No one could play the blues like B.B. King, who died Thursday night at age 89 in Las Vegas, Nevada.
Let Lincoln's words lead us back to remembering that this is a day of humility and healing, not of seeking bargains before the sun has set.
The death of Pete Seeger has sparked a worldwide outpouring of love, affection and appreciation for the life and legacy of this great artist, activist, humanitarian and socialist.
I was 16 years old when I first heard Pete Seeger at a concert in Detroit.
In 1945, every Saturday night, we sang his songs, with those of Woody, Leadbelly, Paul Robeson and Ernst Busch, at the Folksay square dance and song sessions in the Furriers' Hall.
I heard Pete Seeger many times, but the most stirring was his 1948 appearance in Buffalo, N.Y., at a rally for Henry Wallace.
In 1952 the Weavers sang at my high school. What an eye-opener it was for me!
I heard about Pete Seeger's death while driving to downtown Philadelphia. If I wasn't on the expressway, I would have pulled over to wipe my eyes and clear my head.
The world is mourning the death of Pete Seeger, the lanky folksinger with a banjo, who proved in his 94 years the awesome power of song as a force for revolutionary change.
Nearly smothered beneath piles of gift catalogs, nearly drowned in a sea of elevator-music Christmas carols, there burns a persistent secret flame.