Civil Rights Trail – Chapter Three: Juke Joint Festival – Clarksdale, Mississippi

Food, Music and Enlightenment

The Civil Rights Trail Chapters

Join us in this seven-part series as we share our once-in-a-lifetime adventure.

• Chapter One: Introduction
• Chapter Two: Emmett Till
• Chapter Three: Juke Joint Festival – Clarksdale, Mississippi
• Chapter Four: Mound Bayou – Mississippi
• Chapter Five: New Orleans
• Chapter Six: Montgomery, Alabama – The Epicenter of The Movement
• Chapter Seven: Final Thoughts

Posted March 20, 2024 – Narrated by Carmen

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Merging onto The Blues Trail from the Civil Rights Trail and the Emmett Till Memorial was effortless, and necessary.

We’ve heard that when life gets heavy, The Blues can soothe woes.

It was almost Opening Day of the annual Clarksdale Juke Joint Festival, and we needed to blow off some steam.

Want to hear some of the music we listened to at the Festival? Play the video below?

Posh American towns throughout the U.S. proudly tout a “vibrant artistic scene” curated by tourism experts. Mississippi is slowly moving past the “Arts are better when you catch them yourself” philosophy, but that’s still a long row to hoe.

Observant travelers often note that even with the hardships of poverty, illness, economic instability and despair, Mississippians have created the most enviable arts nexus in the United States.

Internationally recognized artists and musicians, born and raised in the Magnolia State’s back-water towns, have the distinct advantage of plenty of time and few distractions. So, if isolation and desperation lead to innovation, imagine what an infusion of economic inspiration can foster in a place where world class art and poverty intersect.

America needs a National Park in the heart of the Delta dedicated to The Blues. Currently, the conservatorship of America’s unique music heritage seems dependent on bake sales.

The good news is Clarksdale gets it.

As Ocean Springs and Biloxi proudly take on the preservation of Mississippi’s awe-inspiring visual arts, Clarksdale grabs the ball for The Birthplace of The Blues because “somebody has to.”

Every April, for the last 20 years, Blues artists and fans from around the world converge on this small city straddling the border between the Sun Belt and the Rust Belt – 80 minutes south of the Memphis International Airport – to celebrate the origins of American popular music.

You don’t have to be a Blues fan to dig this Festival.

What Jim and I know about solid Blues history is next to nill. As a couple, our music tastes differ to the extreme. Jim likes the smooth tones of the Beach Boys, Enya, Kenny G …

… while I lean toward music that sounds like mating cats – European Klezmer, Zydeco, Janis Joplin, Chris Rodriquez and The Spoon Lady.

So this Festival was about walking the historic and colorful Clarksdale streets …

and exquisite alleys, hoping to catch some sounds we can agree on.

Making our way north along bumpy U.S. Route 49 toward Clarksdale I sang …

wondering if the song was inspired by Yazoo Clay – those geological veins of subterfuge writhing beneath the Mississippi surface, busting roads, cracking foundations, wrinkling railroads, toppling sign posts – unearthing opportunities for Mississippi to have nice things.

Our campground

We were the first check-ins at our dry-camping site.

Our host, J.J., greeted us like family. J.J. is a teacher and singer. This pop-up, secure RV campground is a fund-raiser for his computer class.

By the end of the evening, the lot was packed.

J.J.’s place was preferable to the campground a couple of miles away with full hook-ups. From here, we had 24-hour walking access to all of the stages, museums, shops, restaurants and fairgrounds – everything within 3-5 blocks. Why drive?

Also, the festival doesn’t allow dogs (even on leash). So, from J.J.’s, it was easy to take turns checking on Pico de Gallo throughout the day and night.

The Town

All settled in, we put on raincoats for a drizzly first night on the town. The air was intoxicating.

You can’t do better than a fragrant Spring evening in Mississippi.

Historical markers informed us that we were walking in the footsteps of Bessie Smith, Son House, John Lee Hooker, Junior Parker, Ike Turner, Eddie Boyd, Sam Cooke, Muddy Waters, Pinetop Perkins, Earl Hooker, Big Jack Johnson, T-Model Ford, Robert “Bilbo” Walker, Walter “Wolfman” Washington, The Jelly Roll Kings …

All that Rock n’ Roll we danced to, cried to and made love to in our youth, this is where it all started, on rickety Juke Joint floors soaked in sweat and liquor. This ground is where Music Royalty worked The Chitlin Circuit turning the midnight soil of America’s music legacy.

Heavy economic woes in the 1940’s – brought on by farm mechanization, pesticides, and the injustices of Jim Crow – plunged poor Delta folk into a rapid, merciless and long-lasting economic decline.

On Saturday nights, sharecroppers and field workers gathered at the neighborhood Juke Joints to socialize, drink moonshine and vent about poverty and racial tension. Then, a few hours later, on Sunday morning, the church doors opened for songs about heaven in a land where there is no pain or toil “on the other side of the river.” Music was a survival strategy.

We were walking through a living museum.

Beautiful old classic buildings are repurposed as arts venues. The old 5 & Dime and local cotton gin are popular hotels.

The entire town is a preservation project dedicated to art, reclamation, storytelling, business development and tourism. Lately, there is a focus on health, fresh food and reconciliation with The Land. A local bistro, Yazoo Pass, boasts a salad bar – a rare find in Mississippi.

That first night we dined at Morgan Freeman‘s place, Ground Zero Blue’s Club. It was all good. The deep fried pickles should not be missed.

It was too early in the evening for music venues, so we went home and … Voila! Our camp had transformed into an outdoor club. Travelers played guitar and harmonica music. We all shared food, beverages, stories and smokes while our dogs made friends – an authentic juke joint experience.

The next morning …

A parade kicked off the weekend!

There were beauty queens

Dancers

Vintage cars

Motorcycles

and cowboys.

The Fair…

There were rides and activities …

fabulous concessions …

handmade gifts, clothing and accessories …

pig races …

and, monkeys riding dogs herding sheep.

What!?

Monkeys. Riding dogs. Herding sheep.

You can’t unsee a thing like that.

It all began innocently, no ticket necessary, just walking along, minding our own business …

and then it all turned sideways.

Okay, time for a drink.

After a little harmless day drinking, we stocked up on coffee from Meraki Roasting Company.

and bought treats for J.J. who was living in his car/office for the festival…

Then, we did the natural thing and just strolled from stage to stage …

The music ranged from Blues to Jazz to Rock, Country, Rockabilly, and even Bluegrass …

The next day we wrapped up the festival with Bar-B-Q (the Juke Joint of Food) next to the famous, albeit disputed, Robert Johnson Crossroads.

The sacrilege of dining with The Devil across the street at Abe’s Bar-B-Q on a bright Sunday morning didn’t phase us a whit. Folks can do worse.

Feeling renewed in mind, body and spirit, we were ready to learn more about the Delta’s Civil Rights history. The following day we journeyed on toward Mound Bayou.

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This post is dedicated to Mojo Nixon, (Kirby McMillan), a great American and our good friend and neighbor, who recently passed while on tour. Our deepest condolences, to his wife, sons, family, friends and fans.

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If you want to see the exact route we travel, click here.

*photos in this post (unless otherwise noted) were taken and copyrighted by Living In Beauty.

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