Still More Dutch treats: Bourbon St. Blues and Jazz, Amsterdam

The stage set up at Bourbon Street Blues & Jazz Club in Amsterdam

If you’re looking at the photo (above) of the Bourbon Street Blues & Jazz Club in Amsterdam and you’ve noticed a disco ball hanging over the center of the dance floor and wondering, do they really use that thing? The answer is Yes, They Do.

On my last Saturday night in Amsterdam, my wish to hear the blues was finally fulfilled by Reuben and the Jets. That is not a real band name by the way, but those cats played some phenomenal blues anyway. It was a group of four musicians who happened to be available to play together that night and they totally rocked the house.

Reuben (Klebbers) played lead guitar, and the drummer and bass player I had seen play before on a previous night I had stopped in to check out Bourbon St. They also had a French harmonica player, which Reuben admitted to the crowd he just met. But when the four of them put it all together: WOW, they put out a very original set of blues interpretations for the four or so sets I stayed for during that final Saturday night. (I listened to them until the wee hours… 2am!)

During one of the breaks between sets Reuben came down off the stage and I requested “Got My Mojo Workin’” which they played during the next set. He did a call back with the audience that was so much fun, the entire crowd kept singing “got my mojo workin’” calling back to Reuben as he sung his heart out, and then the harp player blew a mean streak on his harmonica. The guy made it sound like a freight train. I was really knocked out by their performance!

Bourbon Street Jazz and Blues Club (Amsterdam) has a “reputation” as being the place where people go late into the night, after they get drunk somewhere else. I can tell you that the crowds at Bourbon St. are larger than those at Alto or Maloe Melo because the place is bigger, and just in front of the stage it’s not uncommon to have a dozen people dancing (oddly, they are usually dancing by themselves… especially the guys.)

But even if the place does get a little rowdy, which it can, it’s still an extremely fun venue. If you show up before 11pm you don’t have to pay a door fee. I don’t know the door fee because I always showed up before 11… before things really got started.

A funny thing about clubs in Amsterdam is that they bill themselves as jazz or blues or whatnot, but they don’t always PLAY jazz or blues – but offer the whatnot (see my post about Maloe Melo). The exception for me was Alto, because they only played jazz when I went, but I was only there twice. (I’m sure it would have been the same if I had made it to Bim Haus, which is the Amsterdam equivalent of Jazz at Lincoln Center and seats 200+. Bim Haus is located behind Central Station, which is sketchy late at night … one reason I decided not to go on my own.)

Anyway, another thing I loved about Bourbon Street was the bartending staff. They were so friendly, bopped along to the music, clapped and sang along and participated in creating a fun vibe. There was one particular bartender, a black guy who wore a bow tie… I wish I had gotten his name, he was so nice to me every time I came in he made me feel particularly welcome.

Bourbon Street Jazz and Blues is located beside a canal, and just around the corner from Alto Jazz Cafe, near the Leidseplein. They are open 7 days a week. I highly recommend this venue, it’s got a large space to spread out, an ample dance floor, rocking bands, and a super friendly staff that adds up to a guaranteed night of musical fun!

More Dutch Treats: Maloe Melo Blues Club, Amsterdam

Maloe Melo is a club famous for showcasing Blues acts in Amsterdam. In fact, it’s known as a hard core Blues joint for blues fans, and regular readers of my blog know how much I love the blues. So there was no way for me to miss Maloe Melo while I was in town!

Finding the club was a challenge. It is tucked in a residential neighborhood, alongside a canal called “Lijnbaans gracht” – the word “gracht” means canal in Dutch. This area gets kinda spooky at night. It’s not a bustling neighborhood; the streets are empty after midnight. It might not be a great idea to go alone, or if you do, have a transportation plan mapped out beforehand.

But, I was so excited to hear blues, and having learned my lesson at Alto Jazz Cafe (where I showed up at 9pm and sat for an hour before the music started…) I found my way to the front door of Maloe Melo at 10pm.

In front of the door, or should I say, blocking the doorway, was a bruiser of a Dutch guy, with mini-mutton chop sideburns, chomping an unlit black cigar. (It turns out this bruiser is a sweetheart…and…the bartender. His name is Patrick. Still, I wouldn’t want to piss him off. )

“Are you open?” I said.

