BB Backstage

Ours is a society that avers the importance of vulnerability, yet when confronted with it we too often either cower, disbelieve, or dismiss. We crave authenticity, but only when it makes us comfortable. Only in the shadows will we remove our masks. It’s just easier that way.

When I made this photograph I was just a foot or two away from Mr. Riley B. King. I could have easily reached out, touched him, connected in the intimate way that only touch allows. A hand on a shoulder. A pat on the back. Of course I didn’t. I made my photo and returned his smile. And then I moved away.

From the opposite side of the stage I watched as his band played for a full audience. I recalled how much effort it took for him to exit his bus and climb the six stairs required to enter the back of the theater. A wheelchair awaited his arrival, and he rested as if he’d completed a climb to a mountain summit. He was tired and hurting, but he had a show to do, people to please, and a family to support.

BB sat in that chair for what seemed like an hour. His band played a simple rhythm, and the crowd wooed in anticipation. Still, he sat. Finally, with hands pushing down on the arms of his chair, he mustered the energy to stand. Only those in the shadows saw how much effort was needed for him to rise, smile, and walk onstage to a worshipping roar.

I’ll never forget the tired man I met that night. And I’ll always be grateful he allowed me to see that side of him. I don’t know where the balance is in our world between self-care and self-indulgence, but I that night couldn’t help but think that it was a shame the greatest bluesman of all time couldn’t just tell the world he was worn out and needed a break.