If I died at age 67 I'd have missed one of the great evenings of my life. Before this night, I was at best an agnostic sliding towards atheism, but after what I experienced, I think there must be a God because he smiled down on me and even though that probably shows he has some bad taste, I can't thank him enough.
Let me try to recount this night that dazzled me.
My "mate" the urbane Irish Joe is a boss at the famed River Palace. He had invited me to a private special concert to see Eric Bell and his band; a bass player, a drummer, and Eric on guitar and vocals. Eric was the lead guitarist of the band, Thin Lizzie. The show was held in a small, intimate, downstairs room. On one side is a long bar running almost the full length of the room. The rest of the room is filled with tables for dining sprinkled around a ground level stage.
It has a magnificent sound system.
There were about 50 people in the audience, many notables in attendance. Joe introduced me around. I love meeting people. I put into good use what I learned from my bartending days; if you greet people with a smile, they smile back. To borrow from Neil Diamond's Song Sung Blue, "...all of a sudden they're feeling good, they simply got no choice..." I ramp that up a little by trying to mix in a little humor and a friendly hand shake. The smile works as effectively as a yawn. You know how infectious yawns are. Sometimes, the humor falls dead to the ground with a ugly thud. But that has never stopped me.
I met Ciro Orsini, a little, full of life guy dressed in somewhat like hippy clothes. I noticed he had rings on all his fingers including his thumbs...expensive rings. I asked him if he was a musician. He replied no he owned Italian restaurants. He gave me his card. It listed 10 locations all over the world, I mean everywhere, with 10 more soon to open.
I told him I'm was from California. He said he had a restaraunt in Bel Air. I replied, "An Italian restaurant in Bel Air. That's a wonderful area. You know Ciro, I used to be Italian"
That puzzled him until I explained that shit happens.
I met a couple of musicians. The tall one had two of his CD's in hand. Later Joe told me he's the lead singer in his band. His wife is the daughter of Ukraine's prime minister. The smaller one is a guitar player in the band. They are both handsome young men.
I told these two musicians that I play piano. I said, "They call me to play when they want to clear the room." We all laughed at that.
I met Ray the talent coordinator for the Club. He is a tall well dressed English chap, quite pleasant, friendly and focused. He said that Steven Seagal was to show up there and jam with Eric, but he had just arrived from the states and was dead to the world with jet lag, etc.
I didn't know the Steven Seagal was a highly talented guitar player. He has his own band. Eric said he talked Steven into briefly showing up at the River Palace for some photo ops, but he was too beat to play.
I told Ray and Joe that I wanted to meet Steven because 20 years ago, my son in law, Sean was a pupil at his dojo in Hollywood. Sean and my beautiful daughter Ramsey used to visit him and his then wife, Kelly Le Brock at their ranch in Santa Barbara.
I arrived at the nightclub at 10 pm and ordered dinner. The anticipation was high for Steven Seagal. At 11 Joe tells me that Steven Seagal arrived. He was sitting, wedged in a corner near the exit with a beautiful Asian lady at his right.
I watched with Joe as about 10 people were ushered through the narrow aisle to sit next to Steven for photos. Steven sat with his arms folded, never speaking to the person posing with him. He looked unhappy. He was scowling at the camera. Joe was with me for a while but decided it was too much of a hassle to even get near the guy, too crowded, too many (I quote a Mick Jagger song,) "Star Fuckers." Joe left.
Not me, I am resolute, besides I felt sorry for the guy. It was like his head was elsewhere, and the lady on his right looked bored and unhappy.
All of a sudden it was over. No more photos! There were three or four people shooting pictures, but the main photographer was leaving. Steven had enough. He got up to leave, his lady dutifully following behind him. He was wedging his way out the narrow aisle, the trail that everyone walked to get to him.
Well, dear reader, guess who was blocking that aisle? That's right. Yours truly. I had been pushed back, back, but now there was an opening. I sliced in like OJ going through a hole during his football days. I stopped Steven halfway through his exit. This is a big guy or was he standing on a ledge that I couldn't see?
Hey, I'm big guy, 6' 2" ok, maybe I shrunk a bit, but he towered over me. He must be at least 6' 5" and wide. I was shocked at his size. Jeez, what was I in for? A boot to the head???
I don't think Ray, the affable talent coordinator, was happy with my intervention. Steven seemed to be glaring at someone... me?
Now, I know that only a few of you have read all my entries to this blog. Please understand that I'm really writing a non fiction book of my life. When I get to some ugly parts about me and the women in my life, I'll probably call it " My Confessions" Suffice to say that today I'm a humanitarian who loves people and wants to be loved...probably because a love of my life hates me.
"Steven" I say, looking up at him. "Remember in 1990 you had the dojo on La Cienaga? My son in law, Sean Dawson was one of you students"
Well after a split second, his face lit up. He said, "Sure I remember Sean...and Ramsey. How are they?" Where do they live now?"
We conversed about Sean and Ramsey for a bit. He remembered that Sean was a black belt. He introduced me to the beautiful Asian lady explaining to her about his dojo back then, etc. I gave her the big smile and shook her hand. Of course she smiled back. We were all happy.
Meanwhile, Ray went and found the main photographer and to my glee, we had some pictures taken. I can't wait to see them. I was told they will be in a magazine somewhere. I'll post the photos when I receive them. I'm anxious to see if Steven is still glaring at the camera. After all, he is an action adventure star.
When I said to Steven, "Ramsey and Sean love you , Steven".
He said he also loved them. Then he said wistfully, "I wish I married Ramsey!!"
I said, "
I wish you married Ramsey. Then I'd be your father-in-law!"(
Dear Sean,I never meant that. I love you. You are a wonderful husband to Ramsey. A super dad to the boys. It was a bad joke. Bite my freaking tongue) Our pleasant meeting was ending. I enthusiastically shook his massive hand. And as Steven and his lady passed by me he said in his movie voice, "Tell them to keep in touch."
Dear reader, Steven left a lot happier than he was before I jumped into the fray. I felt good about the whole thing, like Mother Teresa probably felt...before she died.
But that was only one part of this fabulous evening, a warm up to the incredible talent that I witnessed from no more than ten feet away. I talking about Eric Bell. This guy is fantastic, amazing, not to be believed. He came on at midnight and played non stop for 90 minutes. He sings in a high voice, his tonal inflection perfectly suited for the blues songs he performed. But it's his guitar playing that continued to blow me away. With every song he offered something different. He could make that instrument sound like train whistles, or human cries, weeping and suffering. But he didn't just play the blues. He could pound out Rock and Roll like you wouldn't believe. On some songs he used a slide on his fourth finger and still managed incredible riffs with his other fingers.
The guy is sixty years old and he repeatidly electrified the audience. What a talent! God blessed him with those fingers. I've been to many concerts. I can't imagine anyone playing any better. He played all different styles. Each song was the best of the set. How can that be? I swear to that same God that made him, he is the right handed, white, Jimi Hendrix...still with us.
His bass player and drummer blended beautifully with him.
What a night to remember. I have goose bumps writing this. Was he greatly inspired to perform this way? Is this his normal talent, just another concert?
Anyway, I have to go and burn my guitar.
After the concert, Joe introduced me to Eric. I was raving to him. When he asked me how I liked the concert. I replied with great enthusiasm, "How did I like it? For Christ sake, I peaked 23 times!" He said, "You should have peaked 24 times!" He is a better musician than a comedian, although I almost fell over with laughter." What a talent!
Now it was about 2 am so I headed upstairs to the casino for a little blackjack. And to top off the evening,
I won $365.00. And now I'll sit here and relive it all over again and again and again (
repeat and fade)
