There’s something dangerous about R.L. Burnside’s “Some Day.” It doesn’t rush you. It lures you in. A lazy, looping guitar lick that swells like doobie smoke curling around a dim room. Burnside’s voice, gravel dragged through molasses, feels less like singing and more like confession. The man sounds like he’s been bargaining with the devil for decades, and somehow, they’ve become drinking buddies.
It’s a groove soaked in sex, sin, and Southern humidity. The bassline crawls; the rhythm slaps slow. You can almost smell the bourbon and hear the old floorboards creak under the weight of someone doing something they shouldn’t.
There’s a pulse in this track, a heartbeat that doesn’t care if you’re righteous or rotten, only that you move with it. It’s not about clean licks or crisp production; it’s about truth – dirty, slow, and heavy with desire. Either way, “Some Day” gets inside you
About R.L. Burnside
Born in Mississippi in 1926, R.L. Burnside didn’t play the blues – he was the blues. A man who lived every note he ever sang, Burnside became a bridge between the juke joints of the Delta and the garage-rock revival that rediscovered him decades later. His music is proof that lust, pain, and groove all share the same rhythm when played honest.
