Showtime

I was asked to write a professional, yet personal story for the online magazine xfxthemag about the upcoming Chicago Blues Festival and my involvement with it. Please check it out at their site....Or read it right here, right now (go to their site anyways- it's pretty cool.)
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June 12, 2011: Chicago Blues Festival, we're the headline act on the main stage. There are about 100,000 screaming people out there, and I'm playing the drums with the legendary Lonnie Brooks Blues Band.

I'm sitting on top of the world.

Finally.

Really, this is the high point of my soon-to-be-storied career. The Chicago Blues Fest is arguably the biggest blues festival in the world. It's outdoors and it's free and it takes place downtown in Grant Park, smack dab in the middle of this big beautiful city of Chicago. It's massive, in every way.

Hopefully, rain is not in the forecast. Or is it? Who cares?

Chicago, my hometown, “the home of the blues.” Imagine it, surrounded by 99,999 other people in Grant Park, Lake Michigan and the lakefront glittering on one side, the glittering architecture of downtown all around you as dusk closes in, dancing and watching and listening to and, finally (whew), playing with great blues musicians in the great American city that embraced them.

Blues is raw and real, touching the deepest parts of your soul. It also makes you want to jump, shout, and, to quote B.B King, “Shake your boogie just a little bit.” Chicago was where all the blues musicians came, where a style and a sound honed from the cotton and soybean fields of the Mississippi Delta, rooted in pain and suffering, became joy and celebration. As America was beginning to rise from the Great Depression, the great bluesmen and blueswomen began their slow and steady journey straight north to Chicago, an exodus out of the richest poorest part of the U.S., the South. They poured north to Memphis and then to Chicago, and in Chicago, a new, electrified blues was born.

Some call it post-war blues.

But it's really called Chicago blues.

Chess records was in Chicago, at 2120 S. Michigan Ave. It was there, in the 1950's and 1960's, that the legendary, seminal, shouting, jumping, and stomping sounds of Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, and Willie Dixon were recorded, giving national attention to the blues, the only true American music, the roots of rock 'n' roll and jazz.

Chuck Berry, the REAL King of Rock and Roll, cut many of his classic sides at Chess.

Chuck has played blues fest.

Chess was so important that even the Rolling Stones (best white-boy blues band ever) recorded there a few times, including their hit “Time is on My Side.” And they came to Chess, to Chicago, for that matter, because they knew that Chicago was where the magic happened and where all of the greats of the blues were.

Keith Richards has played blues fest too.

You know, I've played gigs all over the world. Some have been small clubs, some have been huge theaters, arenas and festivals.

I've done weddings, bar mitzvahs, and even a funeral (yes, really.)

Not only do I play blues, but I also play jazz, zydeco, country, and rock and roll.

I've done network television. I've done commercials. I've done theater.

I've shared the bill with the likes of B.B King, Jerry Lee Lewis, Taj Mahal, Koko Taylor, Buddy Guy, George Thorogood, John Mayall and Mick Taylor.

Bozo the Clown.

Did I mention that I've run off and joined the circus a few times?

The big shows were what you'd expect as part of the rock and roll fantasy. Big names, big stages, big sound, first class treatment all the way. Most of those gigs are festivals overseas. (Sadly, the best gigs seem to happen outside of the U.S. “Those people” really love American roots music.) A five-star hotel off the coast of, say, Portugal, overlooking the Atlantic directly off your balcony as you wait for your room service breakfast (for two, natch), compliments of the promoter. Playing in the piazza of a gorgeous historic Tuscan town under a summer night sky, sharing the bill with B.B. King and Jerry Lee Lewis. Drinking champagne and lounging by the sea between gigs at a weeklong blues festival on an island off the coast of Thailand.

"Man, I done enjoyed things kings and queens ain't never had," to quote the great, growlin', gravelly voiced bluesman Howlin' Wolf from the song “Goin' Down Slow,” a celebration of his life as he was slowly wasting away and dying.

