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.