Remembering Beverly “Guitar” Watkins

Six years ago I came across a blues guitarist named Beverly “Guitar” Watkins who instantaneously became my hero. I got in contact with an organization she’d worked with and asked them if she’d be open to me interviewing her. They connected us and over the course of a couple of months I interviewed Bev, talking with her regularly — she told me about her life, about what it was like “back in them days”. I asked her who introduced her to the blues and she answered definitively; “Jesus.” That’s what talking to Bev was like — she was definitive. She knew who she was, she knew what she could do, and she was generous in extending that same clarity to others. Along the way we became friends and then family. I told Bev about myself — about my own recent adventures in music. Bev was quick to see me; to give me advice, and to encourage me.

Mike (my partner and bandmate) and I talk all the time about how so many people not just in the music industry but in general want you to show them a proof of concept that they can evaluate. They want you to show them the table that you’ve built. It takes a long time to build tables — a lot of times it’s just you and the knowing that you’ve got some really good wood. Most of the time that knowing is all you’ve got. Sometimes people come sniffing around — they can feel you’ve got *something* and they’re eager to see how and if they can use it. Bev wasn’t like that. Bev saw the wood. The first time I met her was in the waiting room of Emory hospital right before she was going in for a brain aneurysm surgery. Within minutes of meeting me she looked me in the eye and said, “You’re bad to the bone. I can feel it.”

From her hospital bed a day later she told Mike and I to go to a venue called Northside Tavern; “Ask for a man in a hat named Mudcat, tell him Beverly sent you. He’ll probably have you play a couple.” It happened just like she said. So much of who we are is impacted by who she was. She always encouraged us to be ourselves, to play like only we could. She modeled what that looked like every time she hit the stage. In believing in herself, in believing in us, she taught us what it felt like to believe in ourselves. Over these last six years we’ve been able to spend time with Bev three times in person, most recently when she performed on an episode of NBC’s “Little Big Shots” in LA. And all the while she’s always been a phone call away. Sometimes we’d go months without talking, but when we talked it was always the same. We’d swap updates on the weather, talk about our dreams, talk about what was going on with our music, and our lives, sometimes she’d give me advice or pray for us or ask me about Mike; “How’s that husband of yours, I know he’s bad.”

Sara and Mike spending time with Beverly when she was in Los Angeles

More than once she made a point to tell us; “Keep the blues alive.”

Beverly passed away on Tuesday October 1, 2019 at 80 years old. She’s been in and out of the hospital since July. I’ve been lucky to get updates from a mutual friend, and I even got to talk to her and tell her that we love her a few weeks ago. I’m gutted. I know she lives on through her family, her friends, and all the people she’s impacted, including us. I miss her. Even though we won’t get to share a stage together in the way that I dreamed, she’ll always be with me. I’ll hear her voice telling me “Be you. Be Sara”. I’ll remember how she answered the phone with a “hello” and how her voice sang out into a “heyyyy” when I told her it was me. I’ll remember how she danced her way into surgery and later handed out business cards and told people to find her on YouTube as we rolled her out of the hospital in a wheel chair. I’ll remember how she was always thinking about how she could bring everybody with her. How she lived grateful for each day and with the conviction that the best was always to come; the belief that there were no limits to how high she could fly.

Bev stayed ready.

In her song “Back in Business” she sings, “I’m back in business, rocking till the very end.”

It’s no surprise that sure enough, it happened just like she said.

As much as I’m inclined to say I hope she rests well, something tells me that she’s just getting started. That even now, she’s back in business, rocking with no end in sight. Something tells me that if you listen closely you can hear her, and if you close your eyes real tight and tilt your head just right, you can feel her; throwing her guitar behind her back and working a crowd like only she could.

There will never be another like her.

We love you Beverly — thank you for being you, for believing in you, and for sharing yourself with the world.

You’ve made this place a better one.