The Sand Returning To The Sea

The beach is a beautiful place

Screaming Jimmy... Fact or Fiction?

The Unauthorized Biography Of Screaming Jimmy

Screaming Jimmy was born in the Black Mountain Hills of Dakota, the product of an educated woman and a traveling salesman. As a baby he was abandoned at a Grateful Dead concert where he was adopted for a short period of time by the band. He was not a quiet baby and it was during this time that he got the name that would follow him for his entire life.

After a very short period of time he was put into an orphanage and at the age of seven, ran away and joined a musical circus where he was adopted by an armless lady who played the piano with her toes and her husband, a man with only one implant who played the slide guitar. Together, they taught Screaming Jimmy how to sing and strum.

At the age of nineteen, Screaming Jimmy and his fiance’ the bearded lady cellist were both struck by lightning during a circus show. Only Screaming Jimmy survived. In a confused state, he left the circus that very night taking only the singed clothing on his back and leaving his charred guitar behind. Details of the next twenty years are sketchy. He lived by his wits, vaguely within the law. He played no music and never saw his circus folks again.

One day, Screaming Jimmy saw a guitar in the window of a New York pawn shop. Something clicked and Screaming Jimmy went right in to get the guitar. Unfortunately he had no money at the time. When he was released from jail he vowed to change his ways. He got a loan, bought a guitar and moved to a commune in Northern California. It was here that he began to write of his past experiences and off beat insights into life and existence. Screaming Jimmy has since learned to play the piano. His unusual life experience has furnished him with a vast repertoire of original songs. It is during his beautiful, haunting love songs that one hears reference to those early painful days in the circus.

Today , when not recording or touring, Screaming Jimmy lives alone, spending time with his seven turtles, three cats, and one dog.

My Charming Little Career

I was born in Phoenix Arizona . My parents were both musicians, having met in the Arizona State University marching band. Mom played the clarinet and dad, the sax. Most likely if they hadn’t played instruments located in such close proximity I would not exist.

When I was 6 or so, two men in a truck delivered an upright piano.
(which I still have) It was love at first sight and I “wrote” my first song that very day which I played incessantly, terrorizing my family in the process. Piano lessons followed and I practiced a lot. In fact, my mom would sometimes ask me to stop and go outside so she could have some peace.

I was eventually “fired” by my piano teacher for making up my own notes to songs I was supposed to be reading. I thought they sounded better my way but the teacher did not agree, so I was “let go”. I still kept playing my own improvised pieces every day.

When I first heard the Beatles I knew that I had to perform publicly. I started my own lyp-sync band that put on concerts in our garage on Saturday mornings, playing along with records. I had a piece of rectangular plywood with a guitar crudely drawn on it and a hand truck that functioned as my microphone stand. We charged a nickel for each show and if I couldn’t enlist anyone to “play” me I would go it alone, sometimes the empty room.

When I turned 10 or so I experienced my first electric guitar up close. My parents threw a Christmas party and one of the guests brought a guitar and amp which he left behind when he went home that night. During the party , I hid around the corner on the stairs listening , and in the morning I quietly took the guitar and amp to my room to check it out.

I asked for a guitar for Christmas and was given a Ukulele instead (with a ukulele book). My father told me that when I could play every song in the book, he would get me a guitar. After opening our presents we went on our annual 4 hour trip to my Grandma’s. I took along the ukulele and by the time we got there I could play every song in the book. I asked for my guitar. There was an old one in the attic of my grandparents house, so grandma gave it to me. It was an arch top acoustic , nearly as tall as me. The strings were 1/4 above the fret board and it was very hard to play. I figured out melodies that I played on single strings since I was not strong enough to hold down chords. I played that guitar for at least a year.

I wanted a better guitar but was told I had to buy it myself. At this time we lived in Billings Montana, so one winter I applied myself and made enough money ($385) shoveling snow to buy a Lyle hollow-body jazz guitar. I bought this particular guitar because I could play it with out an amp, which I did for about another year. ( My first amp was a used Sears suitcase amp built into a guitar case that was way too small for my guitar, but it worked )

All this time piano took a back seat. I played a little but my true passion was the guitar. I wrote songs and convinced a friend of mine to get a bass so we could start a band. He did and we did but not much became of it.

