Leave Them Wanting More

by C. Inanen

I’ll tell you right off, I love Old John Otum like a brother but working with him can be awfully frustrating. Sometimes it’s like coming into a movie when it’s half-way over. There’s stuff going on I don’t know about, important stuff.

We’ve been playing together for more years than I care to remember. On stage, he’s in charge. After all, he’s the big name, the draw, and the lead singer most of the time. You can say he runs the show, literally. Off stage I handle the rest of it, bookings, transportation, scheduling, the money end of things, all that. It’s sort of a partnership that works out really well. We’re both of us getting up there in years, too. Old John will never see 70 again. I’m not far behind. We’re kind of set in our ways. Don’t rock the boat, you know?

I guess I should mention the third member of our trio too, Ruby Blue, our drummer, especially since she sort of kicked it off. She’s sitting in the passenger seat of my van, riding shotgun and eating a snow-cone. She’s 19 and used to be in the Punk band wWo. You pronounce that “woe.” Saying she’s really good doesn’t say half of it. Amazingly we all click. She brought something to us that maybe we’d been lacking or had gotten away from, vitality, energy, maybe a new perspective. What did we provide for her? Well, we were an established working band and we treated her like a professional when a lot of other people were treating her like a kid. I want to use the word value, there, but I don’t know exactly how. Saying we valued each other doesn’t seem right. Saying each of us were valuable to one another is close. Don’t ask me, I’m not good with words.  I made $60.41 for “Sausalito Monday Morning Blues” with Evicta Records about thirty years ago. The money was so disappointing the next good song I wrote I gave away to a friend, Lucille Tucker. That was “Only Counting Stars” and she recorded it on the B side of her album Heartaches and Broken Hearts. Even that one, it’s the walking bass line that makes the song. The lyrics are throw-away stuff.

We’d finished tonight’s two sets at the Garden Spot Tavern and were headed home. Old John had recently taken to sleeping on the floor in the back of the van with one of those pads that hikers and backpackers use. It’s the commercial model with only two seats. They’re made out of some lightweight material, I don’t know what, but you roll them up when you’re not using them and they weigh like ounces. Old John claimed it helped his back. I think he didn’t want to admit he was old and tired after a show.

Me? I’m KJ Butler, bluesman. I was driving the van when Ruby Blue asks me, “So what are we going to do up at Great Lakes?”

Here we go, middle of the movie. I looked at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I told her.

“John told me tonight that we’re going up to the Great Lakes Naval Station in two weeks.”

I shook my head and looked back at the road just in time to see flaring brake lights in front of us. I applied the brakes hard and the SUV in front of us made a right hand turn without signaling. I honked my horn in appreciation. Ruby Blue stuck her hand out the window, showing them the black nail polish on her middle finger.

That woke John up. “Be careful,” he said. “I don’t want to wake up dead.”

“What’s this about going up to Great Lakes?” I asked him.

There was silence in the back of the van for a long time then he said, “I meant to tell you.” I could hear him draw in a deeper breath. “I’ve been talking to Navy Entertainment. They wanted us to do an audition. Some admiral or something. I’ve got his name and number written down at home.”

“Yeah?” I had my doubts about this already. Ruby Blue was listening closely.

“So I told him we don’t do auditions. He could pay us standard rates for a recording session.” He paused. I thought to myself he finally shows some sense to say that. Then he continued, “Or we’d do a show for them. He chose the show.”

I closed my eyes until I remembered I was driving. “In two weeks?” I asked.

“Yeah,” John said. “Friday night.”

“We play Friday nights at the Walk Right Inn,” I reminded him.

“Arnie can find somebody else,” John said. “They insisted. It was the only way they’d pay for a tour.”

“We’re going on tour?” Ruby asked. “Where?”

“Korea,” John told her. “United Service Organizations and Armed Forces Entertainment.”

“Wow,” Ruby said.

“Yeah, we need to talk about this,” I told him.

“Come on over tomorrow afternoon, after church. I’ll grill some hamburgers. Bring some potato chips.” John lived with his daughter, a round, friendly woman. He added after a bit, “And some tomatoes.”

