White writers, performers, and audiences, living in a world where blackness is routinely equated with toughness, violence, primitivism, and innate rater than conscious artistry, have a tendency to interpret songs rather differently than the black songwriters, musicians, and audiences that supported blues as a modern, relevant pop style. Dave Van Ronk, one of the pioneer white revivalists, told me of a performance he once gave at a blues festival in New England: He arrived late, and did not know who else was on the bill, but gave his usual show, ending with a shouting steamroller version of “Hoochie Coochie Man,” full of aggressive macho bluster. Exiting to wild applause, he found to his embarrassment that Muddy Waters, the song’s originator, had been sitting in the wings watching him. Waters, always the gentleman, hastened to put him at ease. “That was very good, son,” he said, putting his hand on Dave’s shoulder. Then he added, “But you know, that’s supposed to be a funny song.