Powerhouse
The stars aligned last night as Mother Nature whipped large trees like buggy whips and rain came down the better part of the day and without asking, a babysitter came to watch Tin so we could go to Snug Harbor. We sat at a small table for two in front of the stage, spitting distance as we say around here, and the show began. Tom McDermott on piano, smiling a goofy smile as if it were pride for the other musicians; James Singleton on bass, a bass that looks like its been around the block while the man still looks like a boy and plays like a freak of nature – getting funky; Evan Christopher on clarinet – wearing a band leader style suit and whispering and wailing on his horn, and Bill Stewart playing drums more like playing chock tock chock tock on the sides then on top and up steps Meschiya Lake = a surprise tattoo’d on her face, a powerful voice in a small package, dynamite labeling appear to be engraved like warnings on her arms.
$15 at the door? Are you kidding me – the best deal in the world last night at Snug Harbor. Reminded me of Eudora Welty’s Powerhouse:
Powerhouse is so monstrous he sends everybody into oblivion. When any group, any performers, come to town, don’t people always come out and hover near, leaning inward about them, to learn what it is? What is it? Listen. Remember how it was with the acrobats. Watch them carefully, hear the least word, especially what they say to one another, in another language–don’t let them escape you; it’s the only time for hallucination, the last time. They can’t stay. They’ll be somewhere else this time tomorrow.
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It’s a bad night outside. It’s a white dance, and nobody dances, except a few straggling jitterbugs and two elderly couples. Everybody just stands around the band and watches Powerhouse. Sometimes they steal glances at one another, as if to say, Of course, you know how it is with them–Negroes–band leaders–they would play the same way, giving all they’ve got, for an audience of one. . . . When somebody, no matter who, gives everything, it makes people feel ashamed for him.