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(from the beginning)

1

(continued)

…

The lady made her way to the stage, “You guys want to do anything in particular?” We all had favourites, she was gracious enough to offer.  “What do you feel like?”

“Anything you want, girl, we are here to serve.”

“Alright,” she ran her fingers through her short hair and grabbed a mic, “round the block and we’ll see where it takes us.”

My favourite.

It was a game we played.  Set up a place or a groove or a sound and see where it takes us.  Once we’ve got a thing, or maybe before, find some words that fit a melody that makes us say yeah, that’s what this is about.  Not freestyling lines that come to mind, that’s fine, but finer was to find scraps of what someone else had laid down in another time and make it fit this here and now.  Bind that with something you were laying down yourself and see what it makes.  It’s a gift to see the line from power to the people through delta blues back to old times.  And to be able to hook it all up to your day, that was part of Tony’s gift.  And that voice.

Folks were still like dancing so we’d stay up.  I took it, “D” loud enough for Waits to catch.  He’s got good ears, this bunch was all about listening.  I set a loping groove we could lay into for a while, open enough to step out of easily.  Killer cocked his ear, making sure of the space between before saying anything, head moved twice then dip to the right and in.  We set a luxurious stride, fit for a queen.  Autonomous collective be damned, sing it for us sister.

By the time we we were done we’d hit on some old R&B, I think that was Hank Snow, a couple of scraps of Noel Coward hung around a moment of Hothouse Flowers, couldn’t help but smile at the sound of four voices on Cohen’s Alleluia, a worldbeat thing that had words I swear came out of the old border ballads, one long song ain’t none of it sounded like this when it started, veered into Neil Young, then skipped off of if I had a hammer into war what is it good for.  Now say it again, absolutely.

Nothing.

And we stopped.

Tony hung on the mic, eyes closed, then dropped her hands and stood for a beat, still.  When she finally looked up you could tell she hadn’t been here for a while, and wasn’t really taking in any of this just yet.  The room was happy and letting us know, but we just looked at one another.  When it’s real it’s like coming out of hypnosis or something, you see everything fresh, but somehow at a distance.  It gets better, but that feeling never quite goes away.

“You got one more in you, Tony?” McShane was first back on his feet.  “Won’t get any higher tonight. something to take ‘em out and we’ll get Eveready to spin tunes for a while?”

“Yeah, alright.  Something slow.”

Blues was one place we hadn’t been tonight.  Could be freeword, could be classic.  Sounded like B-flat to me, Waits must’ve agreed ’cause he hit it first, one long note solid on the bottom with a little extra grind on the top, how he ever got that much change in tone without dialling or stomping on nothing is beyond me.  I hit the notes straight, no sugar, mallet roll from the cymbals and McShane’s guitar sounds off a riff that could turn into a long rolling line, but then hangs, waiting.  Tony steps up to the mic, tilts her head to catch the mix, then starts making a sound to fill up some of the space between.  It starts low, like catching a breath, fills out enough to make a note, then slides up, not yet a word just a sound, along the climb it shifts colour and somewhere along the line it turns into something that takes on meaning, dunno where exactly but that’s the moment you know something’s gonna be said, and it continues to lift out of the midrange and higher, still soft but with enough edge so you know she means it and then, once we’re all really there, lean on it just a little more.  My man hit the drums two and.  Bass joined him on three, I came along on four, figure to leave enough space for what’s gonna happen, whatever it is I’d like to be there.  Tony brings us on down, “And she says, I don’t know what it takes…”.

She rode us through hard times, no pity just what it is, don’t know where I’m supposed to be, but it sure can’t be here.  Line built on line, no solos just rolling back to the point of it all.  McShane hovered just out of ear, building tones under the voice, leaning in for a hit or a pull-through but mostly just adding weight to what the singer had to say.  I looked out at the room, wasn’t a word that wasn’t being said by the song.  We rolled through it again, worked it up higher.  Folks responded by moving.  I could make out faces, people I knew, Sparechange at one end of the bar nodding right on.  Some other woman I didn’t know stood a little further along the bar transfixed, this was hitting home.  We came around one more time, “One thing I know,” we hit it together, tight, and stopped. “You just got to believe!”

