The Unusual Jam

 

The local musicians hang out was called 'The Scab', but its real name was The XXX, named after a holy Egyptian icon resembling a lobster and/or a beetle. Strangely the name suits the place as there is nothing like it in the entire city: the bar is small, and the owner, a Croatian with the energy of an Olympic marathon runner and is the spitting image of Robert Deniro ( xxx is bald as the day he was born.)

What makes this bar iconic is no one is permitted to be unhappy, argue or cause the slightest bit of trouble...otherwise, they're out on their ear faster than three blinks of an eye. One feels safe in this place for poets, musicians, writers, and people who just want to have a good time without worrying about a drunken lout in a baseball cap. The XXX is a 'holy' place like the ancient Egyptian icon: a refuge from the everyday dangers of a Saturday night.

Shaun O'Connor is a prematurely bald 24-year-old guitarist and singer whose passion for music exceeds the power of his two young lovers – his love is music. We met on a sunny afternoon in front of a grocery store while he sang his heart out, attempting to make a little money. We had a small chat and sang an old "Who" song, "Behind Blue Eyes," together while a small crowd gathered and paid for the music with a few coins that they'd toss in his guitar case. He told me he played at the "Scab" every other Thursday and invited me to come along. Since then, we've been friends.

It then became a ritual for me to go to the 'Scab' every other Thursday night and support the old boy with whistles and applause.

Then it was only a matter of time that I, too, played and sang on 'jam' night every Thursday and began to meet other musicians who simply played for the love of it: our pay for playing was a free drink on the house.

Working on a story for many hours on that Thursday night, getting my weeks mixed up, I decided to travel down to the 'Scab' a see Shaun – wrong night; a young man was playing who had the voice of an angel. Disappointed that my Thursday's had been crossed, I sat down anyway and listened to this young man and became increasingly impressed with his adeptness on the guitar and the few original songs he played.

After the first set ended, I sauntered outside for the obligatory cigarette.

Soon later, the guitar player followed with a friend – they appeared vaguely familiar.

The air was cool, a cold night, as you could see your breath.

Out of the cold and smoke, the guitar player asked, "Aren't you, Mr. Middleton?"

As a semi-old brain does, it takes a little longer to connect the dots; then, the memories return. These two 'boys' (now men) were once my students back in 2003. I remembered that both were not meant for the classroom and played-up; great kid's anyway. We reminisced about the "old" days for a while, and "S" returned to the stage. Feeling like playing, I asked to do a song with them. I played the steel-string acoustic, and "S" grabbed the electric, and we managed to play a tune that the crowd enjoyed.

Later they told me they were about to embark on a country adventure, essentially singing for their supper: real traveling troubadours, performing, playing music, and seeing the country.

I felt there was something Real yet romantic about this goal; a medieval quest these boys were meant to do.

We bid our farewells, and I wished them luck as the night ended.

It is a bit strange meeting old students, not meant for the classroom, feeling lost (at the time) that they might have not learned much. But seeing them again after many years while lying in bed that night, I felt secure that they were on the right road: good, kind, respectful, artistic, and certainly headed for a few exciting adventures.

Sleep came easy that night.