His name is Dave
May 29, 2006
Please indulge me for a minute.
Dave Therault was in the house that
day, too, working his magic.
His style is seasoned, strong, well
defined. He’s got the rep. He packs a powerful stage
presence. Only God knows why he lives here, in our midst.
You can buy him a beer. He’s approachable. He’s
likable. He’s made of flesh and bones just like
the rest of us.
Dan Todd once told me, matter of
factly, that Dave Therault is arguably the greatest living
harp player in the world. Dan doesn’t say things
he doesn’t mean.
I do know this. If there’s
untapped energy anywhere in this community it’s
hiding in the vacuum of Dave Therault’s unrecorded
legacy. If you’ve heard Magic, you’ve heard
him live.
To his fellow harp players, Dave
Therault is a god. But make no mistake about it, the man
is mortal.
He’s mortal the way Little
Walter was mortal. But unlike Little Walter, Magic Dave
has yet to leave his mark on vinyl, tape or plastic for
his fans to cherish and hold for better or worse from
this day forward.
Next time you see him, ask for his
CD. (He doesn’t have one.) Express disbelief. (Then,
wait and see what happens.)
That’s about all you can do
unless you happen to have a spare 5K hanging around. The
rest is up to Dave.
It’s scary to think about,
though.
What if the Chicago blues scene had
fallen asleep during Little Walter’s watch? We can’t
let that happen here in Colorado Springs.
There must be a fan out there somewhere
who’s willing to pull out their 18 carat gold Mont
Blanc pen and write the little bald bastard a check payable
to a legitimate recording studio.
Back to the party.
There was a lyric writing contest
for high school students.
Entries were received. A winner was
named. And the winner’s lyrics were put to music
and performed, live on stage, by the heart and soul of
Colorado Blues, George Whitesell and his band, Metro Blues.
It was an inspired connection to
make with our community. What a wonderful gift to embrace
the creative spirit unfolding in our next generation of
blues musicians. George, you’re cool.
For me, the day was a perfect example
of what the blues is all about. When you give expression
to your feelings through music, it resonates with your
soul. It felt good. I sat down in a folding chair. I closed
my eyes. I let it all sink in.
Music, expressed through the blues,
is a river that carries us through our lives. It helps
move us through the hills and valleys of our feelings.
It opens our capacity to be in full flower.
As the day’s events unfolded,
Amy and Carrie were rewarded with the affections of a
crowd driven to frenzy. As the two of them accepted formal
recognition for their contribution, the air was filled
with shouts of "Blues Mama’s!", heralding
these strong and generous women for their work.
It was a tough and demanding year.
There were growing pains, as can be expected in a newly
forming organization.
But at the end of their first year,
The Pikes Peak Blues Community has a growing list of sponsors
and partnerships. Grant money. Respect from the media.
Working relationships with live music venues. Active volunteers.
Donors. Best of all, a grateful membership.
T-shirts, CD’s, a blues photo
exhibit, a silent auction, a food and refreshments concession.
There I was, weaving my way through the crowd of musicians
and fans, soaking up a full measure of the blues. I put
it all in a mental blender and set it on puree. Nectar
of the Gods.
Late in the afternoon, Amy and Carrie
kicked everybody out of the building for a couple of hours
while their volunteer crew set up for the evening's headliner,
Debbie Davies.
Debbie Davies earned her chops playing
with Albert Collins and Jimmy Vaughn and Double Trouble
and other Texas blues luminaries. Texas blues can’t
fully be defined without the sound of Debbie Davies.
When the doors reopened, I took my
seat in the front row, smack dab in the center. Jake Loggins
was holding down the other side of my table. The crowd
was buzzing.
When some of the tables around us
started to surrender their spots to make a dance floor,
Jake and I held our ground. How often do you get the chance
to count the number of stitches in Debbie Davies cowboy
boots?
Jake and I were sitting closer to
Debbie than her own drummer.
We were so close that when we looked at the band, the
band looked back.
How can you resist falling in love
when Debbie Davies walks her way down the fret and into
your heart while you’re making eye contact with
her?
The piano player was from another
planet. Some cat named Roy.
He played the keyboard like 88 tuned drums. Blew me away.
The retro looking dude on bass was
a funk master. His grooves were punchy and strong. He
and the drummer drove every line with authority. No shrinking
violets here. These guys owned the stage. And, Debbie
Davies owned the room.
They kicked out all the stops.
The first time you see a legend in
person, it’s unforgettable. You can read about it.
You can play a CD. But until you’re in the same
room with it, it doesn’t belong to you.
If you were there, you know what
I mean. Debbie Davies climbed inside you and set up house.
It’s a wonderful thing that
you do for yourself when you listen to live music. You
get to make that final connection between the artist and
their gift. It's a patch cord to your soul.
After the break, Debbie burned through
a blistering display of finger and fret gymnastics. Just
when you thought the air was completely sucked out of
the room, she called for Erica Brown, Denver’s sensational
blues diva, to join her on the stage.
The audience came out of their chairs.
Erica Brown was on fire. Her performance
was jaw dropping. Debbie’s band got into it. The
room got into it. I’m sure the walls are still warm
from it. Standing ovation.
After the applause died down and
Erica handed the stage back, Debbie stepped up to the
mic and said, "I understand there were some younger
players up here on stage earlier today. Are any of them
still here?"
There was a momentary hush, I almost
jumped out of my seat.
"Yes, right here!", I shouted.
"Jake, get up there, dude!"
The crowd went nuts. Jake looked
stunned.
Jake feigns, "I don’t
have my guitar."
Debbie says, "Then you’ll
just have to play one of mine."
Jake looked like somebody just threw
him into a big pile of women’s underwear. He gets
up, shaking his head, doing his awe shucks routine, ambles
across the dance floor and steps up on stage.
Debbie Davies is smiling.
Jake straps on Debbie’s robin’s
egg blue Fender.
He plugs in.
Then, from the crowd, a female voice
rises above the din.
"I love you, Jake!"
Jake steps up to the mic as he finishes
adjusting his strap,
"I love you, too, Mom."
The crowd erupts. Cheering. Screaming.
Debbie Davies laughs warmly. She
steps up and says, "It’s really nice when your
family comes out to support you like this."
Jake smiles, steps back to the mic
and says, "They’re all my family."
Cheers. Applause. More shouts from
the audience.
"We love you, too, Jake."
The crowd is on their feet. I see
a few wet eyes.
Cameras are flashing.
Jake’s guitar never sounded
sweeter.
Earlier in the day, Jake had leveled
the playing field with his buddy, Jeremy Vasquez and their
band of fellow young-bloods.
Despite their young age, Jake and
Jeremy have spent a lifetime building the musical bridge
from dreams to dreams-come-true.
This was their day, too. And deservedly
so. These guys are in love with what they do. And, because
of that, so are we.
As I get older, I value the boy in
me; that part of my character that writes his own rules,
sets his own bedtimes and does what he feels like. It
keeps me young. I’ve let go of the idea that somebody
else is to blame for me not getting my needs met. I’m
even thinking about buying myself a set of drums.
I’ve come to understand that
each of us has the capacity to experience life at the
highest level.
Just dust off your dreams.
Go for it. Live it. Become your dream.
That’s the way it works. It’s not a dream
at all. It’s your truth. When you live your truth,
it feels great to be alive. It feels even better when
you’re surrounded by people who feel exactly the
same way.
Hey, hey. The blues is alright.
-Bill Miller
