The Lady is a Blues Singer ~ LA PENSINE MUTINE (EN)

The lady is a Blues singer
Don't be jealous
She's fond of red wine
The lady is a Blues singer
She's got gospel in her voice
And she's a believer
"Mademoiselle chante le blues", Patricia Kaas (1987)

While still in the land of Uncle Charley, I suggest we leave the excitement of baseball fields behind for the more subdued atmosphere of modern jazz clubs, formerly known as blues bars, barrel houses or juke joints. The ideal place for restoring our balance, as hinted by the 8 of Clubs this month, and tapping into our inner strength in order to perfect our alignment between material reality and spirit. This card certainly does not encourage passivity; rather, it urges us to take action for a chance to break free from old patterns and seize new opportunities. To step out of our comfort zone and embrace the unknown.

The Blues of the Soul

Before jazz, before rock, before soul music… there was the blues.

A term stemming from the abbreviation of the English idiomatic expression ‘blue devils’, meaning dark thoughts.

Blues music originated from lone, raw and often painful voices, bound to the memory of slavery and soul's survival in a world meant to stifle it. It is the music of the uprooted, born in the cotton fields of the southern states of America, and sung by those no one would listen to. A cry encapsulated within a note. The echo of a lament morphed into a rhythmic wave. A way of exorcising pain so it doesn't consume you.

At the end of the 19th century, it migrated from plantations to big cities like Memphis, Chicago, and New Orleans, where it gave birth to jazz, a freer form of blues that is more instrumental, more technical, and more urban.

Then came soul, rock, funk, rap... As African-American writer and poet James Weldon Johnson wrote, “It is from the blues that the most distinctive feature of all that can be called American music derives.”

Blues Players

But initially, there were no mics, no glam, no studios, no producers. Just a raw voice, a guitar, and pain meant to be transmuted, not toned down. Blues isn't about singing; it's about vibrating that suffering so it can find an outlet. A crack. A break in the loop.

Dudes from Mecca, guys from Garonne
Glassblower blowing into a saxophone
Pretty marquise. Mesrine pretty baroness
Thousands of thousands of thousands millions people
Blues players
We are blues players
"Joueurs de Blues", Michel Jonasz (1981)

Prior to radio broadcasting, music was offered for free. Before it became a market, it was given away. And that was something the matrix couldn't tolerate much longer. So it took the blues... and diluted it. Into soul. Into rock. And 'starified' it.

And so, today, singing about pain is meant to be seen, to sell, to be in the limelight. But no longer to align with spirit.

The stage has become an altar. The microphone, a totem. And the pain set to music, a sonic sacrificial offering to the system.

Which raises the question few artists are willing to ask themselves: is singing about your wounds a form of catharsis, or just another way of feeding the system with loosh — an energy derived from human emotions, the harvesting of which is at the core of this deadly simulation?

Everyone suffers at one time or another, to varying degrees, but suffering is invisible and the system is designed so that we embrace this pain as a token of value and a promise of better things to come. A willing sacrifice for crumbs too dearly paid for.

Blues Sisters

Some voices were too real not to crack the mould.

Bessie Smith, Billie Holiday, Nina Simone... And later, in a rockier or more soulful fashion, Janis Joplin, Amy Winehouse, Aretha Franklin.

If it hadn't been for the blues, I would probably have killed myself.
Janis Joplin

These women were possessed. Carried away. And drained. They were no entertainers, but channels for something greater that the system could not leave untouched.

The voice, when disconnected from Spirit, becomes a discharging channel. And mesmerised audiences applaud... unwittingly witnessing a ritual of bilateral vampirism that sucks everyone dry — except the matrix, which always gets its fill.

Whereas when connected to Spirit, the voice carries a fragment of logos within — the original frequency that makes up worlds. So it is not so much the voice that the matrix fears, but the living word. The logos. And in order to conceal it, it inundates the world with sham sounds — calibrated echoes, so that when the true Word arises, no one can hear it.

Nowadays, we tend to confuse thrills and emotions with vibrations. But logos is not gentle. It cuts deep. It resonates. It doesn't lull the soul to sleep — it rouses it.

Blue Woes

So they are not just artists. They are aerials. Amplifiers. And when the stage is the only outlet left, the overflow always ends up breaking the dam.

That melancholy strain,
That ever haunting refrain
Is like a sweet old sorrow song.
Here comes the very part
That wraps a spell around my heart.
It sets me wild to hear that loving tune again,
The Memphis Blues.
"Memphis Blues", W.C. Handy (1914)

From then on, the matrix just has to set up the ritual. Create ‘stars’ and attract ‘fans’. Build acoustic arenas, temples of performance. And call it ‘sharing emotion’.

But these are no longer offerings. These are inverted devotion.

This is where the well-known commandment from the Old Testament comes in, often quoted but rarely understood: “You shall not make for yourself a carved image, or any likeness...” (Exodus 20:4).

Or another from the Torah: “You shall not turn to idols…” (Leviticus 19:4).

These are actually vibrational decrees issued by the Demiurge, who does not forbid worship — only worshiping outside his matrix. For as long as it remains within the framework of his system, the energy always flows back to him.

Idols are not people. They are diversion structures intended to drive us away from Spirit.

So every time we give our breath away to someone else, whether it's crying on stage or shouting in the pit or from the stalls, we consent to a vibrational transfer. We are feeding a cycle that keeps pushing us further off balance, briefly uplifting us before plunging us into a state of craving.

Sadly, I can no longer sing the blues like I used to. It is the truth of this music that I miss, which tends to prove that you should never lose your heritage.
James Brown

Initially, singing the blues may have been a way of transmuting the induced suffering, thereby rendering the loosh unusable.

Today, with a few exceptions that will never be glorified in the pantheon of astral shooting stars, it has become a means of Auto-Tuning silence so that no one ever hears what could potentially trigger the switch of consciousness on.

And if the lady sings the blues, perhaps it's be because she was tired of the lendlord and wanted her property back.