The Doorman's Diary 2.22.13

A hard core blues night. Four weather-beaten dudes who know their howlin,' lead belly, muddy, Memphis, and pinetop. They have wrinkles. They have gravel in their voices. They is the blues. The keyboard player is a showman, bobbing, weaving, throwing his head back in agony. The lead guitarist knows his guitar like an English teacher knows grammar. He made it bend, howl, and stab to his bidding. The bass and drums were equally adept. The blues crowd is less refined than the jazz aficionados. They can be cheap and demanding. As The Doorman, I know. A short butterball woman and her boyfriend entered. She wears the pants in the couple and asserted that they should get in at half price. I corrected her illusion. She drank Cabernet and then bought blended shots for herself and a woman sitting next to her at the bar. She let out eardrum exploding whistles every time the band ended a song and stoutly stood gyrating her hips to the music (at least that appeared to be what she was doing). A blues singer joined the group for a couple of songs. I've heard her before and she's as exceptional as the members of the group. She belted out Dr. Feelgood and Gene Allison’s You Can Make It if You Try, which was matched later in the night by the drummer's snarling version of Hootchie Cootchie Man. A true blue blues night it was.

The Doorman's Diary 2.8.13

We're both a jazz and blues club. Tonight there's an incredible all women blues band. They're middle aged so they've earned their journeyman's papers in life. So when they sing about being mistreated, there's passion there. The keyboard player with her Brillo pad snow-white hair snarled like a chained alley dog. Speaking of alleys, I could walk down a dark alley with the drummer and only she would emerge on the other side. She's a beast. They played some standard blues tunes—one of which transitioned into Sly and the Family Stone’s Everyday People. When they finished one incredible song, the bass player says, "Wow! We've never played that song together--I'm surprised we ended it so well." It shouldn't be a surprise, since they are all superb musicians. As one of them had quipped, "Unlike guy musicians, women talk--with these ladies, we all communicate.” The crowd wanted to dance, so every corner was filled with spastic footwork, hip wiggles, and gyrations. A gentleman with a well-trimmed beard and a mustache that hinted at a handlebar sat at the bar with a snifter. He has come from a theater performance -- in fact, his 53rd play he's attended within a year. He was enjoying the rhythmic writhing of one lass who noticed him noticing her. She signaled for him to join her. He obliged. I was afraid for Mr. Theater with his thick-knot tie and pocket-watch demeanor, but he surprised all observers. He did a unique halting touch, glide, swirl thing that suited him and somehow his dramatic flair complimented the shimmies and pelvic thrusts of the young woman. Don’t ask me how or why.... but it seemed to work. 

The Doorman’ s Diary: 11.2.12

I am The Doorman at a jazz club… a jazz club that occasionally features the blues. Tonight is a blues night. Headlining is an all women blues band—a quartet. Not a fluffy pretty girl band, but women of substance who have experienced hard knocks. They are beautiful. The drummer lays down a merciless barreling straight ahead freight train, supported by the chest-throttling heavy bass beat. The keyboard plays rhythms that define traditional blues patterns but twists and bends them to suit her needs. The lead guitarist demonstrates on every song that she is not a lightweight. She bends notes, tickles the strings, and makes her guitar moan when least expected. At the end of one exceptional sweaty song, the black keyboard player says to the white guitarist, ”Whoa girl! If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you’re black!” Three of the four musicians sing and back each other up on vocals. They sing with conviction about cheating, betrayal, and demanding, like Bonnie Raitt does, to be loved like a man. The club fills comfortably with blues fans, newbies, and a few misplaced jazz aficionados. An independent filmmaker presents herself at the door, looking for a piano bar. She loves the look of the club, but we don’t have the big gleaming grand piano. She is thoughtful, interesting, and full of creative ideas. I realize the privilege of being The Doorman is that I have the good fortune of meeting her. The downside of being The Doorman is that I can’t abandon my post and enjoy learning about her film and her life. The Studs Terkel in me got squelched. In between talking with the smart filmmaker there was the ebb and flow of customers, including the leather motorcycle couple that enjoyed road house dancing when they weren’t swigging beer and Jack, and the gaunt smoker man who wears a dark, duster coat. I let duster smoker man in for free since he’s an irregular regular. He appreciated the generosity at the door, which got me thinking that I was long overdue to give the good man a break. 

