Friday Night is Music Night....

by Minim Pro @ 2010-12-13
8.00pm Friday night. The musicians, laden with heavy bass drums, amplifiers and stage pianos ‘excuse me’ and nudge their way through the crowd to the small raised seating area at the back of the pub that will double as a stage tonight. Double parked on double yellow lines outside, they lump the gear in as quickly as possible, worried about the possibility of a ticket.

The pub is packed, filled with a mostly working-class crowd of serious drinkers. They work hard in the week and when they go out at the weekend, they Go Out. Pints of Guinness and Stella disappear rapidly into thirsty mouths as the men stand in circles to banter about football and tell jokes. Endless gin-and-tonics fuel the gossip and story-telling of their wives who sit nearby.

It’s loud in here. A CD of rock’n’roll hits blasts out through the speakers mounted high on the walls and everybody is shouting to be heard over Chuck Berry and Elvis. The musicians reappear one by one and shuffle around each other to get set up on the compact ‘stage’.

A few friends of the band are here and have bagged a couple of tables near the front. They shake hands and exchange ‘hello’s with the musicians as they run cable and mount speakers onto stands.

Finally, it’s showtime. The band stands ready to start – a five piece of bass, drums, piano, guitar and vocals. The singer is the only woman and the men vary remarkably in age and appearance from the young and trendy guitarist to the venerable looking bass-player who must be well into his sixties. The music has brought them together - without it they would probably never cross paths.

The singer waves ineffectually towards the bar, trying to attract the attention of someone to turn off Eddy Cochrane so they can start. The drummer paradiddles absently with brushes on the snare, the guitarist noodles scale patterns with the volume down. It’s no use, the bar staff are solely focused on serving the sea of people in front of them.

The singer reluctantly leaves the stage and side-steps in her high heels through the crowd where she waits at the bar for a good five minutes before catching a barmaid’s eye and making her request. She weaves her way back the stage and takes her place behind the mic, a little flustered and bumped by a few elbows but otherwise unharmed.

It takes another couple of minutes but finally the house speakers are switched off and they launch into their first number, an up-tempo Kansas City Blues. And they’re good. The bass and drums are crisp, tight and rock solid. The guitarist punches his chords in all the right places and propels the music forward. The pianist scampers around the melody with little bluesy fills and comments.

And what a voice! Powerful yet controlled, full of tone and bang in tune. She cues the band in and out of the customary stops on some choruses and they’re right with her, driving ever forward and gathering momentum. The guitarist takes the solo and blows up a storm, his fingers dancing around the fretboard producing one great line after another.

The vocals re-enter and the music roars towards the climax – there’s only the ending to navigate now, like a dismount in gymnastics. A standard ending, but they nail it and with a thunderous final chord, the song is done.

The few tables containing friends burst into applause. A few couples out on their own for the evening join in. It sounds tiny and insignificant against the backdrop of a hundred shouts and guffaws from the rest of the tables. A couple of the men turn away from their groups, looking surprised and wondering what the clapping is for.

A female voice, shrieking with laughter cuts through the din. Bottles clink and glasses clunk as they are put down. A taxi sounds its horn outside. The hubbub of voices undulates around the room.

‘Thank you’ says the singer over the mic. The guitarist checks his tuning, the drummer reaches to the floor to swap sticks, the bass player leans over to adjust a level on the mixing desk, the pianist flips through some charts.

Pints of Guinness and Stella disappear rapidly into thirsty mouths as the men stand in circles to banter about football and tell jokes. Endless gin-and-tonics fuel the gossip and story-telling of their wives who sit nearby. The noise swells like a blister.

From  >>  http://playjazz.blog.co.uk/