Beer Fest

The Beer Fest

Upon leaving the library, and retrieving the guitar which Scott Haney, (who is probably the best firemedic in all of Mobile,) had given me, I walked towards town, noticing that there were huge amounts of people milling about and participating in the "Beerfest."

I thought about the fact that I had just about no money at all, and that there were more people on the street than I had ever seen, and they were almost all white and looked like they had jobs. I resolved to go to my acoustical spot and do whatever I could with the Johnson guitar, even though the strings were compromised.

I tuned the thing to an open "A," which is what I did to the Johnson which got stolen, whenever I had to string it similarly.

I sat and played, totally sober. I played the Mississippi Delta Blues, as they are the only thing that I know to play in the "open A" tuning.

I was able to coax a decent sound out of the guitar. Someone came by and threw me a dollar. I thought briefly that it was a beer, and then pushed the thought out of my mind.

One dollar turned into more, and, by 8 pm., I had composed a song about Karrie, which fit into the Mississippi Delta Blues that I was playing, pretty well, actually. I guess those old pioneers of The Blues had experiences with hard drinking women who left them, to draw upon when creating the style of music...

One couple came by, and talked to me and asked me about the song. I started to tell them about Karrie, and they interupted me and told me to sing it, instead of speaking it. I continued the story, putting it to the blues. They gave me 20 bucks, and then another 5, after a particularly expository line, which rhymed, and, while I was playing for them, other people threw a few more dollars in my case.

I played the whole Beerfest sober, while people who weren't used to drinking a beer at every one of 12 different stops, walked by, trying to "handle it." I kept thinking about how safe the roadways were going to be that night.

I never once played a familiar song (though I had a couple requests for things like Led Zepplin and Sublime; and I had to explain about the unorthodox tuning) and I was up to about 55 bucks when the thing ended. At one point a girl gave me a plastic cup of Chardonnay. It was the first drink that I had had in 3 days.

I took a break, and went off to drink a fine expensive beer, which I didn't like.

(left) Robert Johnson "King of the Mississippi Delta Blues"

The Beerfest was over, but the night wasn't. I went to play some more, conscious of the work ethic which demands more than 2 hours of work from an individual, in order for him to expect to survive. I ended up making 80 bucks, with a guitar which was mis-strung, and tuned to the Mississippi Delta Blues tuning.

By the end of the night, I had vastly improved my playing in that particular genre, also, and am ready to challenge Ben, the ambulance driver, for the title of "King of the Mississippi Delta Blues in Mobile."

I Perpetrate A Fraud

After I layed down that night, with my guitar strap wrapped around my backpack, which I use for a pillow, I hatched a scheme in my sleep, in order to get back at whoever stole my last guitar.

I showed up at The Coffee Club, and was asked the inevitable question: "You got your guitar back?"

This was what I was waiting for. I put my scheme into action.

I said: "Yeah, I got it back. The idiot who stole it just happened to sell it to one of my best friends, who was my cellmate for about 8 months. Yeah, I ran into him and he asked me what was up,and I told him that my guitar got stolen. He brought out my guitar and said 'Is this it?,

and I said , 'Yeah, that's it..."

"He told me that he was going to take care of the guy who stole it from me in his 'own way...'"

I am pretty sure that I know who stole my guitar, judging by the scared looks on a couple of faces. It was one of the few times that I've seen black guys turn white.

Free Coffee And Strings

Sunday, I woke up with about 64 bucks on me, and went towards town. I was hoping to be in time for the breakfast at 15 Place, though, I was debating upon wheather or not to eat. I still hadn't had much solid food since my guitar got stolen on Tuesday morning.

I arrived at 15 Place, and had enough sense to go around the side of a building before lighting a cigarette. I didn't feel like dealing with those "on the mooch," and didn't have any sarcastic replies which I wasn't tired of using already.

Once around the side of the building, I was talking to a lady about her multiple brain surgeries, when, her husband showed up, with a cup of coffee and told me where to go to get my own free cup of coffee. I had been considering spending 2 bucks at Serda's for one, but I was reluctant to. I still didn't feel rich enough, with my 64 bucks, to do that.

The Church On Sunday

I found the "free coffee spot" to be none other than a church, where a service of some sort was in progress.

I walked in and asked around for the coffee. Once I got my cup, I sat down and listened to someone preach upon Acts 15:11, which was about being saved.

A man asked to see me in a back room, and to bring my guitar with me. I followed him to a room, wondering if he was a cop about to arrest me for stealing my own guitar. He asked me to play. I did. He told me that I had the spirit of a musician, and that they (musicians) were not like other people and that he could tell when I walked in the place, that I was different (but still liked coffee).

He gave me a set of strings, after I made excuses before I played about the condition of my strings. And he gave me a peg winder, to wind strings quickly with.

I Trade Up

I'm sure that when Scott gave me the Johnson guitar, he was doing so, in order that I could make the best of whatever I could out of it.

This morning, I took it to the pawn shop and traded it, along with 20 dollars, for a Yamaha guitar, which is similar to the one which I got more than two years ago, when I became a street musician. The intonation problem with the Johnson was a mystery to me, and probably one which would require expensive adjustments by guitar technicians with their proprietary allen wrenches. The Yamaha had good intonation. After agreeing that I could take my Elixir strings (which the guy at the church had given me) off of the Johnson and put them on the Yamaha, I gave him the 20 bucks and left with a Yamaha, strung with Elixirs. I think it is probably the best setup which I have had yet.

That's about it for now. Today is Monday. Tonight is open mic at The Garage. I might go there and play, but, not before first trying out the Yamaha thoroughly.

I would like to thank all of those who came to my aid in my crisis of having my livelyhood stolen from me while I slept.

I think some other people had gotten guitars for me, and they may even give them to me yet. Someone mentioned cleaning out a storage unit at U-Haul, which might contain a guitar, which he will give to me, if it is there. If it is a 1949 Martin guitar, then I will donate the Yamaha to charity...