Jimi Hendrix wasn’t a “black” musician per se or one given to blasting out white rock ‘n’ roll. He was completely defined by and borne aloft by his own genius…a gypsy mystic, a sensual smoothie, a Krishna-like figure, not of this earth, a virtuoso Spirit God.
If Hendrix been less cavalier or thoughtless about which pills he was dropping, he’d be 82 today, and if he’d gone to see Sinners in IMAX he would certainly love the Robert Johnson musical tribute stuff, but he would not be kowtowing and hyperventilating and talking endlessly about identity…trust me. Hendrix didn’t believe in devils and angels, and certainly not in the myth of schlocky Samuel Z. Arkoff vampires. He was way, way above that shit.