“Can I come too?” Ruby Blue asked.

“You know how to make potato salad?”

“Sure, everybody knows how to make potato salad,” she told him. She might look like a radical Goth sometimes with her blue spiked hair and all that but somewhere deep inside her is Rebecca Barkowski, suburban teenager. “KJ will pick me up, my Toyota’s sick,” she added. This is how John Otum plans things.

Sunday I pull into Ruby Blue’s apartment complex and honk. I’d had to go to the store and buy the chips and tomatoes which is what I did instead of watching the White Sox game on the TV. Ruby comes bouncing downstairs on the run. Today she’s dressed conventionally, tan shorts, a tee shirt, baseball cap, sunglasses and her combat boots. She’s got plastic bowls in each hand. “Drive fast,” she says by way of greeting. “There’s ice cream in here. Peach.” I drive fast.

John’s daughter greets us at the front door. She’s still got her Sunday-goin’-to-church clothes on. “He’s out back,” she explains. “I’m joining you soon as I change. You must be Ruby,” she tells Ruby. They’ve never met.

“Yep,” Ruby Blue admits. She thrusts one of the bowls forward. “Put this in the freezer, OK? It’s ice cream, peach.”

“Oh my.” They’ll get along just fine.

John is out on the deck. The grill’s already fired up and the picnic table has paper plates, utensils, condiments and all that stuff. What’s lacking is something to drink but that’s rectified when John’s daughter emerges from the house with a six-pack of chilled Corona beer and a pitcher of lemonade. We talk as John grills the burgers. “How many hamburgers you want, Ruby?” he asks.

“I’m just medium hungry, not big hungry.” This apparently translates to two. She twists off a Corona cap and hands John the bottle. He works the spatula one-handed anyway.

“Setting aside the Korean tour you mentioned we can’t leave Arnie at the Walk Right Inn high and dry with just two weeks’ notice. He’s always been good to us.” I present my first objection.

“So find someone else to play in our place,” John tells me. “It’s one night. Then you don’t ask him, you tell him.” Ruby Blue’s head is on a swivel, looking at me, then John and back. She’s got her elbows on the table and her hands clasped.

“Easier said than done,” I told him. “First of all it’s two weeks and secondly everybody who’s any good is already busy on Friday night.”

“Work it out with him,” John says. “You’re making this harder than it is. Get my phone, will you honey? It’s on the counter.” John’s daughter heads into the house. “We’ll just see about this,” he tells me.

“Here, watch these,” he tells Ruby as he hands her the spatula, sitting down at the picnic table. He scrolls through his phone, presses buttons and then puts it up to his ear.

“Mabel,” he says. “John Otum. You busy at the moment?” He listens to the response on the other end. “You should have come out here, we’d have made a place for you. I’m cooking burgers. KJ and Ruby Blue are here. Got some cold Corona beer.” We can’t hear the other end of the conversation. “Listen, I need a favor” he tells Mabel. “Two weeks from now, Friday we’re going up to the Great Lakes Naval Base to do a concert for the sailor boys.” He looks at me. “KJ hasn’t found anybody to cover for us at the Walk Right Inn. You going to be in town?” Now it’s my fault. He leans back on the picnic table bench and opens the plastic container Ruby had brought, dips his finger into the potato salad and then licks it.”

“Use a spoon for god’s sake,” his daughter reprimands him, handing him a plastic spoon.

“Detroit?” John says into the phone. He listens again. “Well I appreciate it. You have a good time. Catch you later.” He clicks his phone off and looks at me. “I tried,” he tells me. “She’s playing in Detroit.”

“Who was that?” I ask him.

“Mabel Watkins,” he says.

“The Mabel Watkins?’ Ruby is amazed. “You pick up the phone, dial Mabel Watkins personal number on a Sunday, get her and ask her to cover for us?”

“Yeah” John tells her. “That’s good potato salad,” he adds. “You met her that time we were at Modern Studios. Known her a long time,” he thinks about that, “Since she was your age, maybe younger.”

