When Johnson started singing, he seemed like a guy who could have sprung from the head of Zeus in full armor.

At first the music almost repelled me, it was so intense, and this man made no attempt to sugarcoat what he was trying to say, or play. It was hard-core, more than anything I had ever heard. After a few listenings I realized that, on some level, I had found the master, and that following this man's example would be my life's work.

We were either listening to jazz or Robert Johnson, the old blues man, but not to our peers.

Robert Johnson? No, I didn't know him, personally.

And I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinking.

Thinking of a series of dreams
Where the time and the tempo fly
And there's no exit in any direction
'Cept the one that you can't see with your eyes