I really could have much worse songs stuck in my head today, correct?
An old flame of mine (I’ll call him “Frank,” because his name was Frank) played bass, regular guitar and harmonica – we’re talking mid-70s – and he used to tell everyone that Paul Butterfield gave him his harmonica. Of course, I was so enamored with him that I believed him. Frank would disappear from our little scene (a park we all hung out at) for weeks at a time, and then return and tell us he had been to Chicago playing with various famous blues people.
We spoke on the phone several times 30 years later, and he denied ever having said that about Paul Butterfield. “No, Frank, you were a total bullshitter,” I reminded him.
Oh well, no harm done. Not about the harmonica, anyway.
P.S. I went to a Paul Butterfield show with a 103-degree fever, and I would do it again.