EDMONTON -- It was a dirt-road-speeding, demolition-ball-smashing, pull-yo-momma's-pants-down-and-scream-hallelujah kind of blues party.
Buddy Guy is dirty. Foul. His mouth should be washed out with whatever it is they wash soap with. "I love the way she spreads her thing - I mean, wing," he sings early on last night in front of 1,400 at the Jube, best concert venue in town for this sort of gospel-blues-history-porno fest, black as night and just as exciting. Flip the tones, old man Guy is wearing white sneakers, whiter than 97.8% of his audience who when clapping actually make him stop the circus.
"Hello hello HELLO," Guy sneers, pulling his hands away from the acoustic and showing the sad, twitching honkies how to clap. The Custodian of the Blues is a strong influence. He gets them back on track with a smile.
If you were to pin it down to something as banal as number of stars or best moment in the show, you'd be picturing Buddy Guy walking off the stage, sitting a few chairs over in seat N7 and five-star playing the hell out of his guitar, moving all the way through the lobby and back inside and up again, as if coaxing the crowd into his bedroom.
That, folks, is how to please an audience, never mind this step-dancing crap or all the excruciating Pearl Jam clones out there deflating radio. This man is 64 years old and Jimi Hendrix owes him a thing or two up in OD heaven. Guy plays his polka-dot guitar with long leather fingers, with his yellow amp cord, with a drum stick, with the hand of a fat little boy who keeps rushing the stage with his own guitar. It's chaotic and you can bet delightfully so. Amid all its recent blushing, Jazz City can brush off the dandruff and stand proud because of last night.
"If you don't like the blues, you at the wrong place tonight," Guy lectures, pointing, making melting Plasticine Hugh Grant faces when he gets down. He tours through Sweet Tea, his hill country blues album, and becomes quiet, never naming but absolutely nodding to the late John Lee Hooker. He plays Hoochie Coochie Man for his metaphorical frat brother, just as David Gogo did with Tony D in the explosive opening act. Tony D is another blues pervert, singing about tasting honeypots and coming inside. But nothing beat Guy, and he joked about getting kicked out, as he sang "One leg was in the east, one leg was in the west. I went down in the middle TRYIN' to do my best."
Sweaty lyrics, no metaphors, everyone got what they wanted all night long with a show hotter than the last time he was here in winter, of which he says, "I'm like an automobile; I brought my own antifreeze with me." Pure black male diva, an entertainer with a voice that makes guitars jealous. Ain't a note they can hit that he can't.
So, yeah, a good show, sorry about your luck if you missed it, from Gogo playing slide with a Heineken (in the Jube, mind you) to Buddy Guy, blues legend from the last generation that mattered, showing us all what's what with an elixir of music so powerful and loud my ears are still ringing, fat with sound and wanting more. (More on: Buddy Guy).