On the flip side, and for sure, there is a flip side, I've had to play some of the worst of the worst, driving 50 or 60 miles to some dump in the middle of the highway in Cornfield, Indiana, with a motel to the right (hourly, no doubt), a gas station to the left, and I've got to change clothes in a piss-filled bathroom stall. The pay is, um, well let's just say that it was low; less than a man's wage. Plus, the gig starts at 1am, ends at 5am, and the audience, in general, pays their bar tabs by the month with their government checks. And, what's worse, I've agreed to do things like this more than once. Happily, even. (I'm such an idiot. Wasn't I just on stage in Paris two nights ago, eating filet mignon and swooning with the love of my life, who I had just met? Why yes I was. At least she came back with me. And stayed.)

Ah, the life of a pro musician. I don't know when I decided that that was what I was going to be, but I do know I was young. And dumb. And full of...never mind. But, I've never looked back since the moment I made that decision, because that's what I am. It's who I am: a musician. Music is everything to me, playing music is a high like no drug can give you.

Like I said, "...kings and queens..."

That said, I've never played the main stage for the Chicago Blues Fest, and I'm as stoked as stoked can be. I've been waiting my whole life to do this gig, and now I'm doing it (nothing like a 22 year overnight success.)

Since the festival originated in 1984, a year after the death of the great Muddy Waters, many legendary musicians have graced that stage: Stevie Ray Vaughan, Johnny Winter, The Staple Singers, Albert Collins, Son Seals, Etta James, Otis Rush, Homesick James, and the great, great, GREAT Ray Charles. To now be in the same company with these giants, these heroes and mentors of mine, is nothing short of mind-blowing. I'm happy, proud, and humbled. What more is there, really?

I've been Lonnie Brooks' drummer for the last 10 years now; he's my boss and, more importantly, my friend. He's an interesting man and an interesting musician. His sound is a mix of his life, some Louisiana bayou and zydeco music, some Texas swing and country, some Chicago blues. You can trace the path he took to get to where he is. Throw it all together and you get the Lonnie Brooks sound. He's made more than 15 albums and he was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame last year. He's a big, handsome man who looks much younger than his years and wears snakeskin boots and a big old cowboy hat.

There aren't too many players from the older generation left these days. Soon there won't be any of them, and this world will likely not exist anymore for me. A man of Lonnie's years and his experience has nothing but stories to tell, things to be learned. I've heard so many, sometimes I can't even remember. The most important thing I got from him, though, is this:

“Stay ready to keep from getting' ready.” And I do that. Every day, every gig and between gigs. I'm always ready.

But this gig, BluesFest, well, it's been a long time comin'. (Almost time to hit, yet?)

I was 18 when I joined my first “real” gigging band. It was called the Blues Influence. I got the job straight out of high school by answering an ad in a newspaper seeking a “drummer for a working blues band.” If the ad had been seeking a “drummer for a working country band,” I just might have become a country drummer.

But it was a blues band, with the late, great L.C Walker as lead vocalist. He saw the fire that I had in my soul (I certainly didn't at the time). Somehow, he knew before I did that the blues was the path for me to take. Not only did he teach me the blues, so to speak, but he taught me about how to be a pro, how to be a “playa” (a valuable skill), and how to be a man (an even more valuable skill). L.C. used to tell me, constantly, how life was nothing more than finding a way to entertain yourself until you die. Some people work jobs (straight or otherwise), some people take drugs, and some people play music. It doesn't really matter what you're doing, so long as you're doing it full-on.

The beginning of a great friendship and career.

We played together, we partied together, we listened to all sorts of great music together, we went on the road together. We did crappy gigs in crappy bars for crappy money, and we had a helluva time.

One of the crappy bars we worked was a legendary blues joint called The Wise Fools Pub, on Lincoln Avenue, on the north side of Chicago. We had the Sunday night slot for about three years, and it was there that I cut my teeth (while my underage friends sat/stood/drowned in the audience).

The Fools hosted some of the greats of the city: Junior Wells, John Lee Hooker, Albert King, and, you guessed it, Lonnie Brooks.

And, funny thing, the first “big gig” that I ever did was opening for Lonnie at the Wise Fools 22 years ago. Lonnie was bigger than ever in the late '80's/early '90's, packing 'em in everywhere. The king of Chicago, at the time.

And I was opening for him that night. What a freakin' thrill.