There were some kids, however, down the street that had a real band and I started going to their house to watch their band practice. Unfortunately they already had a guitar player so I had to just sit and listen. One day their guitar player broke his arm and I got the chance to fill in with the understanding that it was only temporary. When he was ready to come back, the band wanted to keep me and didn’t know what to do so they devised a competition. The other guitarist and I stood in the center of the den (our rehearsal space) and played the short theme from the Twilight Zone over and over with the agreement that the first one to make a mistake was out. He messed up first and the rest is history.


We sued to buy 45 records for a dollar and pass them between i=us to learn the songs. We got good at learning our parts without scratching the record. I learned how to play Born To Be Wild, Purple Haze, Light My Fire, and all of the songs that have since become classics that way. This was 1968 and 1969, the golden era of rock

I played my first paid gig in the basement of the Catholic Church. Tickets were 10 cents and I made over a dollar. This was 1968 and I have been playing professionally ever since. I played in bands through junior high and high school always managing to land the school dances and lots of parties.

I met my wife while playing the finals of the Battle of the Bands which my band, Magpie won. We played Chico and Northern California and were very popular. By now I was singing, playing piano and guitar and writing songs for the band.

We moved to Seattle in 1976 and I joined a band called Mr Clean that toured the Northwest, crisscrossing the state hundreds of times. We were very popular and played a combination of covers and original material. In order for the band to agree to do my songs I had to write out full score sheet with every note for every instrument including all of the drum parts. This was the band leaders rule, possibly in an attempt to keep me form submitting my songs. It did not work and I owethat band a debt of gratitude for making me work so hard to learn how to do this. Thank you Steve.

While in Seattle I studied voice with a world renowned vocal teacher, George Peckham, who changed my life and helped me become the singer I am today. I owe him a great deal.

We returned to California and I took up with a cover band called BREAKAWAY based out of Chico California. This was in the early 80’s and if you have ever seen the movie the Wedding Singer you have a pretty good idea of what we looked and sounded like. Don Johnson T-shirt and suit coat with Michael Jackson pants (chutes) and hair cut short with a “tail” doing 80’s pop songs. What fun!

Eventually I got my”big break” and move to LA to do an album with a singer named Sharon Marie who had a record deal. After moving tmy family to LA, that all fell apart so I got a day job and began again. I worked in several bands and ended up in a band called the Natives playing country-rock just before the big country rock explosion of the mid 90’s. That gig led to a duo with John Caccianti, a great songwriter and friend but I soon tired of LA and moved myself, my wife and son to a calmer place to live and raise a family.

Grass Valley, my next stop, is located Sierra Nevada Foothills. Here I became a solo singer/songwriter and did not play with any bands , save a few one nighters as fill in, for nearly 10 years. I wrote songs, recorded and played coffeehouse, restaurants , concerts and house partiessteadily. Eventually I founded a band called BIG FISH small pond that did well in the area playing mostly my originals and some covers.

When our son went off to college we relocated to the Central Coast where I find myself today. I started the Jim Townsend Blues Band in which I play piano, guitar and sing with five of the best friends I have ever had. I also play under the name Jimmy Jimmy and the iPod Allstars doing a rock /blues /original show with backing tracks on my iPod recorded by me. I also play solo in restaurants, coffee shops and the like. I produce special themed shows at a local club called the Slo Down Pub. we have done several shows of all Beatles Songs, a show of all songs from the Summer Of Love, one with songs form the 60’s Dance Era and a Halloween show consisting of songs by dead rock stars called I HEAR DEAD PEOPLE . With the help of my band, I host a weekly blues Jam on Tuesday evenings, and I teach.

I am so fortunate to have discovered my passion for teaching. Throughout my career I have give music lessons here and there sporadically. Here on the Central Coast with the help of RHYTHM AND KEYS SCHOOL OF MUSIC I have discovered what this whole journey has been about. I now know I am here to help others realize their musical dreams and pass on what I have learned. Teaching is my passion, and while I will always perform, write, practice and the like, now I know that teaching is why I am here.

I will never give up on my quest to be the best Screaming Jimmy AKA Jim Townsend I can be. This is what I do and who I am. If I can entertain you in some small way it has all been worth it, otherwise I can always entertain myself!

I love the Beatles. Well I don’t actually love the two remaining members in the true sense of the word, but I i do truly love the music. Their music has shaped my musical l career and in essence shaped my life. I know I’m not alone in this and many millions of people around the world feel the same. Still, I know that I am who I am as a result of the music made by the flour lads from Liverpool.

