It’s always sad, at least to me, when the musical world loses another beloved blues icon, whether those who populate it know it or not. Put it this way, I’m fairly certain the vast majority of today’s most popular musical talent (I refuse to call far too many of them actual musicians) didn’t shed a tear when they heard of Pinetop Perkins’ death at the age of 97 on Monday.

Which shouldn’t surprise me, they’ve probably never heard of him.

Yet if they’d been paying attention at all they’d be aware of the fact that Perkins, at the 53rd Annual Grammy Awards, became the oldest musician to ever receive a Grammy (for Best Traditional Blues Album). Not only that, the man’s history of performance spans decades, eight of them to be exact. I don’t know about you, but I have serious doubts that, seventy years from now, the Justin Biebers, Christina Aguileras and Lady Gagas of the world – as well as their fans – will be able to say the same.

Then again, I’m sure most people back in 1970 couldn’t have imagined Mick Jagger, Keith Richards and Charlie Watts still shaking it on stage eleven years into the 21st century.

Like those who’ve passed-on before him – Muddy Waters, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Willie Dixon, T-Bone Walker, Howlin’ Wolf, Robert Johnson, Lead Belly, Albert and Freddie King, John Lee Hooker, Albert Collins, Otis Spann (Perkins replaced Spann in Waters’ band following his departure) and too many others to list here, Perkins was the Real Deal. A bonafide blues pianist and one of the last of the Mississippi Delta bluesmen.

Their names have always seemed almost other-worldly to me, especially throughout my teenage years when I was first learning to play blues guitar. Those days – and I’ll be the first to admit it – I was a complete and utter music snob. If it wasn’t blues, it wasn’t worth my time. And while I’m glad that – over the years – I’ve gained an appreciation for most (but certainly not all) forms of music, it always comes back to the blues.

As far as I’m concerned, it always will.