"Wouldn't it be cool if I had that gig one day," I thought.

So it goes...

Dylan Review

I went and saw Bob Dylan last night.

Wow!

First of all, I'm a huge Dylan fan, so I'm biased. But I've also never seen a Dylan show that I've liked. So I was a little wary.

This was way different.

The gig was at the Aragon Ballroom, the "Brawlroom" as we used to call it, when it had a staple of metal acts on a constant basis. Craziness abounded indeed for many a reckless teenager.

That was not how the Dylan show was, though (no kidding.)

No, despite the lack of a mosh pit, the Aragon was the absolute perfect place for Dylan to play. Like I said, I've not seen a show of his that I've liked, and after last night, I learned why.

It was the room. I'd forgotten how cool the Aragon is.

Dylan is a genius, as most of you know (or will at least acknowledge.) He'll probably have a reputation along the lines of Beethoven and Mozart a century from now (provided we have blown ourselves up or died off as the result of an uninsurable, I mean incurable, disease.) And, really, the best way for that genius to be performed is in a small and intimate setting. This just doesn't happen in a stadium or arena or festival. Dylan is subtle, dynamic, and always changing. It just doesn't seem to work, in my opinion, in a large venue.

The listed capacity for the Brawlroom is 4500, though I doubt it. I'd say more like 2500. No matter, there was probably only 1000 people in the audience (which was fine with me. A lot of people missed out. Suckers.)

He kicked off the show with two rarities. First was Watching the River Flow, released only as a single, and then Girl From the North Country, released on both the Freewheelin' album and Nashville Skyline (one of my faves.)

This really set the tone of the show. He was doing older stuff, but in the current style he's been developing over the past decade. That's standard for him. And if you're really a fan, then you already know that, really, this is a blues band. The last 4 albums that he's put out, going back to '97's Time Out of Mind, are a collection of true roots/blues/americana music. He's been going back to the beginnings and developing something very much minty fresh while being true to a bygone era.

Certainly better than most of the blues bands in Chicago, the so-called "Home of the Blues".

He was sporting a 6-piece band (2 guitars, bass, drums, keys/horn/3rd guitar, and Bob, who played guitar, keys, and harp,) basically the same unit he's been using for the last few years. Last night, the lead guitar player for the gig was Charlie Sexton, who is, in a word, smokin'.

And this is what makes Dylan so great, especially at this point in his career. His m.o. has always been re-invention, from the folk days, converting to electric at Newport and rocking, to finding God and putting out gospel (those were not very good records, his "godrock".)

Nowadays, he's clearly paying homage to Muddy Waters, Willie Dixon, and Hoagy Charmichael, but making it Dylan.

Off of his latest album, Together Through Life, he played Hell's My Wife's Hometown, in the vein of Willie Dixon's I Just Want to Make Love to You, with dynamics that were so effective and well executed, you would have thought this was a bar gig (I saw Dylan in a bar once, but that's another story for another day.) The bass man was playing an upright, the drummer was using brushes, and Bob was playing leads, using sparse phrasing, and mostly picking single notes.

He also played Beyond Here Lies Nothing, also off the new record. This is in the style of Otis Rush's All Your Lovin' , done entirely as a rumba. The drums were powerful and tight, and the interplay between Dylan and Sexton was flawless and easy. They've been together a while, now, and it shows.

Most of the tunes were newer, which I enjoyed. I really like the recent catalog. Some were hits: Stuck Inside a Mobile, Highway 61 Revisited, Just Like a Woman, and of course the money song, Like a Rolling Stone (everyone has to play their signature. It's almost mandatory.)

None of them were done as they were on the album.

He even re-invents the old stuff. And the small venue is where you can really see (he's an outstanding band leader, and his guys never take their eyes off of him, lest they miss something) and hear it all unfold.

Really, though, my words cannot express what really went down. I feel bad about that. You really should have been there.

I'm going back to see him again tonight.

So it goes...
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On the Road w/ Lonnie Brooks

The seemingly never ending Lonnie Brooks tour has taken us back to the glorious European "destinacion" of Spain. The first show was a festival in the northern town of Getxo.

One of my faves.

Sadly, Koko Taylor was supposed to be on the bill (also one of my all time faves.) We really missed her.