Two short notes and we hold the last chord.  The crowd is with us and start applauding before we cut the final note.  Then it’s over.  Killer and Waits both got a quiet smile going, McShane says thanks and gets the man to roll the tunes from the cabana.  Tony’s still hung out over the mic, folks are still clapping hard, I check out the bar and there’s Sparechange.  Nobody’s noticed, but that woman standing along the bar has passed out, buddy’s caught her and he’s looking at me with a definite “now what?”.  I motion towards the greenroom, Sparechange puts his arm around the woman like she’s his long lost buddy and walks her along to bar.  I rack my guitar, step off the stage and meet him at the door, “Some guys get all the luck.”

He walked her through the door and into the small backstage area we lovingly referred to as the greenroom. “No luck here.  No alcohol either, she was drinking water.  This has all the appearances of a genuine medical condition.”  He set her down gently at one end of the couch.

Jo poked her head into the room, “She alright?”

“Not sure,” I shrugged. “X maybe, though she doesn’t look the type.  Maybe we give it a minute and see whether we need medic?  She’s breathing fine.  Make sure you know where the phone is and if she stays down we’ll get you to bring the boys downtown?”

“Done,” she disappeared around the corner back to the bar.

The band all filed into the room, Tony was the first one to say anything sensible, “Any of you guys know how to take a pulse?”

1

McShane was spinning lines and the groove was right on.  Heads moving marked the beat, wonder boy’s amp was cranked and everything was right with the world.  When you’re laying down a thing, and people are digging it, that’s a place.  You invite people in.  If they come, you dig it.  If they don’t come, you dig it anyway.  Honour what you put together.  That’s the dance.

I’m just a rhythm player.  It’s my job to hear where the ideas are going and sketch out a place where they can grow.  Push too hard and no one can play to it.  Lay back too far and no one wants to.  Too many of your own ideas and there’s no room for melody and meaning.  Not enough inspiration and lead lines fill the space with nothing but ego and spin.

It was a good night.  We had a community of players who’d show up to put it together, a shifting cast of characters regular enough to get a take on one another, shaking it up enough to keep it fresh.  Tonight Waits was behind the bass, Killer was doing drums, I was holding down the rhythm, and McShane was standing in front of his amp cooking the tubes to make solos enough for the whole house.  And the house was eating it up.  In between the solos we were spinning the most delicious grooves.  Nothing we’d worked out, we were just head down and listening, locked like you can only get when the band trusts one another.  Good groove is about trust.

We’d been playing for an hour and change, I wasn’t loose enough yet to go the whole night, so I made the nod.  The guys picked up on it and we called a break.  McShane notified the folks, “We’re gonna walk for a while.  Tony’s here somewhere.  When we come back we’ll see if we can get her up to sing a couple.”  Tony could sing the phone book and break your heart.  The crowd roared approval.  “Hey Jo, turn on the bubble machine.”  A smile and a nod, recorded tunes took over and people made the change from input to output.  Within seconds the talk-talk was on bigtime.  I hit the side door for the alley and air.

“Hard times.” Sparechange held out a smoke.  I took it and lit, “No more than usual, you know how it is.”  I nodded around the other folks hanging out.  “You?”

“I tell you, it’s hard times, man.”  Sparechange nodded to himself, “Hard times is in the air.”  A drag, a beat, “This is hard times, man, nobody gets nothin’.”  He looked at me straight, “Ain’t nothin’ but trouble come from hard times.”

“Seen some good things done in hard times.”

“Ain’t none of it rainin’ down on me.”

“You gotta believe in something, may as well believe in bad times I suppose.”

“You got anything better?”

Another drag while I thought about it. “People, maybe.”

“That’s kinda conditional.”

Hadn’t thought about, but he was right.  “I guess people are kinda like that.  But in bad times there’s usually someone out there trying to do something good.  I could believe in what makes that happen.”

“Guilt?  That’s a hell of a thing to believe in.”

“Can’t run a band on guilt.”  I threw the butt in the can.  “But you can run a band on time.  I should go get loose and we’ll run the night.  You alright?”

“Yeah, man.  It’s what it is.”  He shrugged, “Go be with your people.”

I made my way back into the talk talk to tune up and see what we might lay down.  I suppose I can believe in a good groove.  And when it comes along I believe I’d rather play it in tune.  That’s two things I could say I believe in.  But I think Sparechange had it wrong.  I think with most folks trying to do something good in bad times there ain’t no guilt involved.  But whatever it is makes that happen, I could believe in that.  But what is that, “anti-guilt?”