Mabel Watkins is one of a handful of Blues and Gospel singers whose name is a household word. She plays stadiums and amphitheaters all over the world and the tickets aren’t cheap. She headlines and has sung at the Super Bowl and for the President. Her records go gold before they’re even released with pre-orders, and platinum after they’re available.

“So now we’ve got that out of the way, let’s dig in,” John tells us. “Smells good.” Apparently who’ll cover for us is off his radar and in my lap.

It was good. I hated to spoil the mood by introducing business but I had to ask, “What’s this about a tour to Korea?”

John defends himself by saying “It’s been a while since we’ve done a tour and Ruby’s never been. I thought it was about time so when I got to talking with a guy up at the VA hospital and he was with Navy Entertainment, one thing kind of led to another and I told him we were interested.”

“Where are we going?” Ruby asked. She was obviously excited by the idea.

“MWR Chinhae and MWR Busan,” John said. “Plus some aircraft carrier.”

“An aircraft carrier? Like, on the ship?” Ruby asked.

“That’s right,” he told her. “Audience will be 5000 or so.” She covered her face with her hands. I wasn’t surprised. I’d done Germany back in the Cold War days with the USO. Ruby was used to crowds of 100-200. Do girls still swoon, anymore? I don’t know. She did something anyway that involved placing her head down on the picnic table for a moment.

“Have we still got a press packet?” John asked me.

I shook my head. “Not a current one,” I told him.

“Got to get one, they’ll want that,” he says that like it’s something you go out and buy at the store. It’s not that easy.

On the way home Ruby is practically vibrating. “This is going to be so rad,” she says.

“Concentrate on a week from Friday,” I told her. “One step at a time, a show up at Great Lakes comes first.”

Wednesday night at our regular practice John outlines the song list we’ll perform at Great Lakes. We can play it the coming Friday and Saturday to get used to it. It’s got some changes, for example we open with two of Ruby’s drum solos, “Zulu Mzansi War Drums” and “Ruby Blue War Drums” instead of “Parchman Farm Blues.”  He also asks her “Have you got a title for that one you wrote that we close with?”

“Nuh-uh,” she replies.

“OK, we’ll call it “Angry Sea,” he tells her. No objections from Ruby, in fact it fits, a drum rhythm that emerges from a maelstrom. “How’s the press packet coming?” he asks me.

“Photographer will be there Saturday night for some new photos. Your daughter is helping me with some stuff from your scrapbook” I explain. The new photos will cost us $180 which I don’t mention.

“Do you know any sea shanties?” John asked me.

“No,” I gave him an emphatic answer. We’re not going to do sea shanties.

“I know “Goin’ Up to Boston,” Ruby says, trying to be helpful. I give her a look.

“We can do “It’s Early in the Morning,” he said. “That’ll work.” He looked at Ruby Blue. “What about the extended version of “Angry Sea,” can we do that?”

“The whole thing?” She thought about that. “Sure.” She beamed like a kid who had just gotten both a puppy and a pony for Christmas.

“Good, we’ll tell them that’s dedicated to the U.S Navy and they’re hearing the world premiere.”

“You can’t say it’s a world premiere if we’ve been playing it for six months,” I objected.

“Haven’t played the whole thing,” he pointed out. I just closed my eyes. There’s no point in arguing with John.

Friday night we debut the new set list at the Walk Right Inn. It was a little faster, a little more upbeat and went smooth as silk since they were all songs that had been in our repertoire. The crowd liked it. We stick with the abbreviated version of “Angry Sea” for now.

Arnie the owner listens to me as we’re packing up and takes it in stride. He tells me, “I can get Ronnie and the Revmasters for $200. They’re a Rockabilly group and they’ve got their own following. I’ll call them in the morning. I’ll advertise it as a Rock n Roll weekend.”

“I was just concerned with leaving you high and dry one weekend.”

“I appreciate that, KJ, I really do, but how about I stick to selling booze and entertainment and you stick to music?” I nodded in agreement, probably a good idea.

