A tribute to the late B.B. King

“My song is a serious matter

It reflects what I feel

If I say I love you, I mean it

’Cause in my song every line is for real”

— B.B. King

A King walked among us for decades, and we took him for granted.

Then again, the world did, too.

The blues of B.B. King was heartbreaking and healing at the same time. He played so well for so long that it seemed he might tour and solo forever. He died Thursday at his home in Las Vegas at age 89, but the deep blue notes he conjured from the six-string Gibson he named Lucille are surely part of a universal language that will go on for all time.

His death his proof that not all angels play a harp.

And although he traveled almost nonstop, often in a custom tour bus, King lived here for decades in a big house on Alta Drive and Rancho Road. It was easy to tell when he was home because the bus was parked outside.

King played Las Vegas from time to time, for the last time at a blues jam in 2014 at the now-shuttered Riviera, but to my mind he never received the level of appreciation he deserved. Call it the bias of a die-hard blues fan, but the Strip is a poorer place for not constructing a B.B. King Theater.

King bridged musical and racial divides with his music. He gave us all permission to get down, get back up again, and keep on keeping on. The blues is balm for the aching heart and soul, and it’s a reminder that there’s no shame in having a real good time along the way.

Blues is the people’s music, and King was a man for all people. If you can’t relate to the music of B.B. King, there may be no hope for you in this lifetime. Respectfully, it wasn’t Bill Clinton who felt our pain — it was the man born Riley B. King.

My first King album was “Live from Cook County Jail.” To this day I keep at least one B.B. King in the Subaru’s CD player. His music has played through shakeups, breakups and makeups. From “The Thrill is Gone” to “Caledonia,” “Sweet Sixteen” to “Into the Night,” there’s something for every mood and bend in life’s highway.

For an example of just how much King was admired by his fellow musicians, check out the marvelous blues man Keb’ Mo’ on the tribute, “Riley B. King.”

He sings in part,

“Out of the darkness and into the light

To fight the peaceful warrior’s fight

Such a beautiful sight and the way you feel

Watchin’ him with Lucille

“The heart of the man is open wide

And he closes his eyes and looks inside

To a love of the world through the song he sings

Giving it everything”

From “Let the Good Times Roll” with Bobby “Blue” Bland to “When Love Comes to Town” with U2, even other greats sounded better in the company of B.B. and Lucille.

But then he made the human race look better. His ability to break down barriers and unite citizens across racial lines was part of his appeal. I suspect it’s one reason newly elected Nevada Gov. Mike O’Callaghan was proud to have King play at his 1971 inaugural ball.

More than 50 years later, some friends saw King in concert at Primm Valley a year ago.

For them it was a pilgrimage made as much out of respect as admiration. Who knows, perhaps they hoped he might have somehow defied the ravages of time itself.

They still came away feeling a little sad. Not because of the music, really, but because their man onstage was getting undeniably frail.

And if he was getting older, then the rest of us were aging, too.

There’s blues in that thought, and blues in the hearts of the people who love his music.

But it’s OK. In time, we’ll all be fine.

How do I know, you ask?

Because B.B. King said so every time he struck a chord, and I believe him.

John L. Smith’s column appears Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. Email him at Smith@reviewjournal.com or call 702-383-0295. Find him on Twitter: @jlnevadasmith