He looked at me and stepped aside, letting me see that the bar behind him was empty.

“Oh! What time does the music start?” I asked.

“Eleven o’clock,” he said in a thick Dutch accent.

“Damn it!” I slipped, I was so surprised. He laughed at that.

I just couldn’t believe I’d been stumped again by showing up an hour early – and on a Tuesday night no less. Amsterdamers must be party animals to start that late during the week, I thought.

“Well, I guess I’m here to keep you company,” I said and flashed him my most charming American tourist smile. He smiled back.

We went inside together.

“Tonight’s my birthday…” I added, “and I really want to hear some blues!” I said, feeling happy at the thought.

“Happy Birthday,” he said, and stepped behind the bar.

I ordered a “Coca Light” (Euro-speak for Diet Coke) and he produced a tiny bottle with about six ounces of soda, like the ones I’d been given at all the cafes.

(Travel Tip: These midget bottles cost between $2-3 euros, typically… somewhere between $2.50-4 US dollars. In all the music clubs I went to there was no drink minimum. No one will bother you if you want to hang out and listen to the music while you nurse a drink.)

I took a moment to look around the bar, which I noticed smelled kind of smoky. Posters for European and American blues festivals and guitar legends plastered the walls and ceiling. An Aunt Jemima bust sat perched behind the teensy “stage” where barely two people could stand, with nowhere to put a drum kit.

The postage stamp sized “stage” in the front bar at Maloe Melo

Hmm, I thought.

“What kind of blues will they play tonight?” I asked the bartender. “Chicago style, country style, something else?”

“The band tonight is really good,” he said, “but they don’t play blues.”

“What?!” I said. “Oh no!”

“They are really good, you’ll like them,” he said.

I nodded, but sighed heavily. No blues at the blues club. I put on the best face I could, and said quietly, “I guess it’s too much to want to hear some Buddy Guy on my birthday…”

He gave me a Cheshire cat smile, a big wide grin, and popped a tape into the bar’s audio system. Buddy Guy belted out “Damn Right I’ve Got the Blues” over the loudspeakers.

I laughed and thanked him; I figured recorded blues on my birthday is better than no blues at all.

And then… the guitar player showed up. He was a petite fellow, very thin, with the worn lines of a rocker who has seen a lot in his years etched on his face. He introduced himself as “Kevin, but I prefer Kev…” with a pronounced British accent, although he told me he’d been living in Amsterdam for decades.

We began to chat, and the bartender mentioned to Kev that it was my birthday… and that I had come to hear blues. Kev told me that he and his two band-mates were going to do some low-key original stuff, no microphones, no drums.

Soon the other two band mates showed up, looking similarly well-worn from the lives they’ve led as experienced musicians. The second guitarist (who was the lead vocalist) was a Dutch guy, who reminded me a lot of Ronny Wood; he wore a black vest with white skulls all over it and beat up sneakers. Then the bassist showed up, and he reminded me of Gene Simmons, with dyed jet black hair in a ponytail, thick lips and olive colored skin. Kev was something of a Mick Jagger type, I’d say.

Unfortunately, as the band began their set-up for the evening, “Ronny Wood” and “Gene Simmons” decided to roll their own cigarettes (big, fat ones) and to smoke (tobacco).

When I asked about it, Kev told me that yes, it’s technically not legal to smoke in bars in Amsterdam, but that some bars have a lenient policy towards smoking (of both cigarettes and pot) and that in Maloe Melo, smoking was tolerated. I wasn’t happy about this development, because I knew my clothes and hair would reek after a few minutes of being in that cloud, but I was there to listen to the band… so I stayed.

At about 11:15pm, the trio began their first set… even though it was still just me and the bartender in the place. They played a personal performance for me for about a half hour. Kev kept saying it was fate that brought me there to hear them on my birthday. Maybe so.

I clapped appreciatively after each song and chatted with the band in between, mostly with Kev, who I think took a liking to me. I say that because when Kev went to the bathroom during one of the breaks, “Ronny Wood” came over to tell me, ‘Kev may look like crap, but he’s a really nice guy.’ That made me laugh, but I knew I wasn’t there to be a groupie for the evening! In any case, all three guys were amiable, but I could tell “Gene Simmons” wasn’t too happy about having an audience of one. I can’t blame him.