On the way home that night I tell Old John this latest development. Ruby Blue is all ears too. John says, “Arnie’s got it covered; good.” Then he sacks out on his foam sleeping pad. Ruby Blue and I match quarters for snow-cones. She wins, I have to pay and end up eating one. I don’t even like them. They hurt my teeth.

Saturday night the photographer shows up at the Garden Spot Tavern. We do two shows there almost every week. He’s pretty good; I’ve worked with him before. In fact he toured for nearly a year with a well-known Rock band, documenting their life, so he understands musicians and performances. He’s also a master of working with light and shadows. Something new is he’s got an assistant, a young guy who’s very serious and doesn’t say hardly anything. He does ask for Old John’s autograph, says it’s for his mother. The photographer tells me, “Tuesday” and reassures me he got some great shots. Despite what he says I’m not really reassured. I’ll have to see the photos to believe him. Both sets go well. The first one is more polished with the extra practice. The second one we generally do requests and is more unstructured. We have to talk back and forth among us onstage a lot more. It’s fine too. John’s good at that, smooth. He leads and Ruby and I follow.

Monday morning I call Captain Ernest Swisher at Great Lakes Naval Base. Takes me 26 minutes to get through to him but when I do he’s efficient and very helpful. He’s got a whole list of requirements we need to do before the upcoming show and the tour but it seems as if he’s used to this. I have to send stuff to him and to the Navy Entertainment Program Commander in Washington D.C. In addition to the press kit it includes a complete biography of members and positions of the group, photographs, website URL, contact information, a song list, equipment list, stage plot, a quality CD or DVD, and the tour we were interested in. Copies of everything also go to a navy.mil e-mail address. He thanks me for donating our time and efforts.

I tell him, “I’ve toured with the U.S.O. before and John served in Viet Nam. We both think it’s a worthy thing, you know?” He knows. I only see one glitch, we don’t have a website. We’re old school. Cotton Pickin’ Records has got one, though, with an artists section. That will do.

I call Ruby Blue so we can cobble together a complete biography for her. It takes an hour even though it’s very short but when we’re done we’re both satisfied with it. She sends me a frontal facial pic which will be suitable for the I.D. and then has second thoughts about it since she’s got all her facial piercings and so on in it. She takes a selfie, then and there and sends me that instead. It looks like a mug shot but that works. I assure her it’s fine, nobody looks at those anyway.

Monday is chewed up by doing all that. I have to call John’s daughter three times while she’s at work for help. It doesn’t bother her in the least. She knows how he does things. She grew up and has lived her whole life with it, a really nice, friendly woman.

Tuesday I get together with the photographer. All my worrying was for nothing. He’s got an assortment of photos which are fantastic. The hardest part is picking out which ones I really want, there are so many good ones. One shows every line and crease in Old John’s face, a closeup, and you can practically hear him singing the Blues when you look at it. Another one shows him standing with his head down looking at the floor, guitar strapped in place and both hands at his sides like he’s completely worn out. It’s great, it says something about how much he puts into a performance. That one we’ll use for sure. He’s got one of Ruby Blue in which the sweat is just pouring off of her face. The drumsticks are a blur. She plays with them between her fingers, like a Jazz drummer, not clenched in her fists like so many Rock drummers do. That picture captures some of her energy. He’s also got one where she’s drinking a beer, bottle and face both tilted up. Her neck is long and slender and leads you to look at her black leather vest. You can tell there’s nothing but Ruby underneath it. Corona could use that one for advertising, the label is positioned just right. I’m overwhelmed with the photos but my favorite one is all three of us, taken from the back. You pretty much just see our silhouettes, outlined by the lights. The crowd is just a blur in the background.

Everything gets sent off by midnight. I send an updated press packet to Cotton Pickin’ Records too. I’m getting too old for this stuff. I fall asleep on the couch.

Wednesday I get a call from Hubert at Cotton Pickin’ Records. I’m not even fully awake yet. You know how when you start out making eggs over and screw up and have to make them scrambled instead? I was eating scrambled eggs. “What’s this about you guys going up to Great Lakes Naval Base Friday?’ he asks me.

