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Sneaking a peak at Pitchfork this morning, I learned that blues musician R.L. Burnside passed away Thursday at the age of 78. I saw Burnside perform at a bar in Oklahoma City back in 1997, and I had some of the most fun I've ever had at a show. Burnside sat onstage in a rocking chair singing and strumming his guitar, while his grandson pounded out motorik beats from the drumkit. It was the kind of scene that requires guzzling bourbon and hollering. I was a little afraid to talk to him, but I shook his hand and got his autograph after the show, and he was a really warm and friendly man. I remember pressuring my roommates to go to the show with me, saying it might be the last chance we got to see him. As far as I know, it was.

Blues music invites all kinds of discussion about authenticity, and Burnside's music raises some particular questions. He played a more primitive, rocking rural style of blues that contrasts with urban blues styles that privilege technical ability. His label Fat Possum specializes in garage-y blues styles from the rural American South, but is often criticized for dealing in blues that appeals to indie rockers (like me) rather than blues connoisseurs. I think debates over authenticity are stupid to begin, so I say, forget the connoisseurs, if Burnside was playing his stuff in the Mississippi hill country, it's authentic.

Pitchfork also reports that Alex Chilton, the leader of Big Star and The Boxtops, has gone missing in the wake of Hurricane Katrina. I hope the lovable weirdo and rock icon is safe.