The Mississippi delta is among the poorest parts of Mississippi, itself one of the poorest states in the US. “Thank god for Mississippi” has become a common adage in the south cynically referring to Mississippi’s low ranking on pretty much every measure of quality of life. Driving through the delta indeed reinforces this perspective. The vast empty fields, run down communities, deserted and crumbling farm houses all add to a sense of abandonment and despair. When we stopped in Cleveland, MS and encountered a functioning main street lined with cute little shops and a cafe where decent latte and croissants were being served, complete with a student reading a book by Freud (Orit excitedly pointed out that it was “Civilization and Its Discontents”), we were positively surprised. But this experience was the exception, to be sure. Later on when we stopped for gas as we approached the city Clarksdale, I had a really hard time understanding what people around me were saying with their thick accents and lots of local slang.
Clarksdale is considered a really important center for the Blues. It is an otherwise crumbling little town, with signs of its pre-90s glory present everywhere in torn down and falling apart buildings. There are several of blues clubs in town, including a few Juke Joints. The weird thing was that all of them look incredibly run down. It is not that they are old and showing their age. That too, that is. But the aesthetic is even more specific than that. The walls are unpainted wood. There are writings on them everywhere, apparently made by random people over time. There is a lot of pseudo-antique junk everywhere. There are some artifacts that have no discernible use but that are also not particularly artsy or seem to have been put there just to occupy an otherwise empty space. The style just feels random, not pretty or cohesive. On second thought, I might say it represent some kind of anger, some kind of attempt to yell back at the world that treated this place so badly. Whatever the case might be, the style was really unappealing to me.
In stark contrast to the impossibly run down surroundings, the music was amazing. Some of the musicians we’ve heard were excellent, playing authentic delta blues. At a juke joint called Red’s we saw Terry “Harmonica” Bean, and were blown away by his technique and amazing vibe. There is live music in Clarksdale, mostly blues, all the time. Even on Easter Sunday at 10 in the morning as we sat down at a cafe to eat breakfast a small band was playing. It is kind of insane.
As we were entering Red’s someone offered Orit some unlabeled drink, which she declined. The drink turned out to be moonshine - hard liquor produced locally by the owner, which was very popular during the prohibition. Why still make it when liquor is so cheap? So cheap that many people we encountered here were in various stages of being totally hammered at any hour of the day and night. Being drunk is tolerated and socially accepted here, and people encourage each other to drink so that we all “have a good time”.
Many of the tourists who come to Clarksdale are European. Locals said it was up to two-thirds of tourist, which I found surprising. Anecdotally we did run into several European tourists, and run into them again and again in the various places in town, because we came during a quiet weekend, right before a big festival (the Juke Joint Festival) was about to take place.
Our Airbnb hosts are two musicians turned hospitality workers that rent out several Airbnb’s from a large restored 19th century house and also work at a well known hotel right out of town, the Shack Up Inn. That hotel shares in the same run-down-and-un-renovated vibe of places in town, and is built around a cotton processing hangar. Over time, the owner acquired shacks from plantation that were going out of business in the delta and transported them to become part of the hotel. The shacks were mostly where slaves and later sharecroppers lived, in some cases until the 90s. Preserving sharecropper habitations is a cool idea, but the way they are preserved there - with bare walls full of random scribbles, with tin roofs, is very unappealing. Why not make them look a little nicer, while still preserving the rustic, simplistic original design?
Of course, the inn has a stage and performance area, also full of junk and visually busy as is everything else around here. And of course we also listened to some great music by Bill Abel there. Clarksdale is amazing.
After a few days of wandering around from one music venue to another and enjoying the vibe, we got in the car and drove towards our next destination - Birmingham, Alabama.
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