“Yeah, we’re going to do a set there Friday,” I explained.

“It’s about time you did something new,” he told me. “Unit sales have been low for quite a while.”

“I guess this is new,” I told him. “We’re planning a Korean tour next year in January. This sort of kicks it off, in a way.”

“Korea in January,” he says, “Gonna be cold. Listen I like the looks of your new drummer. What’s her name, Ruby Blue?”

“That’s her,” I agree. “She’ll do three solos Friday night.”

There’s a long silence on his end of the call. Finally he says, “Hard to sell drum solos.” I don’t say anything. “Tell you what,” he finally says, “My son is playing around with videography. I’ll send him up there Friday and maybe he can get some footage. If it sounds and looks any good maybe we can do some in-studio recording. Been a while for you guys.”

“Sure,” I tell him. “We’re going to do the world premiere of a new song, “Angry Sea” there.”

“I’ll be damned,” he says. I give him Captain Ernest Swisher’s contact information. My eggs are cold. I douse them with Cholula Hot Sauce and eat them anyway.

We practice Wednesday nights at a Ford dealership, Harmony Motors. That’s a good practice spot. We set up in the service garage. I’ve had that arrangement for quite a few years. Nobody cares how much noise we make or how late we stay. It was no different that Wednesday before the Great Lakes show. John and I are both firm believers in practice sessions and we’ve got it drilled into Ruby, too. She understands. It’s where we hone our sound.

That Wednesday was a walk-through of what we would do Friday night. Recently I’ve been picking up Ruby and John both, for practices, with the van. Tonight it was just Ruby. John said he was driving himself. I haul her drums, of course, a nice five piece Roland kit with “John Otum” on the front of the kick drum. They had been showing signs of use when we’d hooked up with her through an ad on Musicians Connections and with all the constant setting up, tearing down and hauling had developed more character. One thing different was the addition of a second crash cymbal that had belonged to our old drummer, Shakey Jake Allen. After he died unexpectedly, I guess it became mine. I gave it to Ruby. In a way it was kind of like he was still with us.

“Is your Toyota still sick?” I asked her, to make conversation.

“Yeah,” she tells me. “It goes like this,” and she demonstrates how it goes by rocking forward and backward and from side to side violently. “Not all the time, just when it wants to,” she adds. I think Ruby believes that cars and trucks have personalities like dogs and cats. It’s her first car. I commiserate.

I suppose you could say most of what we play are cover versions. These days that’s how it is when you play and sing Delta Blues. Somebody else has sung and played it before you, often a lot of different somebodies. There isn’t a lot of new music coming out of the Delta. Of course we’re not purists. We’re entertainers, musicians. We do some prison work songs and some Gospel, too. Most of what we play runs 2:45 or so in length, sometimes shorter but rarely longer. The reason for that is when recording first came about that was how much music you could fit on a 78 or 45 RPM record. They didn’t have LPs or extended tracks. John keeps the patter to a minimum, too. That’s his style. He doesn’t use 12 words when 3 will do and he rarely tells stories between songs like some front men. As a consequence our shows go pretty fast. The seven song set we had planned for Great Lakes timed out around 40 minutes and that included the 5 minute long “Angry Sea” drum solo. “Zulu Mzansi War Drums” ran about 1:45. “It’s Early in the Morning” goes 4:30 but of course that wasn’t written for a record, it came about to keep men working in rhythm. “Parchman Farm Blues” takes about 2:42. It averages out.  I guess John figures the music speaks for itself.

We were all set up when John finally arrived. He had an old man with him. I had to look twice before I finally recognized him. Frail, stooped and wrinkled it was Moses Berryman. He recognized me right away and his eyes lit up. He gave me a hug and I could feel his fragile bones in his arms. Moses used to be a damn good harmonica player. To be honest with you I figured he was dead, I hadn’t heard anything about him for maybe 10 years.

“KJ, boy” he said. His voice was just a whisper. “Good to see you.” Anybody who figures he can still call me boy is an old, old man.

