09-03-2025
Luther Keith died this week. He was my best friend.
If Luther Keith decided he was going to do something, then that something was going to get done. Insert period here. And if you were in the way once Luther got going? Not advisable.
Luther Keith and I shared a deep friendship that goes back almost 40 years.
On Tuesday night, we performed together on stage. He died hours later, in his sleep, at the age of 74.
I first met Luther at a job fair. He was there with Ruth Seymour, former director of the Journalism Institute for Minorities at Wayne State University, reaching out to young Black journalists. By then, Luther, eight years older than me, was already a veteran journalist. I was looking to land my first job as a reporter at The Ann Arbor News, where I worked from 1986 until 1989.
As a brand new cub reporter born and raised in Denver, Colorado, I was glad for the opportunity to share some conversation with an old hand who knew the ropes about what to expect, what to look out for, and what I might need to do if I ever decided to raise my game and step up to a major daily, like The Detroit News, where he had already established himself as One Who Breaks Down Doors.
But we never quite made it to that deep conversation about journalism. Because somewhere along the way, I mentioned to Luther that I played guitar, and that for four years after graduating college I had moved away from Colorado to follow my dream of becoming a professional guitar player, cutting my teeth in some rather rough clubs and dives on Chicago's South Side.
I told him I had been schooled by George Freeman, one of Chicago's most well-known jazz names and brother to another Chicago jazz legend, saxophonist Von Freeman. Luther's eyes lit up like they had just been plugged in, and from that point forward all we talked about was music, especially the blues.
It was clear how sincere and excited he was to share that passion for the guitar and the blues with someone who loved it as much as he did.
Luther Keith and I didn't just share a name, we shared a love for journalism, a love for blues guitar and the blues overall.
And a love for Detroit.
More: Trailblazing Detroit journalist, musician Luther Keith dies at 74: 'An incredible loss'
We expressed our love for the city in the same way; through our music and through our writing. After spending three years at the Ann Arbor News, followed by another four years in South Florida at the Fort Lauderdale Sun Sentinel, I returned to Michigan in January of 1993 to join the Detroit Free Press as a member of the editorial board and as an editorial columnist.
Within a year after my arrival, I had started my own blues band, Blue Spirit Tribe, and was navigating my way as a newcomer through Detroit's intimidating music scene.
It wasn't long before Luther and I reconnected, again, more through music than through our writing.
Most frequently we would see each other at the now-defunct Soup Kitchen, located in Detroit's Rivertown area and for years probably the city's most revered blues establishment. In addition to playing there occasionally with my own band, I was a member of another group that hosted a regular Tuesday night jam session at the Soup. We were there for nearly two years, and Luther was a regular attendee and an aspiring blues guitarist.
Luther would be the first to admit that those early days were … well … not promising. I'll be honest; some of us would even step outside when it came time for Luther to play, if we weren't stuck on stage backing him up.
The best advice any of us could give at the time was to hold on tightly to that day job. Sometimes we were harder than we had to be, and I could tell by the expression on his face that perhaps we had cut a little deep. But if you play a stage in Detroit, then you know this is not unusual. You either put on the thick skin. or you get off the stage.
But if Luther decided he was going to do something, well, that something was going to get done.
Because Luther never understood the meaning of "can't."
His career in journalism would have been snuffed out before it began if he had listened to the naysayers who tried to convince him he didn't belong. And ARISE! Detroit, the nonprofit he left the News in 2005 to start, would have remained a laughable idea scribbled on the back of a napkin (true story) instead of morphing into one of the city's most influential neighborhood organizations.
Anyway, some years later after Tribe had folded and I was bouncing around between a few other bands around town, I joined Luther 'Badman' Keith, the stage name he had adopted, for a five-year journey that took us all the way to the International Blues Competition in Memphis, Tennessee, representing Detroit after winning the local competition.
Many of my fondest musical performance memories come from those years with Luther and the band: the late James Payton (saxophone), Mark Croft (trumpet), Jim David (keyboard), Billy Furman (multiple horns and harmonica), Darryl Lee (bass) and the late Milton Austin (drums).
Two weeks ago on Saturday, Luther called me during the afternoon and asked what was I doing that evening. I wasn't doing anything special, I said. Why?
'Just meet me at Baker's at 6 tonight. That's all I'm gonna say. No, let's make it 6:30.'
'What's going on?'
'Just meet me there.'
I headed out for Detroit's Baker's Keyboard Lounge that night. And that's when Luther, who had nominated me three times in a row, told me he had received notice earlier that day that I was being inducted into the Michigan Journalism Hall of Fame's Class of 2025.
He had been on his way to another event, but once he got the news, changed his plans on a dime so he could tell me personally. While sipping on his second Jack and Coke, Luther told me, as we sat at the bar, that he wanted to host a celebration to honor my induction, again at Baker's. It would be a jam session blowout, he said, just like the old days.
'And bring your guitar.'
I couldn't have been more thrilled, grateful and excited all at the same time. And just as we had both hoped, the night, just last Tuesday, was a huge success. A full house, and Luther was at his best the entire time. He was as happy and joyous as I had ever seen him, cracking jokes between songs to an appreciative audience, sounding light years beyond the Soup Kitchen days when he had still been getting his sound together.
Hours later, after the night had ended, Luther texted me at 12:42 a.m. on Wednesday, March 5. The text read, 'Keith, congrats on a great nite, folks had a ball.'
When I woke up at 5:26 a.m., I texted him back, 'I literally could not have asked for a better celebration. So much fun and just the perfect night.'
What I didn't know was that by then he had already slipped away. But what I do know is that, for me, Luther will never be gone. People may pass away, but true friendships never do.
And Luther Keith was one of the best friends I ever had.
Free Press contributing columnist Keith A. Owens is a local writer and co-founder of Detroit Stories Quarterly and the We Are Speaking Substack newsletter and podcast. Submit a letter to the editor at and we may publish it online and in print.
This article originally appeared on Detroit Free Press: Luther Keith and I shared love for blues guitar and Detroit | Opinion