Luckily, the powers that be were able to put together an exceptional fill-in bill. I say fill-in because you can't replace the Queen.

In her royal absence, it took three people to fill her spot: E.C. Scott, a powerful West-Coast singer, along with the incomprable Henry Butler on piano, and Kenny Neal playing guitar, harp, and singing. Both of those guys are from down in Louisiana, New Orleans and Baton Rouge respectively.

Of course the Blues Machine was still the backing band, with Shun Kikuta and Mike Wheeler on guitars, "Pooky Styx" on drums, and the rock-solid Melvin Smith holding down the bass chair. I gotta say, these fellas really rose to the occasion for the show. They were clearly down and perhaps a bit lost because their blues mama was not there.

Shun and Melvin, especially. They were with her for what seems like ages.

We had to miss her funeral because of the tour, something that we weren't exactly happy about. But, somehow, we all knew (and know) that she would have it no other way.

That being said, the festival was extraordinary. It was 2 nights, with Brooks and Co. headlining the first, and the Blues Machine on the second. Both nights were packed and rowdy (5000 strong per night, and Getxo is a small town, really) and ready for some great music that is so very well appreciated in the Old World (the U.S. could really stand to take a page out of that handbook- Europeans really love live, American music).

Particularly the blues.

Lonnie killed 'em the first night. The show was a marathon, nearly 3 hours ("I've got blisters on my fingers"- J.Lennon.) He put that voodoo spell on the people like always, his Gibson screaming and his voice in fine form. We even pulled out a few tunes that hadn't been played in quite a while, Voodoo Daddy in particular. Kenny joined us onstage for the last few tunes, "All My Money Back", "Inflation", and the crowd pleasing "Something You Got."

The last few tunes lasted about an hour past our scheduled time. So it goes when you're playing an audience for the Queen.

("What are you guys, the Grateful Dead or something?")

The second night was more of the same. Koko's band came out and played 3 cuts before E.C took the stage to sing a few. Henry was next to front the band, followed by Kenny.

Rockin' good time. People were freaking out, erupting in a wash of sound that could only be described as thunderous.

Then came the goods. The band started "Wang Dang Doodle", Koko's signature cut (read: bread and butter.) E.C and Henry came back out to join in on the action. So did Lonnie. So did the rest of the Brooks crew, yours truly included. We were all onstage singing and playing together. The crowd was in the palm of our hands and was not going anywhere. We got the whole place singing the chorus, almost like a mantra:

"All night long, all night long. We gonna pinch a Wang Dang Doodle all night long."

Every great gig comes to an end eventually. Sometimes mercifully. Sometimes happily.

Sometimes you don't want it to stop.

"All night long."

Luckily, we've got another stop. Benidorm, in the southern part of the country, is the next show. We'll do it all again, one more time, knowing that it could be the last time we all do something like this together as one voice.

All for the queen.

So it goes...

The Queen

Koko Taylor.

Really, you don't have to say much more than that.

She shares the table with the likes of Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, and Willie Dixon. All of them were of the greatest generation (in my opinion) of bluesmen.

Yes, I know she was a woman. That's what makes her a true original.

She was the blues.

Me, I'm just contributing to her eulogy.

I could go into her historical details: coming from Memphis to Chicago in the '50's, being "discovered" by Willie Dixon at a Howlin' Wolf club date, etc. But I won't. Everyone else has, so there's no need.

Aside from being the "Queen of the Blues", she was a good woman, and someone I considered as a friend. In all of my years on the road with Lonnie Brooks, we've done a lot of gigs with Koko and the Blues Machine (her band.) Both Koko and Lonnie are Alligator (Records) artists, so naturally, the two acts were packaged together regularly. Next week, in fact, we were to go overseas to Spain together.

Now it's just us.

One of the best memories I have of Koko is from 2003. Both Koko and Lonnie were on the roster of the Legendary Rhythm and Blues Cruise, a floating blues festival in the middle of the Caribbean. There were probably a dozen or so acts lined up, all of them A-listers.

Koko was the draw, though. She was the Queen, and it was HER gig, no questions asked.

And she exercised her royalty, without doing a damn thing.