“Moses is up from Georgia,” John told us. “Thought I’d bring him along.”

“Livin’ with muh granddaughter,” he whispered as explanation. Turning toward Ruby Blue he took her hand and shook it, very delicately. It reminded me of a bird. “Pleased to meetcha,” he told Ruby. “Moses Berryman,” he said. I don’t have any idea what she thought.

“Ruby Blue,” she told him.

“Blues drummer,” he said. You had to listen really closely to hear him. “You beat straw?” he asked.

She was taken aback. Beating straw is a very old technique where a second person beats a rhythm on a guitar body or even the neck while the first person plays. “John and I have tried it,” she finally answered.

“Not many do,” he told her, “these days.” Then he gave her a smile that showed most of his white dentures. He seated himself and was an audience of one as we went through the whole set list one more time.

After, we played “Midnight Special.” John looked over at him and asked, “What do you think?”

I figured John was just asking him for an opinion on our version. Moses nodded his gray head. As he did his eyes blinked open and closed, as if they were connected somehow. “Play it again,” he said. Then he took a harmonica out of his shirt pocket and wiped it on his sleeve, placing it in position against his lips.

We played it again. This time, at various spots in the song, Moses joined in, his harmonica eerie and distant, like the train in the song. It wasn’t much but it sure made a difference. It changed a regular old song into something that was haunting. When we were done he said, “I haven’t got much wind anymore but I can still do that.” I agreed. John looked pleased. Ruby seemed awe-struck.

We finished up the practice session and made arrangements for me to pick everyone up Friday then we loaded out the drums and so on. John and Moses took off. When they were gone Ruby told me “That old man with the harmonica; that was amazing.”

“Yeah,” I told her in total agreement. “Changes the whole song. Enhances the rest of it.”

“Did you know?” she asked.

“Nope,” I shook my head. “That’s all on John. It’s things like that which set him apart from you and me.” We were both pretty quiet on the way home.

Thursday I listed Moses Berryman as an addition to the members and positions of the group in the information for the Navy. I had to call him to get contact information. He was staying with John and his daughter. I used the article in Wikipedia for his biography and had a hard time coming up with a photo of him for his ID. All of the ones I found online he had a harmonica up in front of his mouth. I finally found one from 1982 where he didn’t. It was sort of blurry because he was in the background but it should work. Really amazing what you can get off the internet. I sent all that off to the various e-mail addresses and got a response back from some Lieutenant at the navy.mil address 15 minutes later that said, “So noted.”

Friday I picked up Ruby Blue. This time she was waiting out front of her apartment building. She had her show outfit on, Doc Marten boots, black shorts and her black leather vest. Her Panama hat too, of course, and she carried a nylon windbreaker as well as two more pairs of drumsticks. Her drum kit was piled around her. John Otum and Moses Berryman were ready to go when I got to John’s house. John wore one of his usual black suits with a pink shirt. He looked pretty much like me except my shirt was yellow. Moses had on khaki pants and a tan jacket, blue cotton work shirt buttoned up to his chin. He also carried a folding chair so he had something to sit on in the van.

We only got lost once on the way up to Great Lakes Naval Base. I missed a turn but Ruby figured it out using the GPS in her phone and we only went a few miles out of our way. I have that too but I don’t use it very much. On the way Old John kept remarking how things had changed since he had last been up this way. Ruby and Moses had their own conversation going in the back. I heard parts of it.

Ruby asked him, “Are you a veteran too, like John?”

“Yep,” he told her. “Omaha Beach 1944.”

“Was that Viet Nam?”

“Nope, that was WWII. We won that one.”

“How old are you?”

“98 or 99, somewhere around in there.”

“You don’t know?”

“Not for sure. It takes a while to get there, but once you do the time goes by quick.” He was quiet for a while. “I was about your age at Omaha Beach. Long time ago. It was raining.”

“Wow,” Ruby said. I wasn’t sure Ruby really understood the significance of that. There’s a divide between generations when it comes to history. Other things too, of course.

“I have to rest for a while, girl,” he told her.

