Robert Johnson

Robert Leroy Johnson, May 8, 1911 – August 16, 1938.

Possibly not Johnson. 

Career: bluesman. Cause of death: possible strychinine poisoning, possible reclamation of soul by the Devil.

After playing for a few weeks at a country dance in a town near Greenwood, Mississippi, Johnson was spotted flirting with the wife of the juke joint's owner.  The two drank together, but the bottle of whisky had been poisoned by the cuckolded proprietor. Sonny Boy Williamson advised Johnson to "ne'er drink from an bottle offered open", but Johnson merely replied "Don' ne'er knock no bottle from my han'", and continued on to a second poisoned bottle.

Whether due to the simple fact that whisky is alcoholic or to the fact that the whisky had indeed been laced with rat poison, Johnson began to feel ill, and was helped to his lodgings in the small hours.  He was wracked by convulsions and pain, symptoms consistent with strychnine poisoning, for three days until he succumbed.

But could these convulsive pains be the symptoms of the soul being tugged from its mortal coil by the long, BBQ-utensil-like fingers of the Devil or at least a devilish henchman such as Mephistopheles or perhaps the puppeteering of a non-Judaeo-Christian deity such as Papa Legba, the Vodou Loki-like trickster intermediary associated with crossroads and divine communication? Perhaps.

A non-black Mephistopheles still getting sus looks from whitefolk.

Legba, ostensibly. Possibly a simple dildo salesman.

The legend goes that young Johnson was struck by the breath of inspiration, as it were, to sek his greatness in blues. "Instructed" to take his guitar to a crossroad the plantation where he lived, at midnight,  he was met by a large black man (Devil/Mephistopheles/Legba/errant guitar-tuner), who took the guitar and tuned it. The dude played a few songs before returning the guitar to Johnson, sealing a Faustian pact in which Johnson's soul would be exchanged for the ability to create the blues like no one else. It appears the contract was fulfilled at age 27.

Gibson rests on Johnson RIP.

No one knows where Johnson is buried, which hasn't prevented large record companies staking out various plots with large cenotaphs etc.

Some folks like water / Some folks like wine / Well I like the taste / Of straight Strychnine