Thursday, January 03, 2008


Make a Deal with the Devil

“The Blues IS Life.”
-Brownie Mc Ghee

Happy New Year, Toads and Toadettes,

Out in the frozen upper southern Midwest, the toad pond is…well…frozen. What did you expect, bunky? Central heat in a pond? Heated “water features” are only available to seminary patrons in California. The rest of us have to make do with Velicoff® vodka (available in stylish 1.5 liter jugs) and episodes of “Real Desperate Housewives” to stay warm. No trickle down at this level of the ecclesiastical food chain, boys and girls. The cheery warming glow of the Grey Goose effect is confined to the Olympian reaches of the church where the mystique of the episcopacy remains very well-preserved. Rawk, rawk, rawk!*

So at the outset of a bright new year, the Toad is lounging about in his smoking jacket, a chilled glass of Velicoff® with a twist of lemming in hand, pondering the target list for the year upcoming, and we have to say that the field is a rich one indeed. Fraudsters, fakers, fools and outright felons are in abundance, and the ordinary buffoonery of presumptuous prelates already has the Hubrisometer (pat. pending) redlined.

But, it’s still Christmas, and what passes for charity in the Toad has not yet subsided, so the flame still is burning on low, largely fueled by Velicoff®. (How do they make a profit on this stuff $7.99 a gallon?) And, the Toad, himself, is not unaffected by the downward emotions that follow on the holidays. After a vigorous New Years round of Bite the Head Off the Bishop (a little divertissement we’ll address in another column), and a little more Velicoff® brand vodka, the Toad got out his blues collection and cranked up the Victrola for the annual end-of-year depression fest.

Following 24-hours of high-volume blues-musing and several visits from the local constabulary and an amphibious film crew from COPS, the Toad began to write a script for the ultimate blues movie. That is until he found out there already is one. The Crossroads…a proposed animated blues film based on the legend that Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil to become a great blues musician. The struggle of the movie revolves around the lucky mojo above and the soul of a man. Lucky mojo! Wow, that’s even better than Velicoff® in the economical demi-tanker size!

Here’s the plot, boys and girls. Two up and coming blues bands meet at the International Blues Challenge in Memphis (which is sort of near St. Louis) to compete for the best blues band award. It turns out the bands know, and can't stand, one another. They performed a few times at blues festivals and got into fights, and by chance they both wind up at the Memphis contest and decide to settle the score.

Before you know it, the bands are spying on each other and eavesdropping on conversations…and then they both overhear something that sets their souls on fire... two old bluesmen get into a hell of an argument whether or not Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil... they're both stone drunk and start yelling at each other, “Did So! - Did Not! - Did So! - Did Not!...”
The Toad was devastated. A great plot, the blues, fighting among the bands playing the same music, the devil all wrapped up in an animated format. And the Toad thought he was the only cartoon character hereabout! Rawk, rawk, rawk!*

Lubricated with ample quantities of Velicoff® (Toads tend to dry out at this time of year) and after a hearty meal of Cheeze Whiz® and Saltines® (you were expecting flies?), the Toad sat down to pen his own version of the best blues movie ever done, replete with cartoon characters, or, at least vagante clergy and purported seminary deans.

Here’s the new plot, boys and girls. Our scene opens in St. Louis, a bastion of the blues and home of W.C. Handy, Louis Armstrong, Bessie Smith…well, you get the picture.
A whole bunch of Episcopalians be suffering from the Dipping Women Torn Up Ol’ Prayerbook Blues. They are bluer than blue, ‘cept maybe the hair on a bunch of them. There on the banks of the Big River, weighed down with woe, they start the Original, Original Province St. Louis Blues Band Contest. It’s dedicated to playing the old tunes, the real tunes, the familiar tunes, and there’s only supposed to be one band.

But, that ain’t the way of the blues, and it sho’ ‘nuff ain’t the way of the St. Louis Blues. Sorry, the Toad slipped into Blues vernacular. Like Blues authority, DJ Kool Karl says, “You don't have to write Blues songs in Ebonics, but it helps.” It must have been the Velicoff® talking—that and the Blues.

So, here we, go. We done got a big crowd full of the little "b" blues out on old St. Louis (they'd never use a big "B"), and they want one band to fire up playing their favorite tunes, and they set up a bunch of band leaders: James, Dale and Robert. What kind of blues names are those? Blues names for men are Joe, Willie, Joe-Willie, Little Willie, Big Willie, Blind Willie, Blind Joe, Muddy, and Leroy. James, Dale and Robert can’t sing the Blues no matter how many men they shoot in Memphis.

I mean if you want to sing the blues you need a good Blues singer’s name. First take the name of a physical infirmity (Blind, Cripple, Lame) Then add the name of a fruit (not that kind of fruit real fruit-Lemon, Melon, Cherry). Then tack on the last name of a President (Johnson, Jefferson, and the like). You can even use an ecclesiastical title, preferably Deacon or Bishop (see, e.g. Elvin Bishop). Blind Deacon Washington, or Leroy “Little Bishop” Jefferson are kickin’ blues names. You can gather ‘round names like that.