Last February, Valentines Day to be exact, I produced a Beatles tribute show at a local club called the Slo Down Pub. It was wildly received and we a great night. My concept was to feature the songs as the star of the show so I proceeded to find as many musician friends as I could and get them all to contribute by playing. We performed 47 different songs that night. There were four bands, 5 additional singers, and a sing-long between set changes. It was nuts.

This venue is small and when word got out lots of people were afraid there wouldn’t be enough room for everyone who wanted to attend. People began showing up 2 hours before the show and by show time we were at capacity. An hour into the show we had a line of 100 people outside waiting to get in! I would estimate that the average age of these Beatles fans to be 40+., an age group that would normally follow the rules. Well no! The ones who couldn’t get in the front found a way to sneak in through the back and side doors. It was actual Bealtle-mania, with wall to wall dancing and singing fans.

All of this craziness was very intense and I was caught up right in the middle of it running the whole show! I sang and played on nearly every song, except when I has to turn the reigns over to a friend to handle a few minor problems with the ”talent”. It was awesome and I loved it.

My stage name is Screaming Jimmy and I got that name because of a certain way I use my voice. I am often asked how I came up with this particular style . It’s what I do and I don’t really know why or where it came from, but it is fun.

That night we sang song after song and then I found my self singing Hey Jude, backed by a great, high powered band while playing a grand piano and surrounded by 200 frenzied sing people. We had been encouraging people to sing along all night so of course when we hit the end of Hey Jude ( the sing-a-long part) everyone was feeling it and singing loud. Imagine , if you will, 200 partying people singing along on the “la da da ... hey $Jude “part.

If you recall the song you will remember there is a part near the end where Paul McCartney ad libs a high vocal over the top of the singers singing “Hey Judy, Judy Judy Judy.” This part is right smack dab in the middle of of where my voice lives...Screaming Jimmy-land .and of course I sang it loud and proud and then an amazing thing happened.

In the midst of the mayhem and music as the song played on the crowd faded away and I was transported back to a scene I had long ago forgotten.....
It’s dark and cold in my basement bedroom the dead of winter. It’s 6 Am and the clock radio has just turned on. It’s time to get up and get ready for school. I am laying there, shivering, a 13 year old junior high student in Billing Montana. I am just learning how to play guitar and very much a Beatles fan.

As I lay there in the darkness the radio is playing Hey Jude and I am hearing it for the first time. I am blown away by the song and it’s message. I don’t move . I just sink into the song and listen. Then it gets to the end and the amazing sing-a-long part. I sing along and the Paul does his high voiced “Hey Judy, Judy, Judy Judy” thing and I say to myself. ”that’s what I want to do” I set this intention very deep “That’s what I’m going to do” and from that moment Screaming Jimmy was born, though I didn’t know it at the time.

At this time in my life I was not yet in a band or singing nor did I even know how to go about doing that. I just knew that the part Paul sang at the end of that song meant something important

The following spring I got in my first band and I have been playing ever since. I sing like Paul sang at the end of Hey Jude and never realized it until that moment in The Lo Down Pub where it came

Suddenly I’m snapped back into the present, people pressed all around me singing and shouting as we finish the song. Only a few seconds passed, surely, as I had this memory, but for me it felt like a a lifetime. And it was

Time is funny. You might think that as time passers the urgency of a desire decreases. In some cases it’s just the opposite. Tine compresses and distills a single desire into a lifetime of trial and error until that dream is realized many many years later so surprisingly and so sweetly.

It has taken a lifetime, but now I know where my voice comes It comes from that little basement bedroom in Billings Montana in the dead of winter. Lying there listening to Paul Mc Cartney sing with my life still ahead of me. And then 40 years later, on that Valentines night I finally realized my dream become a Beatle if only for an instant..

Muggs Pub, Oildale, California

Hot. The steering wheel was hot. The seat was hot. The sun beating through the window making me sweat mile after mile was hot. All the while wondering if this was a mistake. 150 more miles to go and then what? I expected a dark bar, air-conditioning, the smell of stale beer and a few cowboys watching the TV above the bar. Most likely, two hefty women would sitting talking by the jukebox. The lady bartender would barely acknowledge my arrival. I am a one-man rock band on the road to Oildale, California.