You see, we were all flying together out of Chicago to Florida, Ft. Lauderdale, I think. It was winter, so the weather was typically crappy. And our flight out of O'Hare was typically delayed. The delay was so long, in fact, that it got to the point where we realized that we'd never make it to the boat in time for the scheduled departure.

For those of you that have been on any kind of a cruise, then you know that if you miss the boat, so to speak, you're basically out of luck. It's not gonna wait for you.

Anyways, all of the powers that be are running around and basically freaking out. "Oh, my God, what are we going to do? We have to get to that boat. This is an outrage. It's our jobs, here!"

Etc., etc.

Tempers were a bit flaring and hostile, airline workers were getting yelled at, phone calls were being made. You could say there was a bit of stress in the air.

Koko just sat there quietly. She seemed to not worry about anything and she certainly was not giving anybody and earful of anything.

Dignity.

To make an already long story short, we were able to fly out, but not to Ft. Lauderdale. We flew into (I think, anyways) Miami and then had to be driven to the boat. It was, needless to say, a big production. And there was still uncertainty as to whether or not we'd make it to the ship.

Koko, of course, showed no signs of sweating it.

And, as I'm sure you've obviously surmised, we made it.

The boat had waited for us. Really, though, it waited for her. After all, she was the Queen. Blues royalty.

The rest of us? We were simply part of her entourage. We ended up being something like 4 hours late for the scheduled departure. In fact, Lonnie was scheduled to perform the first night of the cruise, and we were forced to sett up and sound check and then doing our show before we even got to our cabins and could unpack and have a drink or a smoke or something to eat or do whatever. It was a flurry of activity.

Koko didn't have to work the first night, and she could have taken the time to rest for her performance the next night. But she was at our show, anyways, hanging out with with us and all of the bands and musicians.

Class.

She seemed to have a particular attachment to Pinetop Perkins, another old blues man (Muddy Waters' piano player for years and years.) They spent a lot of time together on that cruise, basically sitting and holding court for everyone that wanted even the briefest of interviews.

They held each others hands frequently, I'd noticed.

Koko's passing marks the end (just about, anyways) of the great blues migration to the north from the south. She was pretty much the last of that ilk. I can only hope and pray that her legacy will be carried on and that the music that she helped to develop will live on and stay strong.

So it goes...

Play On, Bo Diddley- RIP

Bo Diddley is dead; been gone from us for a year to the day.

I'm not feeling too good myself, either.

Actually, I'm fine. After all, it's already June, the weather is still (STILL!) crappy, and my health insurance bill is paid up to current.

Government Motors should be so lucky.

Bo never did get a government bailout. In fact, he really never made much money at all. Like so many of the old blues and rock and roll guys, Bo Diddley was a great musician, but not so great as a business person.

The biz will show no mercy, especially if you are a giant.

But he played on. Because that's what he did best. Even if it wasn't under the best of circumstances. I can remember the times that he would come through Chicago, play at Buddy Guy's Legends (with Howard and the White Boys as his backing band- since he made relatively low money, he didn't, or wouldn't, support a touring band.) Now don't get me wrong. Buddy's is a great, great, great club to play. Personally, it's one of my faves. But it's still just a club. And Bo was, well, Bo. It was our good fortune to see him in such a small and intimate place, but he deserved bigger and better digs.

And he was a giant, too. I mean HUGE. Without him (and Muddy Waters and Willie Dixon), the rest of us, who play generally "popular" music, would be out of work. His "Bo Diddley" beat was and is as infectious as swine flu (not that we call it that anymore.) It works with so many different songs, and can be played on any instrument, not just the thundering jungle drums.

Really, that groove is a musical style in itself.

Bomp, bompa bomp, a bomp bomp. Bomp, bompa bomp, a bomp bomp.

"Bo Diddley, Bo Diddley, have you heard..."

Bomp, bompa bomp, a bomp bomp. Bomp, bompa bomp, a bomp bomp.

"Mama's gonna buy you..."

It just doesn't quit. The rhythm is moving and grooving and driving, and powerful. If your body isn't shaking and your big toe isn't coming out of your boot, then, surely, there is something wrong with your sensibilities.

