Listening to scratchy recordings of country bluesmen allowed me to bask in the ambience of a vastly different time and place when I was young. Forever On My Mind, a stellar batch of previously unreleased Son House recordings from 1964, obligated me to finally recognize that the messages conferred by extraordinary artists like House are universal. Now that I’ve survived more than half a century I’m finally able to receive meanings beyond ostensible subjects such as hell hounds, boll weevils and razor balls. I may not inhabit the same morgues, churches or street corners as House, but the worldview he shares on Forever On My Mind mirrors my awareness of the advancing specter of death and the corresponding sense of loss.