Review: B.B. King plays like he loves every moment

As a child, Riley B. King labored under a searing Mississippi sun picking cotton. He was born the grandson of a slave, free in theory, but burdened by poverty and family instability. Back then, no one would have expected him to become B.B.King -- Wealthy, famous and still great at 80.

Maybe that's why the guitarist savors each note so, lingering with his signature trill. His is a style that loves life. And Tuesday night at his Duluth Entertainment Convention Center Auditorium concert, life loved him back.

King put on the most musically solid and entertaining concert held in the Twin Ports this year, all genres and ages included. Too bad only about 1,200 people showed up in the 2,300-seater. For Duluth, home of the Bayfront Blues Festival, that's pathetic and an insult to an American legend.

The 90-minute set geared up with funky instrumentals by King's eight-piece band, half of whom were on horns. Shortly, King emerged wearing a gold-print tuxedo. He promptly sat in an upholstered folding chair, from which he would reign all night.

On his lap sat his Gibson, the instrument of his signature vibrato, the one that has influenced almost every blues guitarist alive. King coaxed the affectionately named Lucille into opening her throat and sharing her complaints, her joys, her pleas and her love for the Beale Street Blues Boy.

With the patient King, phrasing is key. He chooses carefully when not to play, keeping his solos from seeming overly ornate or self-indulgent. Instead he lingers, as if over a lover's body on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

King's thunderous ``Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah'' rolled into a Speedy Gonzales version of ``When Love Comes to Town,'' which U2 singer Bono wrote for King. The band propelled the foot-stomper with the energy of early Little Richard.

The band followed with an epic rendition of ``All Over Again.'' King complemented an intimate, keening intro with the lyrics: ``I've got a good mind to give up living, and go shopping instead/To pick up me a tombstone, and be pronounced dead.''

One minute, he hammed it up with fake sniffles. The next, his voice was growling with real hurt, an example of how King's songs often live in that place where pain and laughter are in bed together.

Toward evening's end, King broke out the energetic ``The Thrill is Gone'' and the brilliant ``Nobody Loves Me But My Mother,'' which sums up all that is good about blues: the humor, the penetrating introspection, the mean-but-still-lovable woman, and solos hot enough to burn the sun.

Through it all, King's manner was as sweet and comforting as warm cornbread. It's as if he doesn't dare blink and miss a moment.

As blues' greatest ambassador, King has played in 90 countries. Wherever King goes, he buoys up-and-coming artists like his wonderful opening act tonight, 17-year-old Caroline Smith from Detroit Lakes, Minn.

In his long life, King has watched a lot of his friends, including Muddy Waters and Ray Charles, be lowered into the ground. When King's time comes, he'll go having drank every drop of life he was given, and having shared his cup with millions of others.

Now that's a thrill.