Too bad for you.

RIP Bo Diddley.

Semi- Live Blogging: On the Road w/ Mississippi Heat

Madam's Organ in Washington, D.C., is, the blues capital in the nation's capital.

I made that up, by the way.

The drive from Williamsburg was quick and easy. We even had time for breakfast, compliments of the leader, Pierre Lacocque (gracias.)

"Washington DC has always been rich with Blues, R&B and Jazz and Madam's Organ Blues Bar is the place to find it! Madam's Organ is an authentic Soul Food Restaurant & Blues Bar located in Adams Morgan, DC! ALL LIVE MUSIC - SEVEN NIGHTS A WEEK!"

This is the quote on their Facebook page. They build (and bill) themselves as the place to be. In fact, someone that works at the club said that the strip that the Madam works (made that one up too,) will be filled with about 10,000 people tonight.

A typical Friday night, I suppose. We shall see what we shall see.

Well, anyone who's been here knows that D.C. is kinda crappy. Homeless people camping out (living) in front of the White House and all.

Traffic is horrible, too. It took us almost 30 minutes to drive the 2 miles from the club (set up early. Sweet.) to the band house.

Band house?

That's right folks, yours truly is not only back in the van, but back in the band house. It's not nearly as cool as the Slippery Noodle's pad, but it could be (and has been) worse.

So it goes...

Semi- Live Blogging: On the Road w/ Mississippi Heat

The first leg of the tour was quite eventful and successful. Even if I DID have to sleep in another strange hotel.

J.M. Randall's is more of a sports bar than music venue, here in lovely (colonial) Williamsburg, VA. It's got several big screen t.v.'s, a pool table, and a full service menu. Perfect for a blues party, eh? I, for one, appreciate the fine art of watching a band and the Yankees at the same time.

Not really.

But, they had an actual sound system and an engineer, so the music club definitely trumped the restaurant aspect of it. It was a pretty healthy crowd, too(just about all the seats were full,) and they seemed to be into what was going on. Even a few dancers showed up. When you can pull that off on a Thursday night, you can do just about anything.

On a side note, the legendary linebacker, Lawrence Taylor (LT) was in the audience. Apparently he grew up just a few blocks from the club and his dad still lives there. He had a crew of people with him, and they stuck around for almost the entire 2 sets. Pretty cool.

Now it's on to Washington, D.C., where taxation without representation abounds. The name of the club is Madam's Organ (I like it.) Tonight is a 3- set hit, so it'll be long, but not daunting.

The drive is short, though.

So it goes...

Life's Minor Indignities

Tonight, I did, quite possibly, the worst, dullest, most boring gig that I've ever done.

It was in the suburbs (Arlington Heights), at a grammar school (St. James), in a gymnasium. There was a Mardi Gras theme to the event (appropriate since Mardi Gras coming up next Tuesday), and the purpose of this little soiree was to raise funds for the school so that none of the children will be left behind, or something like that.

A noble cause, I'm sure.

Anyways, it was a pretty typical gig, for this type of event. There were about 2 dozen tables set up, with about 10 chairs apiece. Along the sides of the gym, a silent auction/raffle was set up, going from end to end. The stage was at one end, and a cash bar and catering was at the other.

I've done a million of these things, so as I say, pretty typical.

What wasn't typical was that another part of the theme of the evening was "ladies night".

That means there were no men (except for the unlucky 20 or so husbands of these ladies that had the jobs of serving and pouring drinks to all of the said ladies). Almost a dream come true for a motley crew of blues guys, don't you think?

Wrong.

These women were so dull and boring. Nothing was getting them excited or even a little interested in what was going on. And I mean that they were not interested in ANYTHING. Not even when the guitar player played with his teeth like he was doing something unprintable.

Aside from the band, which was smokin', there was also the announcements of winners of various auction items, raffle items, etc. Like I said, lots of things going on.

Nothing.

No pulse. No heartbeat. No interest. Nothing.

Is this thing on?

Look, I understand that being the band at some fundraising event (or wedding, or Christmas party, or whatever) isn't part of my rock and roll fantasy. The band is usually not the focal point at these kind of events. Nobody is coming to see how good I look, basically.

