Affiliate to the Blues

The blues called, and I answered not with apology, but with cadence. This is not a song for politeness. It is a dispatch from the mythic edge, where care is not weakness, and trouble is sacred. I grew up listening to the powerful voices of women before me, who shared their truths through worn microphones and with proud, unyielding spirit. Janis, Big Mama, Bessie did not whisper. They roared.

This anthem weaves together melodies from our ancestors with the resonant sounds of protest. It is a mouth full of good trouble, a sovereign correction to every hollow who mistook my craft for a shortcut. I play like I mean it. I sing like I remember. And I relive every note like it is a ceremony.

So, if you come for silence, you are in the wrong suite.

If you come for truth, pull up a chair.

The blues are far from finished.

And neither am I.

Affiliate to the Blues

Mouth Full of Good Trouble

By Vicki, age 76, ceremonial rebel and mythic archivist.

Verse 1

Got that ole blues tune in my head

Played it on my upright, back when the world was wide

And my fingers knew the ache before the words arrived.

Big Mama growled truth into the mic.

Bessie sang baritone like a sovereign bell.

Ma Rainey did not ask permission she was the permission.

Janis came later, echoing their fire.

But today, we talked about the ladies who sang first.

****************

Bessie Smith

Janis Joplin

Verse 2

Janis echoed what my girls had done

But I was born when the blues begun

Lead Belly strummed, I found my tone

Now I play it loud, and I play it alone.

*************************

Lead Belly

Verse 3

Upright keys and a hardwood floor

I played the ache; I played the roar.

Mama bought me sheets to read.

I played those chords from memory instead

The blues were rhythm; the blues were need.

Ma Rainey

Chorus

Affiliate to the blues, which is my name

Mouth full of good trouble, heart full of flame

Keys still hum what the elders sang

I play it sovereign, I play it plain.

*******************

Big Mama Thornton

Verse 4

Seventy-six and still I play

The ancestors guide me every day

My fingers know what truth can sound

And every note is sacred ground.

Bridge

I do not need a stage to roar

My keyboard’s a mythic door

Every note a sovereign fight

Every chord a candlelight.

Final Chorus

Affiliate to the blues, born to reclaim

Mouth full of good trouble, rhythm does not tame

The anthem lives, the archive grows

And the blues still bloom where the upright goes.

Written, created, and edited

Vicki Lawana Trusselli

California

Trusselli Art

An Outstages Cafe Production

copyright 2025