I didn’t know any of the tunes they played because they were all originals. The lead singer (“Ronny”), who was also the lyricist, liked to sing about love and romance, chasing girls, good friends, and hanging out with the boys in Amsterdam. All the songs were variations on those themes. “Ronny” and Kev did decent two-part harmonies; it was enjoyable but a bit mellow for me, especially considering I was looking for foot stomping blues.

Eventually other people came in, several who were good friends of the band, and they sat at the table nearest the ‘stage.’ A highlight for me was when one of their friends took out a pair of drum sticks, got up and stood next to me and used the vinyl covered bar stool as a drum and played along with the band on one of their songs. It was a fantastic impromtu performance.

The bar didn’t wind up with more than 20 people in it, but the heavy cloud of smoke hovering below the low ceiling was starting to get to me from both the band and many of the patrons, so I decided to leave after two sets (I heard one song twice, not sure if that was an accident)… around 12:40. I figured I would have to walk back to my hotel because of the time.

I did the proper thing and waited until the end of the set to go, and Kev came over and gave me a big hug and kissed my hand. He wished me a happy birthday again. “Ronny” also shook my hand, as did “Gene.” I was starting to feel like family in there, but it was time to go.

When I got out to the street, I ran into a couple on bicycles chatting under a street light. They were the only people around.

“Which way do I have to walk to get back to Central Station,” I asked them, dreading the long walk back in the dark and too-quiet neighborhood.

“That way,” the guy said, pointing.

The girl looked at me, “But if you hurry, you can probably catch the last tram. It doesn’t leave until 12:45…”

“I thought the last tram was midnight?” I said.

“Yes, the last trams leave Central Station at midnight,” she said, “but they get out here later before they circle back.”

Amsterdam: full of its own mysterious ways.

I quickly thanked them and started running toward the corner. I kept running, hoping that if the tram came down the track, that I would be on it.

When I was three quarters of the way toward the corner, the tram pulled up. I pushed myself to run faster before the tram doors slammed shut.

I flew into the open front door of the tram, breathing hard, but in just enough time to swipe my card, and take a comfy seat back to Central Station.

Dutch Treats: Alto Jazz Club, Amsterdam

My very first day in Amsterdam I took an afternoon “siesta” (nap) so I could go out that night to hear live music – one of the main activities I wanted to do while on vacation.

I went to the Alto Jazz Cafe, which is right off the Leidseplein (a part of Amsterdam with lots of cafes, music clubs and is the center of a nightlife scene in A’dam.)

The Alto Jazz Cafe is easy to spot when you walk off the Leidseplein square area (it’s down the street with the Pancake House on the corner) because the club sports a gigantic saxophone as its sign. The club opens every night at 9pm, but the music won’t start before 10pm. This is common in A’dam, nightlife doesn’t get started until late. (On Saturday night there is a $5 euro door charge, other nights there is no entrance fee.)

From my observations, Alto is a place mostly for locals. The walls of the cafe are dark wood panels, a low ceiling, and extremely dim lighting that you could call atmospheric. On the walls, as with so many clubs, there are posters of musicians, famous and local.

The space is long and narrow, with the stage at the back, a “platformed” area just beneath the stage with four tables and chairs, then a space with just chairs set along the left side of the wall, and then eventually towards the entrance a small bar on the right – where people pack themselves in.

The space gets very crowded so if you want to enjoy the music its best to get there closer to 9-9:30p so you can get a seat where you are able to see the stage. Otherwise it quickly gets to be standing room only. I doubt you can fit 75 people in that club!

The night I went there was an excellent jazz trio playing. The lead of the trio was a tall, heroin-chic-thin woman with long straight blonde hair who wore a gold lame sleeveless blouse. (Her name is Saskia Laroo, and is a local legend.) She alternated playing the trumpet and the saxophone, bleating out an improvised beat which captivated the audience. Backing her up she had a drummer and a bass player. The trio had a great energy, and it was obvious the crowd was familiar with this group, they gave them a lot of love.

I was so entranced with the music and the vibe, time slipped by. Around one o’clock in the morning, I leaned over and asked the guy next to me, “Excuse me, what time do the trams stop running?” fully expecting him to say they ran all night because this was Amsterdam.

