Last week, the blues world came alive as the 40th International Blues Challenge (IBC) unfolded in Memphis, Tennessee. Artists, fans, and...

Welcome to murderers’ row. For the next 40some minutes, gritty, old Chicago sends up one killer track after the next—as heard in the 1950s.

Live, BLUES People command the room: a wall of sound pushing out from the stage. Now, that same experience punches out from The Skin I'm In.

Reflecting on the Impact: 2024 North Jersey Blues Society Year in Review

Remember the iconic ad for Maxwell audio cassettes back at the turn of the 1980s? Similar blowback effect with Revelation.

A saxophone—correction, the saxophone of its era—instantly blazes out of the box with no introduction, no windup, no warning.

Last Saturday, the blues crowd gathered for an awesome cause at the Annual Fundraiser Blues Harp Blowout at The Stanhope House.

The mystique of a Blue Moon Marquee record lies as much in the atmosphere generated as in the music itself.

Who needs electricity anyway? Or, for that matter, a band? After all, Robert Johnson rose to the status of godhead without either stuff.

Oh, what a night. It is 1977. B.B. King sports a three-piece suit and a seven-piece band. He is In France. And he is “on.”

In an engaging interview, NJBS President Cristy Benvenutti sits down with musicians Brad Vickers and Margey Peters . The trio delves...

Between them, singing guitarist “Big Frank” Mirra and harmonicat Mike Smith deliver straight-up blues as if rock-n-roll never existed.

Needless to say, holy house-wrecking hollers are in no short supply. Brace yourself. As well as anyone else within earshot.

Horns naturally gravitate to Mitch Woods. Evidently, saxophones can pick up the scent of a real good time.

Time has come for the great to be all the greater. And for those two poor guitars to take even more of a licking.

Sooner or later, everyone returns home to the blues. Sam’s Place is Little Feat’s homecoming.

Yes, even Duke Robillard has the proverbial “lost” album. Wait, correction: Had a lost album.

On a rainy Sunday night in NJ, there was only one place to be: The Stanhope House. NJBS packed the room for their renowned Showcase Series.

Sorry, you cannot sit this one out. Simply not possible. No way.

The blues has its share of personal pits of inner torment. In 1937, for instance, Robert Johnson thrashed inside “Hell Hound on My Trail.”