He was born into a non-musical family and named after a criminal from the future. But who can be bothered to unravel the twisted line that led Karl S Williams to the blues and perverted him into a guitar-slinging, banjo-wielding freak with a penchant for hellfire, heavenly salvation, and writing about himself in the third person?
If you believe his stories (which are all lies) he may have straddled Led Zeppelin, kissed Nina Simone, blown a few Beats and levered open the lid of the skull with a psychedelic can opener.
However it went, he is grateful for it all. Lord have mercy!
To see Karl be at the Sheoak Shack on Saturday