I play music for a living. It’s my job and not always glamorous. This is the one thing I’m good at. I could and do play with bands, but this way I make more money with less drama. A one -man rock band. We get little respect. Most people think that the real musicians play in bands with other people while those that can’t work alone with pre recorded music, sort of like Karaoke with a guitar strapped on.

A few months ago, I was doing a Wednesday night in a biker bar on the California Coast. Pismo Beach is a tourist town that hibernates all winter, but a few valley people still wander. The summers cook with people, but he bar only books full bands then. I was there through the winter months to make a buck and give the bar an act so they could advertise LIVE MUSIC 364 DAYS A YEAR- CLOSED CHRISTMAS.

I don’t get paid to know how to play the classic-rock songs like Cocaine or Sweet Home Alabama. I get paid to play them like I love them, like it’s my first time so people will dance and then drink. I am a human jukebox

That night, as I worked my way through the set after set of cover tunes that I had been playing to mostly bored tourists for over 20 years, I did what I always do. Through half closed eyes I imagined a room full of people all dancing and drinking. One would walk up and offer me a chance to get out of this place and play some place where there were more people,who danced and tipped.

On one of my breaks while standing at the cocktail waitress station, a stranger asked
“ How much would you charge to come play at our place in Oildale?” This was something new, so I went over to find out more

Bar talk almost always starts with a question, followed by a few more and usually ends up going nowhere. I asked where Oildale was and found out its a town just South of Bakersfield. Lots of oil wells, dirt, cowboys, pickup trucks and country music. This guy was cool enough. He was on an anniversary get way with his wife. They had 5 kids- two hers, 3 his and had been married 4 years. He was the bouncer and she was a daytime bartender at the bar they wanted me to play at. This was also where they first met. The bar was called called Muggs Pub. It was time to go back on-stage so I blurted out the first figure that came into my head “$350.00 is my rate for a gig like that” I made a little more small talk, gave them my card and forgot about it.

A few months later I got a call form the guy. He wanted me to play a Sunday afternoon on July 3rd for my asking price. I said yes. Their rationale was that a lot of people went to Pismo to get away, why not bring Pismo there and save the gas money. I looked it up on the computer but there was no web site.I found it on Google Maps which I took to be a good sign. So with no deposit, based on a phone call and a promise of money, I decided to go to Oildale

So here I am, July 3rd and I’m pulling into an small mostly empty parking lot with 3 cars and a fireworks stand. It’s quiet and still very hot. Muggs pub is a metal building on one end of a really small strip mall that consisted of a liquor store, a Mexican restaurant and the bar. There are bars on blacked out windows and two doors. The first door I tried was locked.

As I stand there getting up the nerve to go in the second door, it suddenly occurred to me that this could all be a practical joke. I’d walk in and no one would be expecting me. I would have driven 3 hours in this heat for nothing. Or, I could find out that all they wanted was country and my short country set would have to be be repeated over and over again as the patrons threw bottles at the chicken-wire screen in front of me. Maybe they’d pay with a check that would bounce.

Two riders on Harley rode up, parked and dismounted. They were both over six foot six inches tall and and in leather, in spite of the heat. When they removed their helmets I saw they were both women, very attractive and a little intimidating. They didn’t say a thing and went inside. I knew I had to follow them or go back home.

Most of the time musicians travel in groups, with the band. When faced with new surroundings and people they can pull together with an us against them attitude. A one man band has no such luxury. At that moment I felt very alone but determined.

The bar was so dark after having been outside, that I couldn’t see that well. The stage and dance floor were in a small adjoining are that I could just barely make out .The smell of lit cigarettes caught my attention. This was apparently the only bar in California where smoking was still allowed inside. It took me back to the old days when you got second hand smoke with your tips and requests. I also noticed the air conditioning was working just fine.

The bar was surprisingly full considering the empty parking lot. Not unusual for a neighborhood bar. There were the guys watching TV and two hefty women sitting, talking by the juke box. There was also a large group of people watching the pool tables in the back. The bartender was a woman who smiled vaguely at me.

The bar got silent . Some one said” Pismo Dude’s here”. I smiled and nodded that yes I was.Everyone went back but their business and I went back outside to start unloading my stuff.

A one man band still has to carry about as music equipment as a full band since we are both doing essentially the same thing. It takes a lot of trips and is not one of my favorite jobs.. With every load I had to re enter that hostile place, bright light flooding in and cool air escaping. 10 sweaty loads and I was in.

