I really hate February.

Winter has gone on far too long now and the end remains nowhere in sight. And yes, this is despite February’s vague effort to redeem itself by trying to cast itself in an aura of love and romance. I get Valentine’s Day, but February will get no redemption from me. Its only virtue may be that it’s the shortest month of the year.

I love the outdoors and could probably even get interested in outdoor winter activities despite having grown up in far warmer climes. The problem is that here in central Illinois we seem to lack several of the basic ingredients that might make winter more enjoyable: a) serious snow (allowing for things like skiing), b) serious cold (allowing for outdoor ice skating, hockey playing or even ice fishing), and c) hills (see (a) above).

Instead we have the kind of cold that results in snow followed immediately by disgusting blackish white mush, we have melted and refrozen ice on our roadways, rivers that freeze too much for paddling, but not (usually) enough to walk out on the water without fear of falling through (which I have done, but only my left foot; fair warning for me).

I’m a fan of the Blues. One might argue that the Blues is the only truly American art form, growing out of the hard times confronted by African-Americans in our Southern states. I figure the idea behind the Blues is that no matter how bad things get, they could always be worse. And then, ironically somehow, this makes us feel better.

American Blues has been known to address just about every depressing thing known to humankind: Penitentiary Blues, Shotgun Blues, Mule Ridin’ Blues, Moonrise Blues, Last Night Blues, Morning Blues, Coffee Blues, Married Woman Blues, Terraplane Blues (a car, not a plane), Dynaflow Blues (a type of transmission), and of course, Whoopie Blues, and even Robert Johnson’s own Dead Shrimp Blues.

So it was in this spirit that I fully expected to at least find one blues song written about what a crappy month February is.

Amazingly, my extensive deep background research (Googling “February Blues”) turned up only three songs: one a YouTube video with unintelligible lyrics, one a bluesy instrumental played by Spanish guitarist Diego Garcia and one an oddly worded love song kind of thing which was totally inappropriate for my brand of bleak February blues.

So I’ve decided to take matters into my own hands and offer you, the readers of Notes from the River, this lyrical (if non-melodic) debut of the first Notes from the River Blues composition inspired by the crappy month of February, February Blues.

It’s a standard 12 bar blues of the AAB form. We repeat the same verse twice, followed by a one line refrain. For a sense of melody, think Robert Johnson’s ‘Sweet Home Chicago’ or his iconic ‘Crossroads Blues’, to wit:

I went down to the Crossroads, fell down on my knees

I went down to the Crossroads, fell down on my knees

Asked the Lord above for mercy, save me if you please.

So with apologies to the ghost of Robert Johnson and all the Blues greats, here’s my rendition of the February Blues, with special feature “Director’s Cut” commentary included:

We start with the heartache and sorrow of dreams unrealized:

Headed down to the Sangamon, carried my canoe,

Headed down to the Sangamon, carried my canoe,             

But that riv-ah done froze up, got dem February Blues.

As redemption, we try yet another ambitious attempt to relate to our river in February:

Gonna skate on that Sangamon, got my skatin’ shoes,

Gonna skate on that Sangamon, got my skatin’ shoes,       

But that riv-ah done thawed out, got dem February Blues.

No canoeing, no skating, so our hapless blues troubadour tries a simple walk along the river, only to be foiled again:

Gonna walk by that Sangamon til I wears out my shoes,

Gonna walk by that Sangamon til I wears out my shoes,

But dat trail it’s a mud pit, got dem February Blues.

The next verse is an homage to Robert Johnson as the blues troubadour is overcome with the overwhelming sense of angst wrought by February,

I went down to the Riv-ah, fell down on my knees

I went down to the Riv-ah, fell down on my knees

Asked February for mercy, help me if you please.

As some fans would know, in the Crossroads mythology this is where Robert Johnson sells his soul to the devil to relieve his angst and receive the talent that made him a blues legend. We won’t go quite that far and as we wrap up February Blues (after an impressive and heart-wrenching acoustic slide guitar break that must unfortunately be left to readers’ imaginations), we offer one small modicum of hope and redemption, in truth the only means of ending the February Blues once and for all (or at least until next year):

Sittin’ down by that Sangamon, waitin’ fo’ that news,        

Sittin’ down by that Sangamon, waitin’ fo’ that news,

Of March’s arrival, no mo’ February blues!

Appeared as Notes from the River, Mahomet Citizen, February 12, 2015, by Scott Hays