The River

Thursday, March 02, 2006

The real deal

I actually got Ray to get our a see some live music for a change. A blues pianist who I'd caught by accident at a BBQ joint one night when my family was out of town. One of those things where you're mostly there for the BBQ and the soulful atmosphere, and you're head pops up and you think: listen to that, that's the real deal.

So I see he's playin at this blues club in the suburbs, which I'd never been to but heard of. The verbiage on their Web site had real appeal:

Darwin's was born in March of 1999 with no apologies for a name that can only be controversial in unenlightened areas. The Stepford standard of bling and curb appeal are nonexistent as are games and T.V.s. As mediocrity left the building years ago. Worthy performances are expected to hold their own.

So I say, come on out Sweatman, we'll see some live music like we have semi-regularly through the last three decades. Well, folks, there are rewards to marching to your own drummer and not following the crowd, because they certainly weren't at Darwin's last Friday night. Yet it's only the ocassional packed show that delivers the kind of muscianship that was on display at the front of the room.

Anyway, the music, or my reference to the Young Caucasions skit on 70s era Saturday Nigh Live, or the general vibe of the place, or the periodic smoke breaks, or whatever it was, inspired a poem. Check it out.

hee...all that...

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