No problem. I'm a pro, and it's nothing I take personally. It's very normal (although it still boggles the mind when the band can be right in front of someone and that person never even looks up and acknowledges the sound and fury before them. Not even once. How is that possible?).

Tonight, though, was one for the ages. The gig was a 3-set night. After the second break, before the third set, the woman who hires us comes up to us and says that she wants us to play overtime. And not only does she WANT us to do it, she felt as if we OWED it to her. Her position was that since the auctions and raffles and all the other things went long, we didn't actually play as much as they had expected. Or paid for?

So, ummm, could you just stay an extra 20 minutes since we took too long to do all that other crap?

You've got to be kidding.

Are you scolding us like your class of school kids?

The band gets a detention?

As I said, at the beginning of this useless diatribe, this was a sleepy audience to be sure. Maybe they couldn't get loose and get down because it was a school thing, and the ladies had to keep their guard up. Wouldn't want an embarrassing, drunken moment at this kind of party? Sure, I get it. Nobody wants to be the one that's talked about on Monday morning ("Can you believe Sally got up on that table with you-know-who and danced til the table broke and you could see right up her dress? I knew those hurricanes were nothing but trouble.") But to complain that we hadn't played enough for them?

And we owed them time?

Like I said, you've got to be kidding.

I hate the minor indignities.

In the end, we actually got a small tip for the overtime, which was a good gesture. If that was taken care of in the first place, like it usually is done, I'd be asleep right now, and you'd have nothing fun to read.

So it goes...

Blue Monday Jam Session

Last night was the Monday night blues jam at Buddy Guy's Legends. It's been going on for years and years.

So have I.

If you're not familiar with the concept of what a blues jam is, then here goes:

First of all, there is a house band that runs the whole show. The house band plays a set of their own, maybe an hour or so, to start off the night. After that, it's an open stage. The musicians in the club sign up on a list to play. The leader for the house band then matches various players with each other, forming a group of, usually, 2 guitars, bass, drums, keys, and harmonica (if there are any harmonica players, that is. they're a dying breed, they are). This group then plays a set, maybe 3 or 4 tunes. It's unrehearsed, and much of the time, the musicians have not ever played with each other. After the set is finished, the house band leader changes the stage with different players and another short set is performed. This goes on and on til closing time. Usually, you'll see 3 or 4 different sets after the house band plays.

Last night, John Kattke, aka Brother John, was host. He's usually got a sextet with 3 horns (2 saxes and a trumpet) and the undeniable rhythm section of Paul Streff on bass and Marty "Boom Boom" Binder on drums. Marqueal Jordan doubles on saxophone and vocals, and trumpeter Doug Corcoran doubles on keys, as does John himself.

These guys are bad to the bone, to say the least. Whether it's a screaming Albert Collins shuffle, a funky B.B. King cut (they did "So Excited" off the "Completely Well" album- nobody does that tune, are you kidding?), or a smooth Otis Redding selection, these guys are one of the best blues/r&b acts in town.

What really makes the Monday's special, though, are the unexpected things. Sometimes you get to see some real magic. There's always the chance that someone big will show up. I've played with guys like Buddy Guy, himself, James Cotton, Eddy Clearwater, Lil Ed, and even Zakk Wylde (from Ozzy Ozbourne's band). You never know who's gonna show.

Sometimes, though, it just stinks. There can be a bunch of what I like to call "no-playin'-mutha-hoo-ha's". It's not their fault. Sometimes there are guys ( girls too) that just can't play. Their shuffles don't shuffle, their slow blues are too fast, and their funk is generally un-funky. In short, they're not pro's. They are not required to be. That's the beauty of the jam. God bless 'em for trying.

God bless 6 dollar pitchers of Goose Island for those audibly trying times, too.

Most often, it's just plain wacky. This is what really makes it special (or at least, ahem, unique, depending on your opinion).

So many of these people are real characters. You couldn't make them up. Last night, Holly "Thee" Maxwell showed up. She's the self-proclaimed "new black blonde bombshell"; kind of like a cross betweenTina Turner and Tina Turner in drag. Seriously. She's about 6 feet tall, very, uh, healthy in the rear, and she wears the blondest wig you've ever seen on a dark woman. Her ensemble is completed with a cowboy hat and fringed/sparkly jacket.