“What’s that?” from Killer taking his seat behind the kit.

“Just mumbling out loud.  Almost like when I’m thinking, only without the smart bit.”

“If you sing when you play make it a vocal.”

“Not worth it really.  Was just wondering what you call that thing that makes people do good things in bad times.”

“Like when they blow the espresso machine over your solos?”

“Sparechange said it was guilt, but I don’t think so.  Was just wondering about the opposite of guilt.  And what is anti-guilt anyway?  Is that the same as innocence?”

“Oh man, you’re too weird.”

“This coming from a drummer.”

“Call.”

“The Unconvinced.”  Caring for one another as we did, professional discourtesy was a thing for a few of us.  Inventiveness was valued, rule was if you resorted to an old joke, hit a cliché or leaned on a metaphor too hard you’d get called.  Had to give it up unless you could come up with a new name for a band.  Kept things cheerful.  In reality most of us had one we’d already thought of so it didn’t slow things down much, just added to the ritual.  Me, I usually had two or three in my pocket.  I’m that kinda guy.  “And are there degrees of oppositeness?”

“That depends on what you believe.”

“And does believing in a thing make it so?  And howcome drummers never tune?”

“Depends on what you believe in.  We do it subtly so you won’t catch on.”

“Cut the smart talk, here’s the boss.”

“What smart talk?  You guys aren’t being bright on company time.”  McShane grabbed his guitar and plugged in.  “And don’t call me boss, I told you this is an autonomous collective.”

“You know they never nominate rhythm guitar players as rock gods.”  I dialled up a sound, cranked the tube a little warmer.

“Apparently they don’t have the parts,” from behind the kit.

“Watch it, you can be replaced by a bunch of loops.”

“You can’t program in the soul Brother Bee.”

“Maybe you can, but’s that’s not the game tonight.  Brother Waits has the bass.  You know how to play that thing or is it just decorative?”  Waits smiled and launched into a line, he is a never-ending source of delight.  Drums hit the beat and we circled around the figure a couple of times to set it down, sorting, feeling.  I played the texture game, teasing at notes, touching on rhythms.

Before we could settle McShane teased out the house with a scrap of melody that turned into a high long wail, a pause at the end of the line, there’s that moment where we all take a breath, I crunched the chord twice and we were off.  Settling in with solid groove, could be good, let’s keep it for a while.  This wasn’t the main event, but sure could take us there.  It’s obvious we’re going to be laying this down for a while, so folks start moving to it.  By the time I’m home enough that I can spare a moment I look up to check on McShane and see we’ve got most of the room lively up.  “Tell me how it is, brother.”  And he’s off.

Mcshane could light up a space on just two notes, he was like that.  I swear you could pick any two notes and he’d make them work, make them soar, make them sing.  Make something out of the space between them that you’d never thought of before, or maybe just something you always knew but it was good to hear it right here, right now.  And by the time he was done you’d realise that he’d said something, maybe something that you never thought of before, or maybe something you always knew but needed to hear it again, right here, right now.

But he wasn’t done yet, we were just getting started. around the bend and one long note says that we’re going to be here for a while so settle in and listen up, we tighten up the groove around the note then lay back and give the man the room he needs.  And apparently the room he needs is this room full of people right here.  He spins out a line and it feels like need, and the rhythm says gotta, just gotta, and the people feel that there’s a need.  Some start dancing, some just moving, don’t know what I need, they say, but I gotta move.  The guitar hits it again, I got a need, he says, and I gotta move.  You know it say the people, gotta, just gotta the rhythm affirms.  He slides into the line and shapes two notes that growl off of one another, need to resolve, but need to be together to make that noise right now, they wind and wrestle in the air and the dancers say gotta, just gotta, and the rhythm stands up and says yeah!  I just got to move.

It was going to be a good night.

“Tony! you out there?” wonder boy did the shout out, “We need you to take this thing somewhere.”

We were a bunch of tunes into it and showing some signs of this being a memorable night.  It’s all good, but some times are fine.  And Tony’s voice can turn a shindig into a grand affair in a heartbeat.  Let the games begin.

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