Great Lakes Naval Base is a big place. I think it’s 1500 or 1600 acres, something like that. It took me a while to find the right entrance but I did. They checked us through, two stern faced guards, who didn’t find Moses Berryman’s name on their list right away. Then they did and produced a pass for him to clip onto his jacket, like the rest of us.

I parked next to a semi-trailer with the name of the Rock band that was the headliner for tonight’s show. Not far away was the custom bus emblazoned with the Country music legend’s name on it who was scheduled to be the second act. We were slated for the first spot as the opening act. Ruby was all eyes watching them unload amplifiers as big as compact cars.

Navy Entertainment really knows how to put on a show at the Great Lakes Naval Base. They’re as good and professional about it as anything you’ll find at Madison Square Garden or the Los Angeles Coliseum. I’m not just blowing smoke, I know. I’ve been there and done that, you know? We were assigned a corporal who was to be our liaison for the night. He looked at our equipment and asked, “That’s it?” It doesn’t take much to play the Delta Blues. You can do it with an acoustic guitar.

Two sturdy sailors looked on in amusement. “That’s it, John told him. “No offense to you but we’ll hump it in ourselves. Some of that stuff is older than you are.” We got our equipment on-stage, hooked up and plugged in. The two sailors did help carry the drum set. Ruby Blue supervised like a mother duck with her ducklings. It would be a while before we did our sound checks so the corporal escorted us to our dressing room. Actually we had two, Ruby had one of her own but she was only in there for about two minutes and then joined us.

“This is something else,” she told us. She was still looking around in wonder. Everything was spotless.

“Yeah, some places are better than others,” John agreed. He looked at Moses Berryman. “Remember the Racetrack Lounge in West Memphis?”

Moses laughed. “Long way from there,” he said.

Ruby looked from one to the other. I didn’t have any clue, myself, what they were talking about. “What was the Racetrack Lounge like?” she asked.

“Bass player got his throat slashed with a straight razor,” Old John told her. Moses nodded agreement. “Pretty tough crowd,” he added. “Slim something-or-other. I don’t remember his name. He was talking to the wrong girl.”

That was when Captain Ernest Swisher came in and welcomed us. Very professional, very congenial and 100% squared away. He made certain everything was to our satisfaction and told us they were ready for the sound checks.

They were still moving stuff in for the Rock band when we did our sound check. That figures when you’re the opening act. This was the first time Ruby saw the auditorium. It’s pretty impressive, all those empty seats stretching off into the distance. Generally you can’t see that when you’re on stage because of the lights. John and Ruby took a long time getting her drums mic’d right. Finally we were satisfied. So was the sound engineer. Moses didn’t have any problems with his set-up. He’d probably done this a thousand times before. It was pretty cool hearing that lonesome train whistle and the blow and suck making the railroad sound amplified so many times. It wasn’t long before he gave the engineer a thumbs-up sign. We worked with the lighting guys and women too. They had a path marked out for us with fluorescent tape on the floor. We went back to the dressing room and waited.

As the show was about to begin the corporal led us to a position in the wings backstage. The crowd was large but disciplined. I don’t know how many people Ross Auditorium will hold but I’ll guess around 6000 seats were filled that night. Ruby was a little bit nervous. She did that big-eye thing to me. I just smiled and nodded.

John stood center stage with the lights up. “I’m John Otum and we’re here to play some music for you. This is KJ Butler and that’s Ruby Blue.” Ruby and I walked out on-stage. She raised her drumsticks in a salute to the crowd. There was applause and a few whistles. “We sing the Blues,” he told the audience, more applause. Then the whole stage went dark.

A spotlight snapped onto Ruby Blue. She sat there for a moment and began playing “Zulu Mzansi War Drums.” The long roll at the beginning and then the repetitive heavy bass rhythm interspersed with cymbal clashes always gets me. Very militant.