“Midnight,” he said.

I immediately realized without the tram, I wasn’t sure how to get back to my bed and breakfast! It was my first night in town, and I had barely figured out how to navigate to and from the Central Station, where all the trams originate. Uh oh.

“Oh no!” I said, laughing, “I guess I’ll take a cab,” I added, amused at my own newbie travel error.

“Cabs are very expensive,” he said, in a thick Dutch accent. “I could give you a ride. My car is just around the corner.”

I looked at the gentleman in question: a handsome, nicely dressed guy in a sport coat and button down shirt… compared to all the flannel shirt / blue jeans / sneakers crowd around us. (I had on a dress and heels, again, setting me apart as “different” from the local women, as per my previous post. It would have been “obvious” I was a tourist before I opened my mouth, but definitely after the first word, anyone would know I was American.)

We introduced ourselves, and I accepted the offer that Jon, (pronounced Yon) decided to give me a ride in his little European car back to my bed and breakfast at 2am, on a Sunday night.

(Jon, it turned out, was the IT manager at a local Dutch bank, and had taken Monday as a vacation day, which is why he was in the jazz club so late on Sunday.)

I MUST give huge “plus points” for Dutch kindness and hospitality for Jon to offer a strange woman a ride to her hotel in the middle of the night. Also, Jon was a total gentleman (remember, a girl from New York City has this radar built in…) he did not attempt to “take advantage” of the situation… although he did mention he would be back at Alto again next Sunday. Unfortunately I was unable to make it back there that night because I got sick!

Jon drove me around town a bit, pointing out the tourist sights on the way back to my place, and safely deposited me on my doorstep, wishing me a great holiday.

What a great night of great jazz, and Dutch kindness from a stranger.

Blues Play List

It’s about time I posted some links to YouTube videos for some truly fantastic, amazing, mind blowing LIVE BLUES by some of the greats.

Enjoy at your own risk… once you listen to these, you will be addicted to the Blues!

Stevie Ray Vaughan and Albert King – Pride and Joy

Joe Bonamassa, Derek Trucks, Dusty Hill & Billy Gibbons (ZZ Top) – Going Down

BB King, Buddy Guy, Eric Clapton, Jim Vaughn – Rock Me Baby

John Lee Hooker, Eric Clapton, Rolling Stones – Boogie Chillin’

Susan Tedeschi – Back to the River

The Original Blues Master – Robert Johnson – Sweet Home Chicago

Blues Jam Session – Sweet Home Chicago (see if you can name all the musicians!)

Kenny Wayne Shepherd Band – Deja VooDoo

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All comments welcome!

25 Minutes of Heaven: Small’s Jazz Club

I have never been so sorry to have shown up late to a live set as I was when I heard the last 25 minutes of Joey G Clef’s set at Small’s this past Saturday night.

Small’s is a legendary jazz club, a tiny hole in the wall place where many extraordinarily talented jazz acts have played. I only recently started venturing out to hear more live music in the past year and this was actually the first time I’d been to Small’s to sit in on a set. The early set.

Unfortunately the Small’s website had an error showing Joey G Clef playing an early set and a later set (even I thought, hmm, that’s interesting…) but it was just a mistake. And so there I was at 9:35, listening to a hugely (figuratively and literally) talented alto saxaphonist and his band play swing jazz – and they were swingin’ it right!

And while I did stay to listen to some of The Jimmy Greene Group, they played a kind of jazz I’m not as into… a kind of somewhat discordant variety where the notes are all over the place and (for me at least) I can’t hook into the rhythm. I can listen to that and appreciate the artistry, but I’ll tell you what – Joey G Clef had people dancing in the aisles. People could not stop moving while his band was swingin.

Apparently he also plays with another band, which he told the crowd. It’s called the Yalloppin’ Hounds. The name alone holds huge promise!

While my 25 minutes of heaven at Small’s was totally worth the $20 cover charge, the next time I see Joey G Clef playing around, or the Yalloppin’ Hounds, you can believe I won’t be late!

P.S. If you’ve never been to Small’s Jazz Club - check it out! 183 West 1oth Street

Jr. Mack at Terra Blues!

