Blue Collar by Gil Scott-Heron

Blue Collar by Gil Scott-Heron

I’ve been down in Pennsylvania, where I was working in the mine
And I went down in Cincinnati, they laid me off the assembly line

This song has atmosphere. Two key elements are at play here: confessional, soulful lyrics, and a motherfucker electric guitar bleeding the blues. You hear it and you find yourself huddled in the company of a blues master singing his travels. He’s playing to you beneath the freeway, at night, in the rain because his song makes the galaxy weep, coaxing from his guitar this moan that’s heartbreaking and also just as cool as hell. Sparks are gently falling from the steel strings and setting puddles on fire, but this is nothing next to the music.

I was down in Kansas City, where even the blues sells by the pound
And I been down in New York City, Brother, and that ain’t no place to be down

Gil calls to “Crazy Eddie” to hit the solo, and the guitar that’s been wrecking this whole time finally destroys it, releasing anguished howls like electric complaints. Like with great jazz our faces contort as we listen. We look pained, but this isn’t how we feel.

See that man, he’s looking for peace, see that man, he’s looking for peace
He’s a fool to say the least, he’s a fool to say the least
There ain’t no peace to be found

The sound is so smooth and correct, the playing so adept. How does it work that our faces strain, what’s the anatomy of a rejoicing grimace? Could the music be so beyond our predictions, beyond our thresholds for awesomeness that we unconsciously steel ourselves against its impact, as we do before a car crash or a gut punch? That’s probably it. Like the man in the song Gil’s been everywhere, he knows there ain’t no peace, there ain’t no place where you’re safe from what this song’s going to do to you.