Legends of the Crossroads and Redefining Success

Early this mornin'
When you knocked upon my door
Early this mornin', ooh
When you knocked upon my door
And I said, "Hello Satan,
I believe it's time to go."—Robert Johnson.

Crossroads. Before Rock and Jazz.  Before Rap and Hip Hop.  Before Pop and Metal.  There was Blues.   There is a story—some say legend and some swear its true.  It’s the story of Robert Johnson at the crossroads. He was pretty good guitarist, but not good enough. Son House discounted him.  He couldn’t read music, write lyrics, and just wasn’t skilled enough to be as a professional musician.  He desperately longed for fame and fortune.  He was married to his young sweetheart. And seemed happy enough.  She died in childbirth (and the baby as well).  He hated God for it. And turned to his whiskey, voodoo and song. All he wanted was to be a great. He made a decision. At the stroke of midnight, he walked down to the windswept crossroads at the junction of Highways 61 and 49 in Clarksdale, MS. He called upon Satan. In exchange for Johnson's soul, the devil tuned his guitar, thereby giving him extraordinary abilities. From then on, the young blues-man played his instrument with an unearthly flair, his fingers dancing on blue strings. His voice moaned and wailed, echoing the deepest sorrows of a soulless man.