Trouping to Po Monkey Juke Joint on a Thursday Night


Photo by Eric Stone. Bethany, Billy and Madge Marley Howell with Willie Seaberry at Po Monkey's

Photo by Eric Stone. Bethany, Billy and Madge Marley Howell with Willie Seaberry at Po Monkey’s

By Poor William

(Merigold, Mississippi) VIDEO in post

Po Monkey, I hear he don’ play no live blues! Say what?

You’d be right podna, most of the time, but take a DJ, cold beer, set-ups for whiskey, a bag of cracklins passed around the table, some old-school R&B and enough multi-shaped jiggling backsides of all colors, and you gots good times with enough laughter to put ole Mista Prozac out of bidness!

Po Monkey’s Lounge, somewhere near Merigold, MS, is one of the most organically integrated Juke Joints anywhere. Proprietor Willie Seaberry is a caretaker, rhythm maker, low-down gyrator, good-times maker, mold breaker—ain’ but one of him, ‘cept when he changes outfits several times a night—and a fellow who makes folks happy just ‘cause he is.

Poor William and Magical Madge trouped to Po Monkey’s last night after hearing James Meredith speak at the Cutrer Mansion. Accompanying the twosome was our daughter Bethany, author and photographer Eric Stone,(see 3 of his photos in gallery) who just moved to Clarksdale from L.A., Marcos Chiappe, a Delta landowner from Argentina, and Luke Stabb from Melbourne, Australia, who started in Vancouver on a walkabout across the U.S. with a guitar and a heavy rucksack.

We couldn’t make this stuff up folks, and it be happen’ often in the Mississippi Delta. We’s just another eclectic troupe of transients and semi-transients seeking a bard’s pleasure!

Poor William could travel the world over and beg, borrow, barter, or pilfer one night like last night, which is not anomalistic ‘round here, and he could then consider his suitcase full of the finest of memories.

We love the Delta and the folks from all over the world who love her as they search for something real right here in River City, Clarksdale Mississippi, and birthplace of them ole thug-nasty blues. Folks who innervate us, inform our understanding of the world outside our cool nucleus, and who flash into our lives like lit brandy on bananas foster are a precious commodity, just like three bales to the acre. Y’all come, and keep on coming! We ‘preciate ya! pw

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