at the Bridge Street Mall in Huntsville, just me and the blues, when a fella stopped and started watchin’. Somethin’ about him hit different. I looked at him and said, “Hey… ain’t you a bass player?”

He looked shocked. “Yeah,” he said. “How’d you know?”

I told him plain—I could feel it. Blues recognizes blues.

We chopped it up for a minute. Said maybe we’d jam sometime. Now, I’ve heard that kind of talk…

Sat in on a panel at the Juke Joint Festival—damn near missed it—but what I caught?
It stirred somethin’ deep in my bones.

The talk was on the African influence in blues music, and how the sound crossed oceans, carried on backs, beat on drums, and whispered through cotton fields… until it rooted right here in the South.

The Kimbroughs & The Fifes: Bloodlines in the Blues

On that stage were two families carved straight outta blues history—the Kimbroughs outta Holly Springs, Mississippi, and the Turner family…

Every year, without fail, the height of my trip to the Juke Joint Festival is seeing those goats—yeah, goats—standing tall right on top of a damn truck like they own the place. And truth be told, they kinda do.

It’s wild. It’s beautiful. It’s Clarksdale Blues City.

These goats ain’t just standing there either—they’re posted up like blues kings on a throne, soaking up the crowd, gettin’ ready to get their juke on. It’s a scene that don’t make sense ‘til you see it, and then you can’t get enough of it. Its some…

There’s a severe thunderstorm rollin' through Mississippi today. One of those heavy sky days—clouds thick as smoke, wind howlin' like a ghost .

Out along Highway 61, the windmills are all spinnin'. Now usually, you ride down that highway and maybe—maybe—one or two of those big turbines are turnin’. But not today. Hell Nah, today? They all busy. Every single one singin' their own high-pitched song in the storm.

It's wild, man. Like watchin’ giants dancing out in the distance.

Those wind gusts hittin’ hard. Real…

  There’s something about standing in the wings with a mic in your hand and 16 bands ready to tear the roof off the mutha. You’re the bridge between the crowd and the artists, the calm before the storm comes, the voice they hear before guitars scream and drums pound. It’s a hell of a role—part hype man, traffic controller, part fly on the wall—and let me tell you, it taught me some things I won’t forget.

 The Energy’s Real

  When 16 bands are waiting for their turn, there’s a pulse backstage. A mix of nerves,…

  One day, I got a call that would lead me straight to the heart of Macon, Georgia—a city rich in history and soul. The voice on the other end belonged to a festival promoter named Johnny Mo. He was putting together a show for the All Music Festival and wanted to book me to play. The headliner? None other than the legendary Betty LaVette.

This gig felt special right off the bat. Johnny made a good offer, sent over the details, and I hit the road—six hours down the highway to Macon, not far from Atlanta. What…

  Let me take y’all back to 2016, the King Biscuit Blues Festival. I heard Veronika Jackson was gonna be there, and man, that was my first stop. I hustled straight to the Miller stage, hoping for a chance to meet her and get a photo. I wasn’t about to miss my shot with someone who’s been intriguing me for years.

  Now, Veronika Jackson ain’t your run-of-the-mill artist. She’s a black woman carving a space in folk music, straight out of Georgia. That alone is rare and beautiful. She’s got a voice that has…

The King Biscuit Festival ain't just about the music—it’s about the people who keep the whole show rollin'. Behind the bright lights and blues notes, there’s a heartbeat made up of folks like Houston Stackhouse Jr and his wife, Miss Kim. This year at the Lockwood Stackhouse Stage, they were some of the steady hands and warm smiles making sure everything ran like a well-tuned machine.

Junior and Miss Kim didn’t just show up; they show out. Running the trailer and dressing rooms for the artists, they made…

   I had the honor of introducing a man who embodies the soul of the genre—Marcel Smith. As the closing act of the King Biscuit Blues Festival 2024 Lockwood Stage, Marcel didn't just take the stage; he owned it, he left a mark on everyone present.

  Born in Sacramento, California, Marcel's journey began in the church, where he was influenced by gospel quartets like the Soul Stirrers and the Dixie Hummingbirds. This early exposure laid the foundation for a career that would see Marcel sharing stages with the…

  Let me tell you about a night that left a mark on my soul. I wasn’t just hearing the Akeem Kemp Band for the first time—I had the honor of introducing them, shaking their hands, and watching them build magic right there on the stage.

Picture this: I was working as the announcer,  I got to hype folks up for what was coming. The band rolled in—cool as a breeze but heavy with a purpose. These cats weren’t there to play around; they came to play.

  Helping them set up was like getting a peek behind the curtain.…

  Back in the ‘80s, I was playing for a Southern gospel group called The Gospel Starlights. They were a powerhouse, even after James Brown left them, and the man keeping us all in line was the band manager, Papacita. Now, Pop was one hell of a manager—kept the band tight, took care of the crew, and even bought me a guitar while I was with them. But when my time with the Starlights came to an end, so did my time with that guitar. Pop wouldn’t let me take it, so there I was—guitarless for a stretch.

Fast…

  Clarksdale, Mississippi—ground zero for blues, where the Delta dust kicks up, and the air’s thick with the Blues. This year’s Juke Joint Festival didn’t just celebrate the blues; it shook hands with it. It was more than a festival—it was a slice of life the way it’s meant to be. Unpolished and Raw. We all had a friggin ball.

 The Juke Joint Festival ain’t your regular musical event. It’s half down-home Blues family reunion, half wild ass Saturday night party. Sure, it’s got legends, but it’s also got pigs…

 Mornin’ y’all. I’m kickin’ it down here in Macon, Georgia, and I gotta say, this place just keeps gettin’ better every time I roll through here. Second time playin’ here, and this little city’s got a hold on me. They set me up in one of those downtown lofts, and let me tell ya, that’s a sweet spot. I can walk everywhere, so I’ve been ramblin’ around, soaking in all the , soulful energy this place has got.

Macon’s got a vibe you can’t quite pin down—like a little mix of city grit, Southern soul, and deep,…