Sometimes you see live music and you’re so blown away you have to tell everybody.

Tonight was one of those nights.

After having dinner with a friend, I decided to head over to my favorite Blues club in Manhattan (actually, it’s the ONLY Blues club in Manhattan) … Terra Blues. They attract the best local and international talent around, and Jr. Mack and his band proved again tonight why Terra has the stellar reputation it does as a showcase.

Jr. Mack just got back from Amsterdam, he told the crowd, and he said he was a little jet lagged. If this is how he plays when he’s jet lagged, I can’t imagine how he plays fully rested! He and the band repeatedly brought the house down with his renditions of Born Under a Bad Sign, Melissa (he sits in with the Allman Brothers when they come to NYC) and original tunes like I Believe I Need to Make a Change.

Clip of Jr. Mack playing I Believe I Need to Make a Change:

Not only does Mack play the blues, he is also a jazz musician and sprinkled in jazz riffs throughout the night. His band backed him up every time, and the second guitarist (Bobby Bryan) did an amazing job alternating the lead parts with Mack and then singing a few tunes too. The bass and drums were also impeccable.

Oh yeah, did I mention Mack was just nominated for a Grammy? Yep, his album And Still I Rise, with the Heritage Blues Band was nominated for Best Blues Album in 2012. He’s really the real, real deal.

If you’ve never been to Terra Blues and you are in the New York City area and like live Blues, you absolutely must go. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to hear talented guitarists like Jr. Mack wail out the blues with such emotion and force, you can hardly stand up when he’s done.

 

New York City Music: Dizzy’s Club and Terra Blues

The other night I decided to “stay up late” and go to Dizzy’s Club for the ‘hang set’ at Jazz at Lincoln Center to see the Bryan Carter Trio.

It was the first time I’ve seen a live performance at Dizzy’s Club, which is located in the Time Warner Building at Columbus Circle on 59th Street (at the southern edge of Central Park.) The club is a beautiful space with a wood paneled interior and an intimate, cozy club setting with small tables facing the stage.

Also unlike some clubs in New York, the tables were far enough apart that everyone has their own space, as opposed to some clubs where you are practically sitting on top of the people next to you.

Dizzy’s Club was set up to give everyone who wants to see live jazz a chance to do it in a great setting for an extremely reasonable price. The cover charge at the door for the ‘hang set’ which runs from 11pm – 12:30am Tues, Wed, and Thurs is a mere $5 per person. Once you get in, you do have another $5 minimum drink or food requirement per person, but it would be impossible to find such a fantastic place with a great view at that price.

The Bryan Carter Trio was a group of three young musicians, a pianist, base player and drummer who made their debut at Dizzy’s Club the night I saw them. Not only had they never played at Jazz at Lincoln Center before, it was also the first time the three of them were playing together for a crowd. They did not disappoint either, they gave us an hour and a half of high energy jazz, some laughs and a great time.

In addition to Dizzy’s Club, I have another favorite music hang out in New York City: Terra Blues. As far as I know, Terra Blues is the only Blues club in Manhattan (unfortunately BB King’s club in Times Square is NOT a Blues club).

Terra Blues is a small venue located on Bleeker Street. They have the most authentic local and national blues talent come to play there, and on any night you can hear some truly amazing acoustic or electric blues depending on whether or not you see the early set (acoustic begins at 7pm) or the late set (electric blues begins at 10pm and runs until 2am during the week or later on the weekends.)

The cover at Terra Blues is $10 bucks a person, but you can come in for the acoustic set and stay through the electric set and it’s all covered by your $10 spot. They do have a drink requirement too, I think it might be 2 drinks per set per person, but it’s well worth it for an entire night of Blues entertainment.

I’d like to mention a special shout out for Saron Crenshaw. He’s an extremely talented bluesman who plays Terra Blues regularly for both the acoustic and electric sets (I’ve seen him play both.) Crenshaw has what I’d call a Blues soul, someone who has been playing blues all his life and when he gets up on stage his talent and energy is unstoppable. If you get the chance to see him live for the electric set with his band, you’ll know what I mean.

