Saturday, November 25, 2006

Fried

My wife and I began attending a blues jam nearby.  At the time, we were rank beginners, and not a little intimidated.  The first thing you do at a jam is find The List and sign in.  The jam host is supposed to consult The List when he calls musicians up onto the stage.  Some hosts are better about this than others, but usually The List gets ignored after a half hour or so.

The List at this jam was being managed by a couple who we immediately felt comfortable with.  She was pleasant and talkative.  He was clearly a musician, a guitarist, and he would sometimes pluck at his unplugged electric guitar during the evening.  He was quiet, with an impish grin, and when he said anything, it was usually funny.  He looked like he could have been David Bowie's cousin, with a slight sadness around the edges, and a hint of that burned-out look that rockers got from too many drugs in the 80's.

There are a lot of different reasons why players attend jams.  There are beginners trying to learn, experienced players who just don't have a chance to get out, players looking for work, or trying to hire talent.  New bands will sign up as a group, looking for stage experience.  There are quite a few pros who gave it up years ago, and are trying to get back in - they are sometimes the most shy.  We guessed that our friend was in this category.

We became regular participants at this jam, and would usually sit with the couple.  By now we were comfortable being on the stage, but our guitarist friend never signed up, never joined in, playing on stage.  We would encourage him; "If we can do it, you certainly can!"  But he would just smile, and gently beg off.

One night, a couple of ringers walked into the jam with matching bowling shirts.  They were not only pros, but members of a band, and they had come to show off their stuff and advertise their band.  They were pretty full of themselves, handing out cards to everyone.  The leader was a big black guy who sang and played harmonica, and his sidekick was a sax player.  My wife, who is a beginning sax player, was all excited (this jam had not attracted other horn players yet), but this guy brushed off her enthusiasm with a comment that ended in "I'm a professional musician!"

When their turn came up, they got on stage with a couple of the house band players.  They were good, but we had been turned off by their vibe, so we really weren't paying attention.  In the middle of a song, a loud, unearthly sound emerged from the stage.  Everybody looked around, trying to figure out where it was coming from.  The guys on stage lost their focus, but soldiered on, and that's when my wife and I spotted him.  Our shy guitar friend, the one who never got on stage, had finally, after weeks, summoned the courage to get up, and had chosen this moment to plug in and start playing.  He wailed away, oblivious to everyone else on stage.  He had launched into a psychedelic acid-rock solo, as if he'd gone back in time, and he wouldn't let up.  The harmonica player gamely brought his song to an end, and he and his buddy slunk off the stage and disappeared from the room.

Our pal, meanwhile, exhausted by his time travel, sat back down next to us with his guitar, and said, "Wow, what just happened?"  We laughed and clapped, and he asked, "How was that, was it OK?"  "It was great," we cried in unison, "it was perfect!"  He had no idea, but we regarded him as a hero.  Unfortunately, I think it had been all too much for him, as we never saw him again at this jam.

BC

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