I Hate To See The Evening Sun

The Blues - The Sound Of A Sinner On Revival Day.

Whenever I Heard The Song Of A Bird And The Answering Call Of Its Mate, I Could Visualize The Notes In Scale, All Built Up Within My Consciousness As A Natural Symphony.

In The South Of Long Ago Whenever A New Man Appeared For Work In Any Of The Laborers Gangs, He Would Be Asked If He Could Sing. If He Could He Got The Job. The Singing Of These Working Men Set The Rhythm For The Work.

Nature Was My Kindergarten.

You've Got To Appreciate The Things That Come From The Art Of The Negro And From The Heart Of The Man Farthest Down.