The Blues & The Convert

In the winter, Fernie is a town in unexpected surprises.

A musician friend visited Fernie for the first time last weekend. Friday evening started out casual and rolled into overdrive late with John’s discovery of Sonny Rhodes, the Texas Tornado, holding a late night court at the Royal.

A little after dark, we wandered down Victoria to the Brick House for dinner and jazz. An unknown, the Barrel Stove Jazz Quartet was on the boards for the evening. While I’d finished up at the office, John window shopped the town and during his perusing, found a poster in the window of Scapegoat Pizza promoting the noted blues musician Sonny Rhodes at the Royal later in the evening. Sonny Rhodes in Fernie? A little stop in a big guy’s tour. (The next day, it was the only poster I found in town. And I looked high and low, curious how I could miss his coming to town.)

The Brick House was predictably fine. The Barrel Stove Jazz Quartet mixed it up on the downbeat with flute, sax, percussion, keyboards and guitar. More than proficient, the tone reminded me of the highly trained taking a break and getting loose together. Just jam. Forget Bach, Beethoven and sheet music. Jam. Reminded me of my one and only music appreciation class. A “classic music� appreciation class. The first piece Rob played was “Take Five� with the Dave Brubeck quartet. He took the piece apart in terms of 5/4, counter beats, counter melodies, and placed the piece in a very classic context. At the same time, he converted a classroom of skeptical listening students into a classroom of very attentive and interested students. This was music. This is music. It’s all music.

The Barrel Stove Jazz Quartet dropped out of the same mold. Great stuff.

The Sonny Rhodes poster said the doors opened at 11:30 for the Sonny Rhodes late open seating show, so we wandered down and ambled in the door of the Royal. $5. Cheap at twice the price. A little later his back-up band started and after a couple of warm-up tunes, the lead called out, “Sonny Rhodes, the Texas Tornado.�

Gently elbowing his way through the packed house came Sonny. Ambling between dancers, slightly stoop shouldered, in a powder blue suit and a black turtleneck setting off the bit of grey edging into his hair. Sonny carries the ageless demeanor of so many older Africa- Americans. Somewhere between 50 and 80 but with no way to really grasp exactly their age. At first glance, he reminded me of Eddie Haywood who was cut from the same long-touring cloth.

When he picked up his slide, everything changed. The air became charged with the rasp and runs of traditional blues riffs. The slide moved hard. The slide moved gentle. Like BB King, Rhodes plays with an oh so slightly sharp tuning reminiscent of the distinctive sounds brought back by Mississippi John Hurt and the other traditionalists out of the Delta. And Sonny plays with the same driving no-rest driving rhythm. Just plays and plays and plays and plays. He rocked.

The crowd (and it was a crowd) rocked with him.

Leaving the Royal, it was later than either John or I had any idea. With the blues, with the good blues, time must stop. Dropping into Scapegoat, we scored a few slices of pie and headed back to the house.

Another night in Fernie. Casual. Great jazz. World-class blues. A bunch of familiar faces. No one angry. Everyone happy. Simply another great night in Fernie.

And a word to those who question the “growth� of town. We converted another to the Fernie life. My buddy John. He’ll be back.

It’s too late now. Far too late.