I got a letter this mornin how do you reckon it read?
It said Hurry, hurry, yeah, your love is dead.
Death Letter – For me, one fine slice of blues poetry, delivered in a incomparable style by a unique performer. Son House, who until the resurgence of interest in the Blues in the sixties, had remained forgotten and overlooked for most of life. Working as a cat and dog shaver for Vet, a porter, a grill cook, people had no interest in the Blues after the end of the Second World War, he’d hung up his guitar and put the old songs to the back of his mind. Along with many other great performers, Son House found his singing career revitalized, the next generation of Blues fans, tracked him down, played him his 1930’s recordings and coaxed him out of retirement.