For you young’uns who can’t remember the late eighties, it really was the worst time in rock and roll history, more boring and corporate and conceited than the seventies ever were. But even worse than Bon Jovi, U2, and Paula Abdul was the type of fake-ass white boy electric blues that played constantly in bars, movies, and your friend’s dad’s car, as popularized by Eric Clapton and Stevie Ray Vaughan.
But in a nostalgic way, I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Jeff Healey. Okay, I know that he sucks, and his sentimental blues ballads suckle straight from the teat of eighties Eric Clapton. But when I was twelve or so, all the slightly older nerdy guys I hung out with loved Jeff Healey. I was always hearing about how amazing he was on Boy Scout hikes and my church’s youth group get-togethers, and for people who are into that kind of blues and jazz guitar, I guess he he had-than-average proficiency (probably played the ballads just to get some coin). And as a DJ, I admire the fact that the dude collected over 30,000 old blues and jazz 78’s. And let’s not forget his role in Crow T. Robot’s favorite movie, Roadhouse:
Maybe there’s a curse on that movie, because twenty years later, one of the stars has lost a battle with cancer, and now, as my girlfriend just informed me, Patrick Swayze has five weeks to live! If I were John Doe, I’d definitely go get a check-up from the doctor and eat some fiber.