Johnny Greer’s Blues - Part 8

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Johnny split his time before his next session between practicing on the Gibson and working at the Silver Palace. He loved everything about his uncle’s guitar. Holding it always gave him a sense of ease and safety, and the sound was always warm and reminded him of home. There was nothing comforting about the electric. It didn’t engulf him in a blanket of safety and nostalgia. It gave the music he played a sharp edge and a sense of danger and urgency. And, to Johnny, that was not a bad thing at all. He liked being out there on the ledge, because he knew that was where he would find what would make him different. What would make him stand out.

He wasn’t so invested in his time at the Silver Palace. He owed Pete in more ways than he could count, but his heart just wasn’t in cleaning up after fans of music and booze. Mostly booze.

Johnny arrived at Delta Sounds the following Friday with both guitars. He walked down the stairs to the studio and was greeted by Terri and the unmistakable sickly sweet smell of marijuana smoke. Terri went with him to the control room. Bones was sitting at the control board laughing with a middle-aged white man with a long pony tail. He wore faded jeans, sunglasses and black t-shirt. He held a joint in his right hand.

“Hey, Johnny,” Bones said, “this is Danny Stevens, he’s going to be playin bass for us today.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Stevens,” Johnny said, setting down his guitars so he could shake the bassists hand.

“Call me Goose,” Danny said, motioning to Johnny to sit on the couch. “Want a hit?”

Johnny sat and looked at Bones, who gave him a ‘do what you want’ shrug.

“Maybe later. I don’t want to mess up my head before I play.”

“Might make you better, but it’s a free country. Bones played me your tape. You got chops, brother.”

Johnny thanked him and peeked through the glass into the studio. He saw the stool and microphone he had used, and also saw a small black Ludwig drum kit with silvery swirls. “We got a drummer here?” he asked.

“Drummer’s running a little behind. But, yeah.” Bones said. “How did your week with the electric go? You ready to give her a shot?”

“Yeah, Bones. I like it. I’m really looking forward to trying it out. How do we all record at the same time?”

“You don’t,” Bones said, as he lit a cigar. “I’m going to record you first, then record drum and bass separate. Then I do my magic in the mix. Go plug in the Gibson and let’s see what it can do with those six songs you gave me last time.”

Johnny left the acoustic in the control room and carried the electric into the studio. He plugged it in and plucked at it. Johnny looked up at the control room window, and saw Bones shadow behind the panel, his lit cigar glowing hot orange. He could barely make out the tiny ember of Goose’s joint in the background.

“Ready when you are, Johnny,” Bones’ disembodied voice cracked over the studio intercom.

He closed his eyes and started to play “Hoochie Coochie Man.” This time he not only nailed the song, he transformed it with a sound that was deeper and more vibrant. His guitar didn’t just play the notes; it sang them in a wailing voice that encompassed the bravado of the lyrics. But more than that, Johnny’s playing somehow grabbed the Chicago blues sound by the throat. By the time he finished the song, he had beat it into submission and dragged it kicking and screaming into modern Memphis.

Johnny opened his eyes and looked up. He saw four shadows - Bones sitting and three other people standing behind him.

“Johnny, get your ass in here, son,” Bones said over the intercom.

Johnny set down the guitar and walked into the control room. Terri flung herself at him and hugged his neck. “That was amazing, Johnny!”

Johnny grinned and muttered his thanks.

“Don’t give him a big head, babe. We got a lot of work today,” Bones said.

Goose was standing behind Bones and gave Johnny an appreciative nod. The other person in the room was a short black woman in jeans and a rust and white ribbed cotton top. She was in her late 20’s and her hair was a short afro, and her smile was a killer.

“That was really sweet playing,” she said.

Already, Johnny was in love.

“Oh, thank you.”

“This is Honi D., she’s your drummer,” Bones said.

“Cool,” Johnny said, a look of confusion sweeping his face.

“What’s wrong?” Honi asked.

“Oh, I just never seen a drummer who is…”

“Black?” Honi said with a smirk. “There’s a whole lot of us. Surprised you never saw one.”

“No, I have. Sure,” Johnny stammered.

“Oh, I guess you never seen a sister behind the drums? Is that it?” Honi asked.

“And a fine one at that,” Goose said.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any disrespect. This is all new to me,” Johnny said, embarrassed.

“Just messing with you, my brother,” Honi said. “Looking forward to working with you.”

Johnny was relieved.

“Alright, let’s go ahead and lay you down, Goose.” Bones said. Goose stepped into the studio and plugged in his bass. He put on the studio headphones and gave Bones a nod. Bones started playing back the track Johnny had laid down. Johnny watched the process with curiosity and confusion. He could hear his own playing and singing as well as Goose’s bass. Bones had on his own pair of headphones and adjusted the sliders on the board. When he seemed happy with what he had, he stopped Goose and started the process over again.

“This doesn’t sound right, Terri,” Johnny whispered to her.

“It will. Trust Bones. He mixes music like a wizard brews potions.”

After Goose, Honi entered the studio and played drums. Johnny watched her with rapt attention. Honi attacked the drums with raw energy and enthusiasm. Johnny thought she was one hell of a drummer who also just naturally put on a good show. He liked what he was hearing, and loved what he saw.

The session went late into the night, and even at that they only got down five of the six tracks. Bones figured that was enough for a demo, and besides, he’d already gone over the allotted hours Gold had paid for.

Bones told Johnny to call him in a few days and he’d have a copy of the session for him. Since Gold paid for the time, he’d get the master. Johnny thanked him and picked up his acoustic. He left the electric with Terri, who could tell how hard it was for him to part with it. “Don’t worry. I suspect that you’ll be getting your own soon. Real soon.”

Johnny looked around and thanked everyone. He offered to take everyone out for drinks as a thank you. He didn’t have much money, but he had enough for that. Bones and Terri declined. She was tired, and he gave the impression that he wanted to work on the mix.

Goose grabbed Johnny’s shoulder and told him it was a pleasure working for him, but he had a gig to get to. Johnny looked at the clock on the wall. Its hands were creeping up on 2:00 a.m. “You got a gig this late?”

“In this town, there’s always a gig this late on a Friday. Especially if you got a bass. Hope to see you again, my man.”

“Well, I guess that just leaves me,” Honi said. “I could go for something to eat if that’s an option.”

Johnny was surprised that she was wanted to join him, and much more shocked that she was willing to do so alone.

“Oh, sure,” he said. “Is there anyplace still open around here.”

“Yeah, there’s a 24 hour place in Midtown. You know where BJ’s Hash House is?”

Johnny did.

“I’ll see you there.”

Johnny realized he was starving.

Part Nine will follow in the next installment.

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