Stevie Ray Vaughan Should Be On Mount Rushmore
It’s September and if fate had dealt a fairer hand, Stevie Ray Vaughan would be blowing out 71 candles, probably with a Fender Strat in one hand and a blistering blues solo in the other. Instead, we’re left asking the eternal question: Where does SRV rank among the guitar gods of rock?
Short answer? He’s on Mount Rushmore, with a Texas-sized chisel. Let’s not get it twisted, Hendrix opened the doors, Clapton walked through, but SRV torched the house and rebuilt it with pure soul.
He didn’t just play guitar, he battled it. His tone? Filthy and divine. His fingers? Possessed. His covers of Hendrix weren’t tributes, they were baptisms by fire. Ask anyone who saw him live, he didn’t play gigs, he waged war onstage and walked off victorious, soaked in sweat and feedback.
He dropped Texas Flood in ’83 like a bluesy meteor when synth-pop ruled the airwaves. Nobody else had the guts or the chops. He ripped through songs like “Pride and Joy” and “Scuttle Buttin’” with such fury that it made other guitarists re-evaluate their lives.
SRV wasn’t just about speed, he had feel. The kind of soul that made grown men cry into their whiskey. Every note mattered. Every solo told a story. He could make six strings sound like a hurricane or a prayer and sometimes both at once.
Tragically, we lost him in ’90, just as he was leveling up again. The man was sober, focused and playing better than ever. Imagine what the next 30 years could’ve been?
So, where does he rank? If you’re talking pure blues-rock firepower, SRV is easily Top 5, maybe Top 3, depending on your hangover. Hendrix is still the messiah, Page brought the mystique and Van Halen had the pyrotechnics, but Stevie had the soul.