Terra Blues Calendar:
http://www.terrablues.com/cal/thismonth.html

If you enjoy jazz or blues in Manhattan and want to shout out the name of your favorite club or venue in the comments section – please feel free – and keep on grooving, these musicians need their audiences to thrive!

Why I love Warren Miller

Warren Miller is the godfather of extreme skiers everywhere, and his groundbreaking ski films – which he’s been making EVERY YEAR since the 1950′s – are amazing. Since I don’t ski or snowboard, it took me a lot longer to come across a Warren Miller film than ski-folk in the know, but after seeing a few of his films, I was hooked.

If you’ve never heard of Warren Miller or seen one of his films, you are missing out on some of the most dynamic, action packed extreme skiing and snowboarding on the entire planet. Literally, not figuratively.

The film crew criss-crosses the globe, tagging along with the most advanced extreme skiiers in the world. You know, the ones that jump out of helicopters to get to the top of mountains that have no humans on them. Then they ski down the mountain with an avalanche of snow behind them, or they jump of a cliff mid-ski run and parachute to the bottom of the mountain, or they run up snow ramps and get 60 feet of air while doing a triple flip or whatever other tricks are the coolest that year. Yeah, easy peasy.

Actual skiing and snowboarding aren’t the only focal points for Warren Miller films, they also celebrate the ski-bum lifestyle. A perpetual-youth culture, with kids in the forefront of the shots, doing what they do best: being young, athletic and energetic.

Part of the enthusiasm in the films is fueled by phenomenal, up to the second soundtracks. I recently perused the Warren Miller Entertainment site (NO LONGER affiliated with Warren Miller, more on that in a moment) and found a listing of the tracks to a handful of the most recent Warren Miller Entertainment films. Think of these soundtracks as a mix of electronica mixed with reggae mixed with rap and hip hop mixed with alternative rock and DJ club music and you get the idea. (I really wish I could find a sountrack list for the older films from the 1980′s and 1990′s…!)

I wouldn’t pretend that I’ve ever heard of Slang or The Crystal Method but both of them appear on the soundtrack lists and I enjoyed tracks like Slang’s ‘When the Blood Burns’ or Crystal Method’s rhythmic electronica ‘Keep Hope Alive’ enough to buy them on iTunes.

Unfortunately though, if you’ve never heard of Warren Miller before, I have some news. Mr. Miller (now in his 80′s) is no longer involved with Warren Miller Entertainment, which he first sold to his son (in 1989 I think,) and some years later it was sold, then sold again. So any of the Warren Miller Entertainment (WME) films since the 2000′s and certainly since 2005 have had no involvement from Mr. Miller. (In fact, there have even been some legal kerfuffles between Mr. Miller and WME.)

As a result, I’d recommend if you want to see and hear Warren Miller at his funniest and most charming in his role as narrator for his films, I’d stick to the movies prior to 2004.

But whatever Warren Miller film you see, you can’t help but be entertained, amused and blown away by the athletic talent on display. You might find yourself tapping your foot along to the soundtrack while you’re at it.

You have to check this out: HitRecord!

HitRecord is the brain child of actor Joseph Gordon-Levitt and I think it’s a fantastic idea. The concept behind his website is to bring together thousands of artists from all over the world who are collaborating on hundreds of artistic projects.

One example is The Tiny Book of Tiny Stories, Vol I, which was recently published by Harper Collins. It is a collaboration of nearly a hundred artists doing text and drawings for the book. They all found each other and collaborated THROUGH the hitRECord website. The best part is that the fruits of the labors of these artists are paid for through the profits of the project.  The idea is once the production costs are covered, hitRECord splits the remaining amount 50/50 between hitRECord (the company) and the artists involved.

What a wonderful way for Joe (who refers to himself as “Regular Joe” on the website in his recorded video commentaries called “The Regularity”) to share his fame and industry connections with so many other talented artists. I also think it’s a phenomenal use of social media to leverage the collective artistic brain power of so many people.

I’ve joined hitRECord and I can be found under the user name Cdeminski. I’ve already uploaded some audio files of me speaking, a jpg computer drawing I did and some text entries as well. Anyone who has a creative spirit can join and contribute.

The best part of all of this is the collaboration. It’s so exciting to see one person’s idea get REmixed and used or combined with other ideas to make something more interesting.