The Doorman’s Diary: 9.7.12

A couple take up residence on the far side of the bar before the music starts. The guy is Bigfoot size and his lady friend has blonde hair with the under-side ends dyed pink. They order two whiskey old fashions. The few people that are here need stiff drinks since the fill-in band is dismal. The music reminds me of really bad CYO dance bands from te 1970’s that played popular songs too slow to dance to but not slow enough to spend a few minutes with a then 15-year-old girl’s hot, sweaty body pressed against you. Allegedly they are a blues band, but they play too many pop covers to lay claim to that label. A lead singer hits all the right visual notes—she is blonde and wearing a cleavage-displaying red dress—but her singing is passionless and off tune. They do one song I think is a country tune. The bartender and I exchange WTF? glances before I step outside to inspect the sidewalk cracks. It’s a night like this that makes the good nights all that better.

The Doorman's Diary 8.3.12

When the world zigs, we zag appears to be the philosophy of the jazz club owner. This is the weekend of a nearby jazz festival, so we have blues scheduled both nights. Tonight we have an incredible old time bluesman and his group. A superb drummer, the blues guy was accompanied by guitar, bass, and keyboard. The guitarist is probably the best blues guitarist I've ever seen. Solidly middle-aged with long dreads, the guy knew his guitar better than his lover's body. He was restrained when called for and aggressive when needed. He added sparkles and flourishes when necessary. At one time he did the Jimi thing of playing behind his head and at all times knew which note to play. The band did a pseudo country tune and someone gave him a shot glass and he added slide guitar accents to the song. A similarly-aged white guy (the band was black & blues) had joined them for one set and played trumpet. He added tasteful brass zingers. At the break I complimented the guitarist and told him I wanted to be there at the moment he's unleashed and looses control. "I love the guitar," he admitted. I also caught the trumpet man when he was leaving. While I was complimenting him, he said "I think I know you from a different context--I’m sure I do." I should have said, "You’re mistaken, I am merely The Doorman." it's part of The Doorman code to never reveal any other identity than being guardian of the door. I violated a prime directive and discovered that our paths have crossed, but never intersected. Close call - need to re-read The Doorman's Handbook and abide the rules!  

A Musical Sampler from Mazatlan, Mexico

Just like the box of Whitman’s Sampler Assorted Chocolates, the album “Mazatlan Sampler” provides an incredible collection of musical talent residing in Mazatlan, Mexico. Keeping with the theme, the album is subtitled “ear candy from Mexico’s Pacific Coast.” Each song is different from the rest, but all are very good. There are 15 songs on the CD performed by as many musicians or groups. There are a few original songs, but most are covers of old American favorites. The majority of songs are sung in English. One gets the feeling that the American expat community in Mazatlan must be vital, which makes sense since Mexico has the largest population of Americans living abroad, with the number reported to be well over one million. The song selection gives the CD a nostalgic yearning… perhaps a longing for a lost American youth? Or maybe an America that was left behind. Even the jewel case design, ala the Whitman’s Sampler box, is a tug at the past. Probably much like the warm-breeze weather of Mazatlan, this CD is best enjoyed on a summer day or night with a cerveza fria or tooling down the highway with the windows rolled down. The musicianship throughout the album is excellent. You’ll hear marimba, wah-wah, and slide guitar. And some incredible vocals. The CD is really ear candy. Click through to the Mazatlan Music Lovers Club page for information about ordering the album, which I recommend that you do. Oh, and don’t be put off by the quoted price of $120—that’s in pesos. The current conversion is a little more than $11 US.

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Thanks to my friends Jim & Marilyn for bringing my very own copy of the Mazatlan Sampler back from their home away from home.