I spotted the Buddy Guy T-shirt first. The lanky African American gentleman who was wearing it was also wearing a scowl, only allowed to old men who have seen it all. With some trepidation I approached him my slightly sweaty palm outstretched. He looked at it like it was a fly to be swatted away and then realised that I wanted to shake his hand. I mumbled some inanities and he mumbled back. I turned around glowing. I had just shaken the mercurial hands of Buddy Guy. And this was at the airport right after landing in Mumbai for the One Tree Festival. I couldn’t have asked for a better beginning to a weekend of magical music.
A festival in name only, it comprised three separate shows on three separate days, Alan Parson’s Live Project, Walter Trout featuring Bernard Allison and Guitar Shorty, with Buddy Guy rounding off the proceedings. The atmosphere did have a fair ground twang to it with T-shirts a-plenty being sold, many glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice being drunk for charity and for the pretty girls selling them, a music shop with guitars and amps, plugged in and ready for a try-out, a brand new F1 car flanked by not so brand new models in ill fitting attire and the most popular area, rivalling even the stage – the scotch tent, where the rare occasion of booze at a concert was constantly exploited.
Alan Parsons and his posse of sessions wizards dished out standard ‘best of’ fare, giving their fans their money’s worth. If only the sound was better the show would have been a lot more enjoyable. But it ended up being just another notch on the gig attendance list.
It was Walter Trout who really kicked off the One Tree Festival. He honed his chops jamming with John Lee Hooker, Big Mama Thornton, Canned Heat and John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers, so listening to him play was like experiencing the feel of Buddy Guy, the casual ease of Stevie Ray Vaughan and the on-stage explosion of The Stones. And then there was Guitar Shorty. This short, stocky middle aged man in a 10 gallon cowboy hat, played his some complex licks on his guitar, with one hand, while drinking water. Amazed? Don’t be. He then proceeded to play with his elbows, his shoes, his behind, his teeth and even his nose. Amazed? Ha! What he did next still escapes my sense of reality. Running across the stage, Guitar Shorty does a hands free somersault, tumbles in martial arts fashion and is back up on his feet again, ALL WHILE PLAYING THE GUITAR and not missing a note. If that isn’t showmanship what the hell is?
But all this was just a mere aperitif for the ultimate showman, George “Buddy” Guy. He’s pushing 70 and still plays over 150 concerts a year and he isn’t helped onto the stage and set down on a stool. This Guy can still ‘blues’ it up with the best of them. Most people would’ve gone home flabbergasted at his on-stage energy but that wouldn’t have been a good enough response for Buddy Guy. So, the man decides to take his famous walk, right into the damn audience, with a mic toting assistant and a cordon of security guards surrounding him. All this while he’s playing the strings off his instrument and singing like a 20 year old. It isn’t something that fades away into a hazy wisp of a memory. That’s something you tell your grandkids about. And then there was the biggest surprise of the weekend. When a jam surpasses the realm of reality and pervades the senses of the sublime, the notes that emerge serve as a conversation, a meeting of minds on a plane that fortunately has a window to let us lesser mortals sit in unison and gape. That was emotion evoked when Buddy Guy called upon guitar wunderkind Walter Trout to join him on stage. They both soared in a place that only the true musician is given access to and we were lucky enough to witness it at the grand finale of the One Tree Festival.
I’m still recovering and in case you’re wondering, you’re damn right I’ve got the blues, from my head down to my shoes.
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