I tried to get a feel for the club. The woman bartender was nice enough and thank god they were expecting me. I didn’t see the guy that hired me but was told he would be in soon. I began to fall into a familiar routine.

A lot of musicians like me are superstitious. We think that by loading the car the same, unloading in the same order, setting up in the same order etc. we can be sure that everything will work fine. There is nothing worse that going through all of the travel and work and finding the PA doesn't work or the piano won’t play. Stress comes in many shapes and sizes.

The short sound check went fine. No on showed much interest and I wasn’t much surprised. I was to play from 2 PM to 7 PM. These are unusual hours for a Sunday afternoon but I was ready to go. Just another day in the life of a professional musician.

I went into the one stall bathroom. I locked the door and put on my gig clothes, consisting of a fresh black t-shirt. I went back out to the stage and was ready to start when a big guy came walking slowly towards me. The bar fell silent.

He said “ I like your shirt”. My shirt that said something like “real men use duct tape”. I smiled and said thanks, brushing him off. It was not that easy though.

He repeated, ”I like your shirt. Wanna trade?” I knew that everyone was watching. As I thought about his request, it didn’t even occur to me to see what shirt he was wearing. The thought of trading my clean shirt for another guys sweaty shirt seem out of the question.

He said a little louder, ” I like your shirt. Wanna to trade?”

“Right here? On the dance floor?” I asked. With out another word he took off his shirt and handed it to me. What could I do?

I am not normally comfortable with stripping in front of strangers in a strange place where I m just about to perform. I took of my shirt. With my white gut glowing in the dark we traded t-shirts. His was damp with sweat and smelled of smoke, but it fit me fine.

Two guys exchanging shirts on a dark tiny dance floor of a smoke filled cowboy bar is apparently of great interest in Oildale. When we were done he turned to the bar, saying loudly ” Now he’s one of us!”. Everyone laughed and went back to whatever they’d been doing . I went up on stage to start playing.

It still hadn’t occurred to me to see what my new T-shirt looked like right away. My gig went fine. I got asked back the next two more weekends before they tired of me. I don’t play enough country after all.

I finally remembered to look at my new shirt. It was black with bold white writing on the front that said “High Class White Trash” on top and “Oildale California” on the bottom. I can’t think of a better way to sum up Muggs bar or my experience. I wear this shirt proudly every chance I get. And just in case you ask, no, I don’t want to trade.

The Battle Of The Bands

As the final song for the show kicked off, it was obvious that these guys were going to win. Sure it was just a "Battle of the Bands" in a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, but to at least one these six musicians it meant everything.

Playing "Love The One You're With" with  fury only the young can know, the band pushed the crowd and themselves  into a  lather. Loud and pounding, the beat drew the crowd closer and closer to the stage until they were like one big living thing. Ahh... the power and beauty of

 live rock and roll.

With the bright lights blinding his eyes, the band leader (on piano of course) could not make out individual faces in the crowd, just the bobbing heads and upraised arms. But he didn't care. Winning this contest mattered a lot to him. Not because of the cheesy prizes, some gift certificates for the local music store, not even enough money to buy anything good. This would be a victory of right decision, a victory of spirit. A small proof that music was the right choice for his life. He was young and free and ready to live life on his own terms by his own rules. Then he saw her.

She was standing right in front, so close he could almost reach out and touch her. But he didn't. There was something about her, a quiet peacefulness that  almost seemed out of place,  and yet comforting. Making a mental note to find her and introduce himself after the show, he returned to the task at hand: kicking *ss and being a rock star, at least for a few more minutes.

The song ended, the crowd screamed and the band took their bows. After about 15 minutes the winner was announced. They had won! As he scoured the rapidly dwindling crowd he realized she was nowhere to be seen. He had lost her. He returned to the celebration and and put her face out of his mind. 

Weeks passed and life went back to normal. The high of the victory was replaced by the low of knowing it really didn't change much. The band rehearsed and looked for more gigs. He went to work every day and wrote  songs on his lunch hour and on and on.

One day he thought he saw her again! It was during his lunch hour. She was sitting in Toyota out in front of Safeway, but he was shy and not totally sure if it was her. So he let the opportunity pass.

