reg e gaines

Bluesicians Blues

(for Gil Scott-Heron)

Sounds of Brazil

West Houston & Varick

January 15

1-9-9-4

About to open for

Gil Scott-Heron

Head down to the greenroom

Knock on the door

Voice coughs says enter

I’m taken aback

Gray hairs in his beard

Glass pipe and some crack

Introduce myself

Though he’s occupied says

“Don’t do this much”

Yet eyes rarely lie

Unsure if I’m more

Shocked-Shakened or Sad

His limbs quite thin

Pale cheeks sunken so bad

When a fat rock drops

Then rolls on the floor

I turn disillusioned

Shut the drab door

The bass player Tree

Looks as stunned as me

Barely believing

The sight we see

This genius Bluesician

Pipe in hand

Blowing white smoke

While the rest of the band

Seems to ignore

What is blowing my mind

As a voice from above

Tells us it’s time

Besides confusion

I’m nervous as hell

Tree says forget it

Why sweat it

Don’t dwell

We step on stage

To the sound of applause

Tree thumbs some funk

Sets the groove

Then hits pause

Gill Scott is standing there

Staring us down

Can’t tell if his face

Has a smile or a frown

He listens a little

Leaves just like that

Gray in his ‘Fro

Under black Kangol cap

Sees us right after says

He is inspired

Eyes glazed in a haze

Frame fractured

Brain wired

But the moment they mention

Gil Scott's name

The drug fueled persona's

No longer the same

The band sounds so smooth

As Gil sings his blues

Dare I to judge

When I can't fill his shoes

Like Malcolm-Coltrane

Gil’s left his mark

Helping folks fight their way

Out of the dark

Blessed lessons learned

When I knocked on that door

January 15

1-9-9-4-

Reminded Then Rewinded

Coltrane’s cover of

My Favorite Things

is placed in braindead rotation

on our family stereo

the day it’s released in

March 1961

demanding undivided attention

it soothes our senses

while seizing our souls

sampled from

The Sound Of Music

a hit Broadway musical

of which I knew nothing

Trane’s modal interpretation

ignites my imagination

I soon learn to scat his

scintillating solos by heart

often humming the melody

while falling asleep

even now

when hearing soprano saxophone

I’m reminded

then rewinded

back to those

memorable moments...

a few years later

Our 5th grade class

goes to Radio City Music Hall

to see the film version of

The Sound Of Music

still not connecting the dots

I’m shocked

when a blond hair woman

pops up on the screen

propped up in this bed

singing to a group of children

she’s not only stolen

Trane’s song

but added lyrics

which make zero sense

I am quietly confused

while deeply disappointed

the following day

our class is tasked with

writing reviews of the movie

I imagine my imagery

is a bit too much

for the teacher’s taste

She gives me a

B Minus

citing my remarks about

the short hair blonde woman’s

soulless voice

as the reason why

I want to cry

instead

I hum the head of

Coltrane’s My Favorite Things

as I pimp stroll out of the classroom

hand held to heart

middle finger fully extended