And based on the information shared on the site, hitRECord will be presenting some of their work at the 2012 Sundance Film Festival. My understanding is that the projects for the festival are going on right now, with plenty of opportunities for people to participate.

So come on, what are you waiting for? hitRECord!

And Now for Something Completely Different

Yes, the title of my blog post has been stolen directly from Monty Python, but I like it and it suits what you are about to read because today, my dear readers, I’m going to completely break with my normal subjects. In fact…

Normally, I write about:

• Writing
• Short Stories
• Submitting Short Stories to Literary Journals
• Publishing Short Stories
• Thoughts on the plight of the short story, and short story writers…….

But today I’m going to write about:

• Music

That’s right, you heard me (in your head, with a voice that sounds nothing like mine unless you know me personally…)

I could try to make this about writing again and tell you that I don’t listen to music when I write, which is true, but it’s off topic for this post since this post is about Music.

Ahem.

So, about Music. I like it. I don’t listen to music as often as I should because I’m usually spending my free time… hey, wait a minute, I know where this is going! And you need to just stop right there and get back onto the topic. (Sorry.)

Alrighty then, Music.

I grew up listening to Rock-n-Roll, and I was raised on Pink Floyd, AC/DC, Jethro Tull, Steeley Dan (and Donald Fagan’s solo albums which I highly recommend), Peter Gabriel, Eric Clapton, The Doors, The Allman Brothers, The Doobies, Peter Frampton… I could go on, but this is to give you a flavor of the kind of music I listened to at the time.

If I keep going backwards, I’d also have to say I listened to a lot of Disco. And I liked it. That’s not as much of a stigma to admit today as it was in the 80′s and early 90′s. But when I listen to Tragedy by the Bee Gee’s, it’s still damn good and I’m going to keep listening to the Bee Gee’s until I get old (well, I may already be somewhat old so I’ll just say older and we’ll leave it at that, m’kay?)

I’m ALSO going to keep listening to Frankie Valley, and Seals n Crofts, James Taylor, Chicago, and John Denver (yes, I said JOHN DENVER), Little River Band, Wings, Queen, Michael Jackson and many, many other pop artists too numerous to count.

I have to create a special mention for Stevie Wonder in his own paragraph because Stevie Wonder is, you will undoubtedly agree, a GENIUS. The guy has written rock, motown, pop, ballads and everything in between and he has done it brilliantly. I love his entire catalogue and so should you because he is a national treasure.

Now, I’ve already confessed to loving Rock-n-Roll, Disco, some forms of Pop and Motown, but I haven’t really said anything about how much I love the Blues.

In fact, I love the Blues SO much, I may have to write another post about it in the future because I can’t even begin to do the Blues justice in a few sentences or paragraphs.

Let me say this for now, and we’ll come back to this topic again later.

I’ve made pilgrimages for the Blues. I drove to Memphis, TN from New Jersey a few years ago to eat ribs and to hang out on Beale Street at the music shop for hours buying blues CD’s and talking with the manager of the store to find out about artists I didn’t know. I bought SO many CD’s that day that he gave me a free t-shirt. (Trust me, it was a lot of CD’s.)

The Blues is uniquely American, of course, and has its roots in the South, specifically black culture, and some of the best Rock gets its riffs and deep sounds from the Blues.

BB King’s album, Live from San Quentin, is a great set to listen to if you’re not that familiar with the Blues but you want to get into it and have a good time.

I’m a huge fan of sooooo many artists, I cannot possibly do them justice here. Kenny Wayne Shepherd is a real stand out talent, in my opinion, from the last two decades of blues-rock fusion. Pick up the first four albums and just sit back and listen to all of them. It’s fantastic stuff. Then consider he was, like, 18 years old or so (maybe younger?) when the first album came out (I think Ledbetter Heights is the first?), and then pick yourself up off the floor and listen to it again.

So there you have it: music. I don’t normally talk about it, but I wanted to share some of the flavors of what I like and now that you know what I like, you can make suggestions from what you like and I can check it out too.

Who are you listening to these days?

Flash Fiction Story: Blues Man

Blues man

Eddie Brown sat in a wooden chair with a beat up acoustic guitar over his knee, tapping his foot to the ancient rhythms of the blues. He rocked back and forth in time with his strumming.