Huh?

She does a great show. The ultimate, sexy-yet-not-but-you-never-know, blues mama.

Tommy McCracken often shows. He's the black Elvis, with a mix of James Brown, complete with the screams and the yelps and the dancing and the hip shaking and the gyrating and the twirling and splits with the microphone stand, and even the pompadour.

Weird? Nah.

He's pure energy, always moving, working the crowd, working the band, and working up a sweat which usually ends up on most of the guys on stage.

Nasty? Maybe.

A little.

But Tommy always does a great show. He does the same 2 or 3 songs always. For years and years. At this point, most of us that show up know Tommy's bit: the one-eyed woman crying, the sweet little angel, the cues and hits that he gives over and over and over till you can't stand to hit his cues any more. It's always high energy, and Tommy always brings his A-game, whether there's 15 or 150 people in the place.

And he is one of the most entertaining guys you'll ever see.

So many characters.

So many stories.

So many more Mondays to come.

So it goes...

Buddy and the Bottle

How are you spending your time this Chicago winter?

Buddy Guy just finished his annual January residency at the South-Loop club that bears his name and likeness. Yours truly saw one of the shows, as always. I've seen many Buddy shows there over the years. Played several, as well, as part of the opening act with several groups. Buddy is a blues legend, for sure. He's one of my musical heroes, right up there with B.B., Muddy, and Brooks.

If you've ever seen a Buddy Guy show, then you know what you're getting into. He plays fast and furiously. He plays soft and gently; beautifully, even. He walks through the crowd while he plays his guitar. He quotes Jimi, and Eric, and Stevie, playing snippets of all their songs, to the crowd's delight. Folks eat it up.

He does his schtick.

Granted, he does it better than just about anyone.

On the particular night I was in the audience, he played a healthy variety of material from his prolific catalog. His new album, "Skin Deep", is some pretty heavy material. Especially for a blues record. And the title track is very poignant, considering that there is now an African-American in the White House. This is where Buddy is now, musically speaking. He's giving the blues a very different vibe, without diminishing the spirit of the blues. This song was the best thing he did all night, although most people missed it's relevance, I fear.

"Play the blues, Buddy," can be heard over and over again as the show progresses. That's what this audience wants. It's what they know, it's what they expect, and there is no desire to hear anything different.

But Buddy does what he wants to do. Why shouldn't that be the case? After all, the man has been doing this for over 50 years, has cut over 60 albums, and he has earned the right to step outside the norm with an album like Skin Deep. Even in his seventies, in whatever musical incarnation, the man can still bring it.

If he wants to, that is.

Meanwhile, on most Friday evenings during happy hour, an unknown, hard-driving, local country outfit called the Hoyle Brothers play at the Empty Bottle, a live music dive in Ukranian Villiage. These guys are awesome and play the real-deal hard core honkey tonk: Merle Haggard, Hank Williams, Patsy Cline, et al. The guitar player, Stevie Doyle, is one of the best players you'll see in all of Chicago. Lance Helgeson is an excellent drummer (the drummer IS the band, lets face it) and the lead vocalist/acoustic guitar player Trevor McSpadden fronts the group with the ultimate talent and confidence. These guys bring it every week. The show is early (530-730) , it's free, and they play for tips.

Tips?

Buddy doesn't play for tips (nor should he).

But these guys do, and this is one of the best live acts you'll see in the city. Nobody's got it going on more than the Hoyle's on a Friday evening. The band is solid and rocking, the crowd is dancing and having a good time. These are everyone's expectations and there's nothing more and nothing less. Two hours' worth of the best that they've got.

These guys bring it just because they want to, not because they're expected to. They haven't been in music 50 years. They don't have 60 albums. I think they have 2, but don't quote me. They play because they obviously love it, and they're exceptionally good at what they do.

I wish I could hear Buddy from "Man and the Blues" circa 1967. That's really the Buddy I love. But we're not gonna get that anymore. Buddy Guy is still my hero, and that won't change. We are, however, very lucky to have both him and the Hoyle's in the same town.

So it goes...