Beale Street Blues

Our plan for the evening in Memphis was the Rock n' Soul Museum, drinks at the Peabody, and dinner somewhere they were playing music. We got on the trolley around 5 , heading south on Main Street. I have to give a shout out to Sarah Fisher, who is not only my great friend and one of my three loyal readers, but a future city planner and transportation expert. She likes electric trolleys (and other forms of good transport), so I was happy to inform her about the resurrection of downtown Memphis' trolleys. Most of the system was ripped up sometime in the first half of the last century but before they could get rid of all of it, someone thought that it might be a good idea to actually put it to use. So there are three lines left, mostly used by tourists and folks getting around during their lunch hours. Not a revolution by any means, but an example of alternative transport that works.We got off at Beale Street with a bunch of Elvis fans and found the museum. When I come back to Memphis, I will go to the Southern Folklore Museum (you in, David?) and the Gibson guitar factory, both of which failed to make the cut this time around. I'll also have to go back to the Rock n' Soul Museum because we got kicked out when it closed, and I was only about halfway through the exhibits. It is nearly impossible to describe a museum in words but let me just say that this place was like the Louvre of American music in the mid-century. From country and blues, to rock and roll, they described the evolution of the new musical forms of the 1950's and their relationship to the social movements of the same time. White folks got involved with black music and eventually we got Rock n' Roll. Elvis was a white guy who could play black music and the kids of the time felt like this new sound was their own. There was actually a T-shirt in the gift shop that said something to the effect of "Without the cooperation of the indignation of the parents, rock n roll might not have survived...". Sam Phillips, founder of Sun Records, said that. Anyway, it was a great museum and I'm even more hooked on the music than I was before.

Next we had good southern drinks at the Peabody Hotel, a beautiful old building that was going to be torn down in the 50's before a group of local residents' outrage prevented its destruction. Back on Beale Street, we found BB King's Blues Club, that had a live blues band playing. They were charging a $3 cover which at first seemed like a rip-off tourist-trap kind of move, but I later decided it was their way of keeping those who were not actually interested in hearing good music out, ie the Elvis fanatics. And boy was that $3 ever worth it. We got a table off to the side of the stage and ordered beers and barbeque. I had the best pulled pork sandwich of my life, all the while listening to Blind Mississippi Mark's blues band. Mark, I imagine, was the well-dressed older black man wearing sunglasses and sitting in the center of the stage singing and playing the harmonica. Three white guys flanked him on bass, guitar, and set. The guitarist looked a bit like he may have walked out of my father's chemistry lab that afternoon; he wore black jeans, a plaid short-sleeved collared shirt and white sneakers. But this guy had serious chops. Mark sang like a true bluesman, head toward the ceiling swaying back and forth, feet stomping the beats. Thats the thing about Blues players- they play their instruments with their entire bodies. Their set ended and we hung out while the next guys set up. Dad wanted Mark to keep playing but I saw brass cases and knew the next set would be just as good. The BB King All-Stars took the stage about an hour later and they were incredible. Louder than Dad would have liked but fantastic. The 'sisters' at the table next to us were dancing up a storm, while the boring white European kids on our other side barely cracked grins. I had a blast. Then the "Princes of Beale Street" joined them and did an Aretha set. Chain of Fools and Think back-to-back. My two favorites. Growing up going to my sister Camille's apartment in Providence, we would cook and listen to Aretha Franklin records. I have a strong memory of sitting on her floor in front of a wooden bookcase where the stereo was, singing 'Respect'. We left about an hour later, with souvenir glasses, and headed back to the hotel feeling great. Beale Street had an energy about it that I am certain is rare. I imagine it's a little like Austin, and that makes me happy.