“That sweet talking woman, she done lied to me…”

Riley wiped down the bar and then tucked the towel into her apron beneath her bump of a three month grown belly. She had heard all of Eddie’s songs, but she never tired of listening to him sing.

Her four o’ clock regular came in and sat at the end of the bar on the same ripped vinyl stool he’d kept warm for the last few years.

“Hey Frank,” Riley said. She put down a shot glass in front of him and poured a generous helping of whiskey. He downed it in one gulp.

“Thanks Riley. Hit me again, wouldja?” he held up the shot glass and Riley obliged him.

“That’s ten Frank. You know what Sonny said – no more tabs.”

Frank grumbled, “Come on Riley, it’s not like I don’t pay my share. Payday is Friday, you know that.”

“I know, but it’s Sonny’s place and we play by his rules. Are you going to argue with that?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Hell, I guess not.” He took his wallet out and removed a twenty and put it on the bar.

Riley took the twenty and put it in the cash register. She counted out ten singles and put them in front of him. Frank set two dollars aside for her and turned his attention to the silent images of the ball game on the T.V. at the other end of the bar as he nursed his ego and his shot.

Eddie propped his guitar against the chair. “Darlin’ I’m going for a smoke, back in a few.”

“Alright,” Riley said.

After a few minutes she heard a commotion outside. It was the muffled sound of two men arguing, something Riley had heard before, usually at the end of a long night of drinking. She came out from behind the bar and opened the door leading out to the unpaved parking lot.

“You liar,” Sonny was shouting at Eddie.

Sonny turned to Riley and grabbed her by the arm. He squeezed her flesh until it hurt.

“You bitch,” he said through clenched teeth. “After all I’ve done for you?”

“Sonny, you’re hurting me. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, trying to twist away from him.

“Let her go,” Eddie said.

“She’s my woman and I’ll do what I want to her.” Sonny grabbed Riley by the hair.

“Ow, Eddie, help!”

“I’m telling you man,” Eddie pulled a switchblade out of his boot and pointed it at Sonny, “you better let her go.”

“What are you gonna do with that you fool; put that thing away.”

Sonny yanked Riley’s hair until she stumbled backwards. She fell on her behind with a thud.

Eddie lunged towards Sonny and sliced into his left hand. Sonny caught Eddie in the chest with his right fist and Eddie wheezed for breath. Eddie jabbed at Sonny again, this time trying to connect with his cheek. As Sonny pulled away, Eddie’s blade cut alongside Sonny’s ear.

Sonny looked up in surprise as he put his good hand to the ear. Blood seeped between his fingers. Sonny staggered around the parking lot in a daze until he sat down in the dirt.

“Baby, we gotta go,” Eddie said. He pulled Riley up off the ground and she brushed off the back of her jeans.

“I’ll go get my guitar.” He threw the door open and disappeared inside.

Sonny turned to Riley, still holding the side of his head. “You told him you’re carrying his baby?”

“I can’t raise this baby with you Sonny. I love you, but you’re too mean,” she said.

“He’s gonna find out the truth when that baby comes.” Red droplets trickled down his hand into the dirt.

Eddie came back out of the bar with a towel and threw it at Sonny. “Clean yourself up old man. Come on Riley.”

She took one last look at Sonny then crossed her arms over her chest and got in Eddie’s pickup. A cloud of dust stirred behind the rear wheels as they pulled out of the parking lot. Sonny pulled himself to his feet with the bloody towel held to his neck and watched them drive away.

“Are you alright?” Eddie said. He put his hand on her belly with his right hand as he steered the truck with his left. “Is our little man okay?”

“I’m shook up Eddie.”

“You slide over here and sit beside me, everything’s gonna be better now.”

She nestled into the crook of his arm.

Six months later, the baby was born and she could see a little bit of Sonny and some of her own father. Eddie said the little man looked like him and bought her a bouquet of red roses.

But when the baby turned a year old, Riley mailed Sonny a picture of the baby, without a return address. Not too long after that, she went back to Sonny with the baby in tow. Sonny took her in and managed, in all the years they lived together, never to raise his hand to her again.

Despite that, Eddie swore to his dying day that the baby was his, and for the sake of his blues, he decided to believe it.