|
Saturday Crowd Scenes:
p.V
|
T-Model!
by Joe CARNEY
"I can walk into any
room....and make a woman change her mind." The huge,
weathered hand of T-Model Ford squeezes my forearm, and I ponder his
promise as he fixes his gaze towards my
friend, Inga. He laughs a deep brown laugh
that rises all the way from the dirt farms in Greenville, Mississippi
to fill the room. He leans closer and whispers.
"But I wouldn't do you like that.
'Cause I know you wouldn't either." Thanks T-Model. T-Model is
seventy-six years old of pure blues man,
and proudly claims fatherhood to "twenty-six
living children." Most likely, he's done a few people "like
that" along the way. Here, though,
he is more grandfather / less predator, and
the room is his.We sit around a small, round table and T-Model
holds court.
He has just romped through
an hour long set with his drummer, Spam, but
T-Model will not let up. "Remember...women have a tree, but men
have THA' ROOT."
Root down, T-Model's
music oozes sex and violence. The man cannot stand without a
crutch, so he sits on stage grabbing and
pushing low moans from his star-shaped
Peavey. "This is my
black beauty."
Un-dat...aTTa...un...dat....un-DAT.
Spam rocks his six foot-five frame
and smacks the pearled snare. He waves a left hand to no one in
particular and chomps the other drumstick
in his mouth. Hell hound beat. T-Model
glares out from under his black fedora, riding the ONE-AND hard. The
riff builds with tension. The notes that
T-Model puts forth sound like lightning
being pushed through a keyhole. Energy that squeals and hangs in
the air and hits you in the heart and stomps
you good.
Feel sooo BAADDD.....Feel
like breakin' someone's arm.......
Yeah, this is a bad man. No feel good, Saturday night party here.
The set list:
I'm Insane-Can't Be Touched-Where You Been?-Let Me In Gangsta' rap to
the back of the line please. The crowd will be moved by force. The roof
moves voluntarily.
***
Backstage, T-Model shares his
smile. Stories are told. Threats are made.
Boasts thrown out. Gold tooth gleams a bite of truth. I am right next
to the man who is the last of the originals.
Folks who make the music that has made
them. Mississippi blues. American soul.
My dad tells me stories
about his uncles and cousins who emigrated from
Ireland. Matter of fact musicians, they would gather on weekends to
play their music for love in local kitchen
rackets. Fiddles, guitars, and whistles
would burn as midnight fuel. Lost sons conjuring up Celtic spirits.
My father sat at the feet
of these singers and dreamed of the rolling hills and
rivers in their songs. I've had these dreams too. I dream I'm in that
room. In those hills.
Today, I play music. I lean left
towards the blues, and listen now to T-Model
telling it. I wish that my great uncles, or cousins, or grandparents
(all were gone before my birth) were here.
The rivers have crossed.
"Nigger's goin' up a hill
one day. Goin' up that hill. Climbin'... climbin'
up. All day. Gets up there. Climbs to the top. The real top....Looks
down. From the top. In that valley....He sees one of
those man....white man."
"Like me, T-Model?"
"Yeah,......like you."
- . -
Twelve Bar Truths, Fall 1997.
*Ed. Note: Kitchen rackets
are once again in music community consciousness, as a reference
point for home concerts. There are some great local and regional
organizations dedicated to bringing musicians and audiences
together under familiar roofs. (Scott Alarik, In A Living Room Near
You, Boston Globe 3.15.01)
Boston Globe 3.15.01)
http://www.boston.com/globe/search/ and
http://www.houseconcerts.com/o3.htm
T-Model Ford, RL Burnside and other Mississippi
blues men are still on the road.
Their spirit is perpetuated on Fat Possum Records
http://www.fatpossum.com/tmodel.html
and by bands like 20 Miles
http://www.fatpossum.com/miles.html
and North Mississippi All-Stars.
http://www.tonecool.com/main.cfm
Special thanks to Inga
Larson for T-Model art work.
E-mail: carneyjoe@hotmail.com
|
