The River That Carried the Blues North.
Muddy didn’t just play the blues — he amplified it, electrified it, and carried it straight up the Mississippi from cotton fields to cold streets. Born on a plantation in Mississippi, he learned guitar under the porch light and soaked up the Delta sound like it was gospel.
But he didn’t stay put. He took that deep, muddy rhythm north to Chicago, plugged it in, and lit the damn thing on fire. His voice was a slow grind of thunder, his guitar cut like barbed wire, and when he looked at you from the stage, you knew he’d seen some things.
He gave us swagger before rock had a name — and a sound so heavy it shook the world awake. The Rolling Stones didn’t just admire him — they named their band after his song, “Rollin’ Stone.” The whole British Invasion? Built on his back.
And through it all, he never forgot who he was. Proud. Polished. Mississippi to the marrow.
Verdict: SphstRDnck. Clean-cut suit, dirty truth. When he said he was a man, you damn well believed it.