Loss and Lunacy at Legends

This is a post that I hate to write.

A good friend of mine, Chris Neal (saxophone for the Brother John band), had his horn ripped off at Buddy Guy's Legends a few days ago.

Chris has been in John's band for years, and that band has been the house band at Legends for years, playing every other Monday night. I've written about the Blue Monday Jams on these pages on many occasions, so those of you who are familiar with me, you know how much I like going to Buddy's on a Monday. The characters that you encounter time and time again are like none you'd ever meet in "real life".

Apparently, Chris' tenor sax (Yamaha Custom EX- it's a nice instrument) was lifted from the green room at the club (on the second floor and away from public access, by the way), which makes this tale of woe all the worse. For those of you who are not in a band or have never seen an episode of Oprah, the green room is reserved for the talent. It's a place where you can hang and chill, be away from the audience, and not have to be "on".

The break room, if you will.

And, of course, it's the place where you can keep your personal stuff, allegedly secure and out of harms way.

So basically, someone in the club went through the VIP area, up the stairs to the green room, took the horn, came back down the stairs, and probably walked through the club with said horn in tow.

This is a travesty. Legend's has a reputation as a leading music venue in Chicago, the so called "Home of the Blues". The club's owner is also reputable, famous, remarkable, and one of the world's foremost ambassadors of the only true American music.

Buddy Guy is Chicago Blues. Something like this should not be happening in his club.

So who's to blame? Was it a patron of the club or a Legends employee that took it, I wonder? It was one or the other, that's for sure.

Unless, of course, it was another musician. Now there's a thought.

And if it was another musician (not an unusual possibility, to be sure,) it's not like he/she will be able to bring it out on a gig. Ever.

Which could only mean...

As Steely Dan once sang, "So I'll pawn my crown, for a ride uptown..."

Hopefully Buddy and Legends will take care of Chris as best as they can.

So it goes...

Another Blue Monday

Another Monday night at Buddy Guy's Legends.

The Blue Monday Jam session, don't you know. And as usual, there was a slew of characters that showed up. Holly "Thee" Maxwell was giving lessons on how she don't need no instant breakfast, done up with a huge blonde wig, a bright red (and big) bra that doubled as a shirt (?), black capri's, and a blue doo-rag.

Paul "Harmonica" Hanover was there.

Buddy himself was there, holding court at the bar with all sorts of well-wishers, autograph seekers, and hangers-on. He had said that he had just flown in from Denver from a gig he had the night before.

His arms must have been very tired. Hopefully his guitar was not destroyed by the airline.

As usual, he did not take the stage at any point in the night.

Tommy McCracken, the black Elvis, was a no-show. It's been a while since I've seen Tommy and his unforgettable vocal stylings (and unprecedented dance moves) on "Have You Ever Seen a One-Eyed Woman Cry?" I know that he's been out and about doing some things, most recently at the Slippery Noodle in Indianapolis (thanks to fellow drummer Robert Pasenko for the news- I'm guessing you did those gigs with him.) I'd like to see him again sooner rather than later. He makes the night interesting, to say the least.

Not too many surprises last night, as you have surely figured out by now.

What was a surprise though, was that the dashingly handsome and exuberant drummer known as Yours Truly (it's me, it's me!) took the stage at the end of the night as the front-man and vocalist.

That's right: I sang. Sure, I had played drums earlier in the evening with a less than memorable quintet (maybe it was a quartet, who knows at this point, a hazy day later.) I enjoyed it and all, but it didn't really scratch the itch. So I decided to ask Brother John Kattke, our gracious host, if I could sing one to finish the night. It was, after all, about 130am, and letting me get up there to howl wasn't going to cost anyone their job (although you would think that that was a possibility 'cuz you usually shouldn't let the drummer sing unless it's Levon Helm or Karen Carpenter.)

I've always wanted to be the front guy, because I like to ham it up (just in case you hadn't noticed.) I also really enjoy singing, and know the words to more tunes than, seemingly, most people.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: You gotta learn songs.

I'm not a good singer, by any means. But I am a good performer, I bring the right amount of attitude, and I have no fear of the audience. Plus, it was 130am, so...

You can fill in the blanks.

I actually did a better than respectable job. The tune I chose was B.B. King's version of "Let the Good Times Roll". It's a standard up-tempo swing-shuffle with a few breaks in the last verse, for those of you that have never had an audience with the King. Nothing over the top or difficult to be sure.

I also don't sound at all like B.B. King, to be sure.

But it was rockin'. My man Bret Dale was on the lead guitar, Doug Corcoran was on keys, and Dave Russell was the drummer. As for the bass player and the second guitar man, I have no idea who they were. That's the beauty of the Monday Jam at Legends. You just don't know who you'll be teamed up with (like I said, the group I was with earlier in the night kinda stunk.) But these guys were solid and paid attention to all my cues and antics and everything they were supposed to be doing.

It was fun. It was ridiculous. It was exhilarating.

Another reminder of the joys of being a musician.

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...