Hugh Pool’s guitar pick jabbed at the strings of his resonator guitar while he ran up and down the fretboard, a slide around one of his fingers. The whoosh of his guitar was in harmony with the beat, his foot tapping on a board with a microphone attached. The pulsating rhythm ran on, paving the way for the eventual wail of the harmonica wrapped around his neck. Pool was in the groove, and the blues were flowing from him out into the audience in a tidal wave of embraceable sound.
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