It runs through the minds of men and women of a certain age, complexion, and place who grew up during the era of segregation and who defied their parents, the law, and all genteel propriety and custom by answering one bluesman's invitation to cross the color line and join him getting lowdown and dirty as he serenaded a generation from the bandstand, on jukeboxes, and through the radio.

To them, the slurred guttural sound of a wise man singing "Hush, Hush," putting down the "Big Boss Man" or advising the listener to "Take Out Some Insurance" before they behold the "Bright Lights, Big City" was a siren's call they had no choice but to answer. Even if they tried, they couldn't resist the steady, dirty rhythm punctuated by the twanging sting of an electric guitar note and the sweet wail of a harmonica. And when they leaned in close, they could even hear the barely perceptible sound of a woman's voice whispering forgotten lyrics into an ear.

Ain't nobody can do Jimmy Reed like Jimmy Reed could. But this drive down Jimmy Reed Highway with fellow Mississippian Kent "Omar" Dykes at the wheel with Jimmie Vaughan (older brother of the legendary Stevie Ray Vaughan) riding shotgun and folks like, Kim Wilson, Miss Lou Ann Barton, James Cotton, Delbert McClinton, and Gary Clark, Jr., joining the duo, comes mighty close. As Omar guns the engine and peels rubber on the two- lane blacktop lined with no- good women, empty whiskey bottles, too many cigarette butts and bad intentions, he leaves John Law trailing behind eating his dust. Hop in for a ride and turn up the volume. The electric bluesman who shaped the minds and moves of a musical generation is alive and well. (by Joe Nick Patoski)