Last night, at The Blues Jam, the *harp player said, “I told your horn guy to quit pacing the stage and bleating his horn.”
I said, “I like the guy. He can do what he wants, with certain exceptions. And I alone decide those boundaries. So back off from my friend.”
“Jesus,” I thought. “Pains in the ass constant gripin’ bout pains in the ass.”
I’ve hosted this jam for years. Years.
I started doing it for the 50 bucks offered to keep things running halfway smooth and almost on time.
I had no idea it was going to last this long. It’s still goin strong, Wednesday after Wednesday.
And I’m still gettin’ **half a yard for the gig.
But that’s okay. I’m not doin’ it for the money.
I’m doin it for the perks: the bleaters who strut and fart and pace the stage.
The 19 year old guitar players who turns it up to 11. Or is it the 11 year old guitar players who…oh, nevermind.
The guy who says, “What do you mean you won’t play Nirvana? If anybody ever had the blues, it was Cobain.”
The half drunk singer who wows the audience with her 4 octave vocal range of high volume screaming through Etta James’ ‘I’d Rather Go Blind.’
Oh, when I say, “wows,” I’m not being sarcastic nor hyperbolic.
The patrons of Music Hall Tavern are not Blues purists, most of them prefer Rap, Hip Hop, Punk or Heavy Metal. And they dig anybody screaming, deep throated, possessed by demos, roaring, wailing banshee like from the stage.
And they got it last night.
And I think that’s why Blues Jam Night has grown these past few months.
I mean, the Blues is not their music but, to most most folks in this F-Dub town, everyday, everyday, it is their life.
And it’s my life, too.
*harp = blues harmonica **half a yard = $50
