Bloodstains on the Wall

As we know, most songs deal with instant emotions – lust, anger, envy and so on. This is a visceral art form. But, from time to time, one encounters a three minute piece which has a complete story to tell. My favourite example of the ‘story blues’ is Honeyboy’s 1952 song, Bloodstains on the Wall.

As is often the case in blues matters, very little is known about Honeyboy. I know that his real name was/is Frank Patt and that he was born around 1925. I also remember seeing somewhere that he was/is the Uncle of the late blues harp player Carey Bell Harrington. In any event, is is clear that his little bit of fame rests entirely on Bloodstains … and for very good reasons. Honeyboy has a cinematic imagination.

Take the first verse:

She had pillows torn to pieces,
Bloodstains on the wall (x2).
I know I wasn’t injured when I left for work this morning,
I didn’t leave the ‘phone out in the hall.

It’s like film noir or something, isn’t it? Oddly, Honeyboy appears to have become involved, inadvertantly, with a psychopath. I love the consolidation of visual detail. Most blues guys would probably settle for a First Person factual account (‘My Baby’s a Murderer’ or some such); but Honeyboy’s acute imagery puts across the horror of the incident.

The lyric is cinematic also in the sense of movement. The fact of the ‘phone ending up in a strange place speaks of some kind of struggle having taken place.

Things become a little more predictable, thereafter, although the last verse offers an oddly conciliatory note. It appears that Honeyboy is prepared to stand by his sanguinous gal, for the time being:

Then when it’s all over,
I’m gonna let you go.
I didn’t know you were the kind of girl,
To fall so low. She had …

There are other examples of the story blues (not least in the oeuvre of the second Sonny Boy), but Bloodstains … heads the field. Somehow, that terrifying apartment of his has stayed in my mind for 30 years.