When she finished a second spotlight came on to Old John. It was accompanied by applause from the audience, a lot of applause. “Two hundred years ago those drums called the Zulu nation to war,” he told the crowd. “Now, Ruby’s got her own version.” He turned and nodded toward Ruby Blue. The spotlight on him flicked off and she started playing. Her version is about three times faster and a lot more intense; more complicated, too. When she finished with that single cymbal clash there was silence throughout the auditorium and then it exploded with applause. She raised her drumsticks in acknowledgement and the applause grew louder, accompanied by whistles, foot stamping and calls.

The lights came back on. John told the crowd “That was “Zulu Mzansi War Drums” and “Ruby Blue War Drums.” Ruby Blue.” The cheering redoubled. John let it roll for a few seconds then he tapped the microphone. He knows how to handle a crowd. “Some of you might know this one,” he told them. “Mississippi Fred McDowell’s “Shake ‘Em on Down,” and we were off. That’s a high energy song. We start it out with Ruby Blue’s drum intro which is like no other Blues intro I’ve ever heard for 15 seconds or so and then Old John starts those slide guitar notes. They want the audience warmed up? We’re doing it.

John doesn’t say anything after that one, he just counts it down, “One two three four.” I play the opening notes to John Lee Hooker’s “Dimples” Ruby clashes the high hats and John’s guitar kicks in. Spontaneously the audience cheers. They are into this. And they’re loud.

As the applause and the cheering dwindle away after we finish that one John tells them “Now something a little bit different. Prison work song, “It’s Early in the Morning,” KJ Butler,” nodding toward me.

I start it out, “Well it’s early in the morning…” John and Ruby Blue echo me as I continue, “When I rise, when I rise.” Nice round of clapping after I finish but they don’t go crazy with it. It’s not that kind of song.

John steps to the microphone and says “Got another prison song for you and we’ve got a special guest joining us for this one.” He turns to the wings and looks at Moses. “Moses Berryman,” he says. “Please welcome him.” Moses walks out on stage accompanied by the corporal who’s carrying his chair. Polite applause, mostly the crowd is watching him get seated and so on. He looks ancient. He finally nods to John. “Midnight Special,” John tells the audience and Ross Auditorium is filled with the sound of a distant train whistle. John starts to sing, “Well, you wake up in the morning.” Very long sustain on the “well” and I sense the audience sighing. Most people know this one. Moses’ harmonica comes in again and John sings the next line, “You hear the work bell ring.” The whole first verse is like that, very slow and deliberate. Then Ruby’s drums kick in and we’re all playing and singing. The harmonica has the same effect it had during practice. The song ends and they go wild in the audience, clapping and cheering.

The corporal escorts Moses off of the stage as John tells the people, “Our final song has never been heard in public before tonight. It’s dedicated to you, the men and women of the U.S Navy. It’s called “Angry Sea” and you’ll hear why. Take it, Ruby.” The lights go out again and the stage is dark for a few seconds before the baby spotlight comes on, focused on Ruby Blue, all alone.

Then she explodes. The first 30 seconds of that song are a maelstrom of drums. It’s a whirlpool, chaos and turbulence. The intensity can be felt, not just heard, and then out of that a rhythm arises, almost hidden at first, but it increases and grows more apparent until it overcomes the tumult and disorder. It ends with multiple cymbal clashes. The crowd is stunned. They sit silent for what seems like a long time and then they rise to their feet and cheer, clapping and applauding, whistling, just making noise and showing their appreciation. The lights come back on. John lets the crowd’s response pour over us until it begins to quiet. “That was Ruby Blue, everybody,” he tells them. “I’m John Otum and this is KJ Butler. We sing the Blues.” He clicks the microphone off and we all leave the stage. The standing ovation renews itself and you can hear people shouting for an encore.

Off-stage Ruby tells John, “We’ve got to do an encore.” I know how she feels. She wants to go back out there and play forever.

“Nah,” he replies. “How do you top that? Always leave them wanting a little bit more.” 



             

BIO

C. Inanen lives in the Midwest USA. His work has recently been published in Down in the Dirt magazine and will be featured in the December 2025 issue of Yellow Mama as well. He is also a musician and co-hosted the radio series, History of the Blues, with DJ Protea, Sanet Henn, on RadioMeltdown.