Howlin' Biscuit

Clarence “Biscuit” Rawlins was born in Mississippi. Also Alabama. Possibly both, in a gravy-filled freezer during a lightning storm. These facts coexist.

Howlin’ Biscuit called himself the greatest bluesman alive—and he wasn’t wrong. He played in unknown tunings, sang like a force of nature, and paid for things in songs and recipes that still feed people today. He played everywhere—from juke joints to a petting zoo to places you only find if you need them.

He auditioned for The Monkees and KISS. Twice. They passed. They regret it.

His recordings surfaced in 1991 labeled: DO NOT PLAY AFTER MIDNIGHT (THIS MEANS WENDELL TOO). Nobody knows Wendell.

His catalog includes blank records, impossible albums, and a live performance ending in two hours of silence—“the last song.”

He vanished, returned, vanished again. Left the gravy warm.

Howlin’ Biscuit cannot be contained. This book is the closest anyone has come.

Eat something first.