Some rooms make me nervous, and some rooms, like Somethin’s Brewin’, make me feel right at home from the first moment I walked in. I’ve been there twice so far, and each time I’ve struck up comfortable, casual conversations with many of the patrons. Not to mention the yummy snacks.
The person I happen to have in mind at the moment is a fireplug of a guy – a voluble senior citizen who seems to be as energetic as he is diminutive (guessing he’s five feet tall would be, well, charitable). I can’t remember how we started talking, but it’s hard to imagine not having a conversation with him – his personality is the sort of thing that fills a room. “Hey, kid, you ever hear of…” I think it started. Yep, he was a musician from way back – wanted to be in Benny Goodman’s band, has a friend from childhood who’s actually leading a big band right now. But, nah, he’s going to have to sing a capella tonight, because he doesn’t play guitar anymore – the fingers don’t work, and it’s been years. Why’d you quit, I ask.
Well. That’s a story. And it keeps getting interrupted, because it requires so much background. First, he has to collect his coffee. So why’d you quit, I ask him again. He’s delighted by my persistence, but there’s quite a backstory, it seems, and he’s not giving up telling any of it. And then, the open mike starts, and I’m stymied again.
And of course, he does a couple songs. A medley, actually. He’s got no fear on stage. He’s in charge, he’s poised, he’s got a decent voice and he knows how to use it well. He sings fragments of songs about smiles and laughter, and somewhere in the middle he sings a big chunk of “The Second Time Around” (Sammy Cahn, James Van Heusen) to the woman he’s with, and I almost cry. I’m utterly, utterly charmed, and even more determined to get my answer.
So I play my set. And afterward, as we’re cleaning up, I ask him again. Why’d you quit? He roars with laughter. And finally, I get the story: five kids, wife at home, not crazy about the instability, the short money, the life on the road. Things get busy, guitar gathers dust. And here we are.
But he’s still singing.