It burst from the ooze and the mud of the delta, went through permutations, became electrified and then emerged once more on a Friday night in Manchester. No, I’m not referring to human civilisation, but blues music. Progressives have often slammed blues music, calling it outdated and primeval. It has even been called, god forbid, three chord simplicity. But I would argue it is high time that people accepted this simple fact – blues will not die.
Matt and Phred’s Jazz Club in the Northern Quarter hosted Franny Eubank’s Blues Band last Friday – and yes, they could definitely play. As my friend finished her pizza and we were having a chat; the band did their soundcheck, playing a jam for a few minutes to check that the amps were all in sync. All very relaxed, all very informal. But even just for the sound check, we couldn’t help but say to each other – shit. These guys are good.
The set showcased the virtuosity of the musicians. The bass drove many of the songs in an irresistible proto-funk groove, as perhaps best exemplified by their performance of Albert King’s ‘Born Under a Bad Sign’. The moment that unmistakeable classic riff came through the speakers, we knew it was going to be a good gig. The slide guitar also made an appearance, providing heartrending and powerful solos to a top quality rendition of Elmore James’ classic ‘It Hurts Me Too’. The guitarist then changed back to standard tuning to help provide low guitar lines to support the bass, and also to provide yet more captivating solos; so captivating that I couldn’t resist saying, ‘I wish I could play like that…’ Yet all of this felt inferior again to the impossibly cool lead singer; singing in deep dulcet tones these lyrics which have been sung so many times before, but giving them new power. Never before have the clichéd words of Muddy Waters’ ‘Hoochie Coochie Man’ sounded so good – and he knew it, swaggering round the stage in a suit, black hat and black sunglasses; while often hunched over the microphone to give another blasting harmonica solo. The Chicago blues had never sounded quite so alive, quite so relevant.
There was nothing to fault, and everything to praise. The drinks weren’t excessively expensive – although with a fiver entry, I couldn’t call it a cheap night – the food was delicious, but most of all; this fantastic venue kept this often maligned genre alive. And so this gig was a case in point – the blues will never die as long as people this talented are here to play it.
