Roadhouse Blues

Well, I woke up this morning, and I got myself a beer.  The future's uncertain and the end is always near.- The Doors

My phone rang with a call from a musician named Melissa, aka Blue Mama.  I had first met her at Whiskey's.  I had pulled into the parking lot and I could hear her from outside blowing the roof off with her voice.  She plays guitar , but her voice was the first thing I noticed. I invited her to the NJR jam down the street at the Beach House as I was leaving, and before she arrived, I busied myself telling The Dude how great she was and he told me "Slow down, relax. I will give her a listen."  I felt like a talent agent.  I explained that she would be a great fit with the usual gang of musicians.  There are many musicians that show up to the jams, but she was one that could lead a band.  The Dude greeted  her and invited her onstage.  After about 2 songs, I tipped my invisible hat to HIM.

She had shared the stage with me a few times, after talking with her a bit, I found out that, although she was recently from Washington State, she actually hailed from Chicago like myself.  Blue Mama would later refer to this connection as "Blues DNA". Even, now, she refers to ME as a "blues-man".  It took a while and some convincing for me to believe that moniker.

She had called me to ask if I would play a benefit for another musician that had taken ill, and had some medical bills.  I told her that I was honored, but I didn't think I was good enough.  "Stop that, right there!" She responded.  "You can do it.  YOU are a bass guitar player."  I agreed to attend.  It amazed me how much the local music scene was family to each other.  Blue Mama thanked me for my "generous contribution" on social media. There would be more benefits to be played in the future.

I arrive at the venue on an extremely foggy night.  As usual, I had a bit of trouble finding it.  It was a retail beach store with a short order restaurant in back.    It was called Big Daddy's Beach Shack. I am introduced to a guitarist named Duggan aka "Cornbread" who I assume is Cajun by his accent.  I ask him what kind of music he plays.  "Aww...jus ol Cornbread muuusic" he drawls.  I see another musician that I have met before named Jacob.

The others call out some of the usual standards, and I don't have too much trouble.  I did not bring an amp, which is a bad habit, yet a trademark.  Blue Mama lets me play through hers. We are playing for tips to donate to JoJo, the guest of honor.  Blue Mama and Cornbread are taking the helm perfectly.  They are both really easy to play with.  A guy named Dennis is sitting on the drum throne.  He mentions that we should get together sometime and practice. I agree and ask for a raincheck.

The entire setlist was punctuated by the smell of frying bacon.  I order, then promptly spill and break, a beer bottle.  I clean it up, but I am really embarrassed. "Oh well" I say to myself. "I have just blown my chance to play 'Message in a Bottle' by the Police!"  Later, in between sets,  I am playing a bit of  the bass solo to Orion by Metallica.  I should know better by now that noodling in between songs or when others are tuning up is bad form, but it is a sparse crowd, so another bad habit of mine should not bother anyone.  Jacob taps me on the shoulder, and before I can apologize he says "Hey, I like the harder stuff too."  He shows me how to play "No Excuses" by Alice in Chains and we launch into it.  I am not quite steady on it, but Jacob and Blue Mama harmonize and make it sound great.  He vows to teach me the whole thing sometime, correctly.

The Dude shows up and plays a set with Vato as Bonedaddy and the night closes with Jojo playing harp.  I am blown away by how surreal the night was.  The fog and bacon smoke mixed together making no need for smoke machines as a stage effect.

I play a few more times there until one day....Big Daddy's succumbs to progress or to greed, depending on your viewpoint.


As usual, when I arrived home, my wife asked "How did it go?"
"I am now a blues-man." I responded.
"Like those guys in Vegas? Or do you need a prescription for that?" She asked.
"It's terminal." I coughed, as I fell down onto the couch.

What else could I say?

Stir up that MONKEYDUST!

© 2018 MATT COLEMAN ALL RIGHTS RESERVED