A Night At The Tractor
Thursday my wife was listening to KEXP and heard an interview with the two principals of a band called The Soul of John Black and liked what she heard, so we went to hear them at the Tractor Tavern that night. They were comprised of a standard kit drummer, a hand drummer, a turntable/sampler and the two principals, JB on vocals/lead guitar and CT on electric bass. They had driven up from Los Angeles on tour, and that day’s travel had undoubtedly been through the same sheets of rain that were drenching the street outside the Tractor, and were keeping the turnout low, at about 25 – 35 people. You could tell they were underwhelmed.
Nonetheless, they played an energetic set of original, contemporary R&B tunes. The performance was tight and polished in a way that only assiduous rehearsing could make it, and I thought, “good for them, a new band making a sincere effort. I hope they get some mileage out of it.” I was thinking that they were engaging ingénues. It was only after coming home and reading the resumes of the two principals that I was reminded of the grueling nature of the music business. Among their separate experiences were gigs with Miles Davis, Betty Carter, Macy Gray, Marianne Faithful and Fishbone. These were no neophytes by any means, but here they were playing to an enthusiastic but sparse audience on one of those Seattle winter nights that reminded you of the inside-the-sub scenes from the movie Das Boot.
This feeling that the live music scene is a constant flirtation with futility was reinforced when the bass player from a terrific jazz/funk group we’ve stalked the last few years, The Living Daylights, stopped by our table briefly, sounding just a little forlorn. The Daylights made a real run at “making it”, touring ceaselessly all over the country. I guess the wheels have sort of come off, as they’re only occasionally performing in town, and the band members are pursuing other projects.
We love going out to small venues to hear these wonderful musicians, arguably doing a better job at their music more consistently than I do at my job, for a fraction of the remuneration. I’m so glad they do it, and I consider it an act of faith to pay their covers, buy their cds and vociferously return the love.
As it turned out, John Black was the opening act for a jazz group from San Francisco called Will Bernard and Motherbug. These guys have been playing together quite a bit longer, and their command and professionalism was apparent as soon as they struck their first note. One of the four of them played a Hammond B3 organ. The B3 is wooden and is paired with an improbable-looking spinning disk that is used to make its distinctive tremolo. The console was open, and disclosed glowing vacuum tubes that must be the very devil to replace. The whole thing looks like a piece of 50s furniture that some amateur has converted into audiophile stereo equipment using some kind of Heathkit contraption. But it plays righteously.