Then there were audience problems. While St. Louis has always been one of the best Blues cities in the world, these were just not people with a right to sing the Blues. “Who, Toad,” you may ask, “does have the right to sing the Blues?”

According to DJ Kool Karl, soon to be named an archdeacon and dean of the East St. Louis Catholic Orthodox Anglican Seminary and Embalming School (Original Province) says, you can sing the blues if: You older than dirt, You blind, You "shot a man in Memphis", You "can't get no satisfaction", You a "Back Door Man", You named your guitar after your ex-wife who left you for your best friend. (Ok, many in the audience fit the bill.) But you can’t if, You have all your teeth, You "once was blind but now can see", The man in Memphis lived, You have a 401K or trust fund, or you “amicably left your wife for another man having discovered your true sexuality”. Heck, you can’t sing the blues if you left anyone and a razor was not involved.

Even worse, there were few Blues-appropriate beverages like Ripple, Rye Whiskey or Bourbon, Muddy Water, nasty black coffee, Old Style beer or Velicoff® vodka in the 1.5 liter size. You ain’t gonna’ make it drinking Perrier, chardonnay, Grey Goose Vodka, “The Glenlivet” or anything with “glen” in it, Bombay gin, or any kind of imported beer.

They even had the wrong transportation. Blues transportation is a Greyhound bus or a southbound train. Blues cars are Chevys, Fords, Cadillacs and broken down pickup trucks. Jet aircraft and company cars ain't even in the running. Blues don't travel in BMW’s, Mercedes or Sport Utility Vehicles. This was not looking good.

But, maybe it was the place that overcame the Blues odds. Pretty soon the one band was three or four, and then twenty, and then…well…there’s a new one in every garage. And the big three or four bands, well they began to talk about just who had made that deal with the devil, and who might be a “backdoor man”. Yeah, they make it to a few blues festivals (they play St. Louis a couple of times, some burg called Bartonville, Deerfield Beach for the spring break crowd, and a small venue called Fond du Lac), but they always be gettin’ in fights. And drink? They proved that if you just drink enough chardonnay, Grey Goose Vodka, anything with “glen” in it, or Bombay gin you can have chops like Blind Lemon Jefferson.

Trouble was, these self-proclaimed bluesmen never really got the Blues themselves. They sang something that sounded like them, but the audience only came away with the little “b” blues. Maybe it was the clothes. No one will believe it’s the real Blues if you wear a suit, 'less you happen to be an old ethnic person and you slept in it... for two weeks...in a Greyhound Bus station. The best clothes for the blues is torn overalls, or a prison uniform, and, of course you should be wearing a cool Blues hat. But these guys dressed for the show in coordinated natty purple shirts, and purple gloves and purple socks and lots and lots of lace. Either there was pimpin’ going on, they actually were the Rondelles or they was the “other woman” somebody shot in Memphis. Maybe it was all three. Something in the script just wasn’t right.

But, then more traditional Blues patterns emerged. There was lyin’, cheatin’, adultery, stealin’, fightin’, fakin’, posin’, adultery, guns, liquor, cursin’, prison and, of course, adultery. Man, it’s like that song Aretha sings, “Who's zoomin' who, take another look, tell me baby…Who's zoomin who...oh…”

But, in the end, it resonates with The ViceBishops’ (yes, that’s their name) tune, “the party's over And the guests are gone You know it's time to be movin' on.” After all, the real Blues is the thing. Fake Blues on an air guitar don’t float the boat. And, the audience is flat tired of hearing who made a deal with the devil.

Sorry, boys and girls, it’s just the Velicoff® talking.

So the Toad will close this New Year’s reverie with B.B. King’s Actions Speak Louder Than Words. It pretty well sums up the state of things Blues-wise, authority-wise and just plain people-wise. Ponder the lyrics.

And, if you don’t know of B.B. King, bunky, you should immediately: tear up your application to on-line seminary, drink a 1.5 liter bottle of Velicoff® brand vodka wrapped in a paper bag, sleep in a black suit for the next two weeks, and move to St. Louis. You’ll thank the Toad…really. Happy New Year, pally. Rawk, rawk, rawk!*

Yr. Obed. Serv.,

Roy Aldous Toad, DD-VS (Very Specious), LSMFT, D.Phil. (Carolina Coast University); B.A. (summa cum laude)(Southern States University)
Bluesman Extraordinaire
*The Sound of One Toad Barking

Actions Speak Louder Than Words-B.B. King

You won't listen to nothing I tell you, baby
You keep on doing just as you please
Hey, you won't do nothing I tell you, baby
Keep on doing as you please
I've taken as long as I can, baby
When is this foolishness gonna cease

I've worried myself crazy, baby
Cried both night and day
I said I've worried myself crazy, baby
Cried both night and day
You don't believe me, baby
But I'm gonna leave one of these days

Well, you told me that you love me
But actions speak louder than words
Oh, you said you love me, baby
But action speaks louder than words
I won't be fooled no longer, baby
That line everybody's heard

Well, If you're gonna change, baby
You better do it real soon
Hey, If you're gonna change
For the better, baby
You better do it real soon
Because you'll wake up one of these mornings
Find yourself in a empty room.