Several weeks later, on Friday night the bass player called. "Hey we're havin' a party at my brothers house to celebrate our victory at the battle. I know it it's been  a while, but this is a good excuse to party!"

"I'm not into it. At least not tonight. I'm writing and don't wanna stop" replied the preoccupied musician.

"Bullsh*t!" replied the agitated bassist. "It's your band, everybody else is coming. You have to be there... It's for the band"

Those four words, it's for the band always worked and always would  for many years to come. So he went.

The party was like all of the other parties in the seventies. Some beer, lots of pot and music on the stereo. Mind you this was before IPODs, Videos, CD's or DVD's but they still knew how to party. So he planted himself on the couch, beer in one hand  and with the Allman Brothers band blasting in the background  proceeded to calculate how long he needed to stay so as not to be rude when he split.

He looked around the small living room decorated with a lava lamp, colorful sarongs on the wall, a black and white TV and an old upright piano. A frayed Persian rug , a couch and and a chair filled out the rest. There were about ten people in the living room with four or five more in the kitchen at the keg.

"Hey man, play the piano" someone shouted over  the music.

With that, he got up off of the couch, beer still in hand and walked to the piano. He sat and began to play a new song he was working on, eyed closed, lost in the music. Almost immediately he noticed the tinkling of bells mingling with the notes he was coaxing from the out of tune piano. For a moment he thought he was imagining it and opened his eyes.

There on his right, so close that he could almost reach out and touch her stood the girl from the show (and the store) . He recognized her immediately and and drew in a sharp breath. She smiled. He smiled. Everything else faded away. All that remained was the girl, the guy and the piano... and the tinkling of the bells.

Then suddenly she headed off towards the front door! He quickly jumped up to follow not wanting  to lose her twice. They both stepped outside. The night was still. It was a chilly autumn night and the smell of wood smoke hung in the air. Time stood still on that wooden porch as they  stared into  each other's eyes. He spoke first

" Where are you going?" he asked breathlessly (His first words to her)

" Crazy. Wanna come?" she replied with a smile ( Her first word to him)

And so, on the eve of our  thirty third wedding anniversary, I write this to  to tell you, son, the story of  how I met your mother.

My Guitar

               My guitar is older than two of the members of my band. Let me repeat that so it can sink in. My guitar is older than two of the members of my band. It's  a Les Paul Deluxe, manufactured in 1974. It was a re-issue of the 1954 model and made to the exact same spec, or so I've been told.

           I bought this guitar when I was sophomore at Cal (UC Berkeley) with my student loan money. At the time I was a huge Allman Brothers fan . This was back when Duanne Allman was still alive and Greg Allman wasn't a heroin addict, before Cher. I fell in love with the way they jammed so I bought the guitar, quit college and the rest is history. That guitar and I have been together ever since.

                  Now I'm not one of those guys who names his guitar. That seems creepy to me, but I do have a long standing relationship with this piece of wood and metal. We've been through a lot together. Snow storms in Washington, never ending road trips and dinky bars in the middle of nowhere. We been up on the space needle and out on the ocean together. We've been to keggers, weddings and even a funeral. 

                   It's a beautiful sunburst red guitar and has a few scrapes and scratches. One of the tuning pegs is a little messed up from an altercation with a toddler at a a wedding reception back in 1981. I'm on my third guitar case and the toggle switch is missing it's plastic cover. The neck is good and it still stays in tune and sounds great. It's in pretty god shape for it's years and luckily so am I. It's been played by me nearly every day for the last 34 odd years and it's older than two of the members of my band.

            I'm getting used to the fact that I am often one of the oldest people in the room when I play clubs. This is not to say I feel old. To the contrary, I still feel like that 21 year old kid who found that guitar on the top hook in the back of Skatzenbag's Music in Oakland California all those years ago, before videos, Cd's, MP3's, microwave ovens, computers ...  I think you get the picture. 

             Nearly everyone I used to play with  back when I bought this guitar has quit playing music. Like that TV battery bunny I just keep going and going with my guitar by my side instead of a drum. But I'm not complaining. Actually, I'm glad I'm getting older. It beats the alternative. I just find it interesting that I have gotten better on this guitar than I ever could have imagined and yet I am still playing the same clubs (for the same pay) as I was back when I started with this little friend of mine. In music you either improve or quit.

          Anyways, the other night I was supposed to host a songwriter night at a local club and no one showed up. I mean no one. Well, my guitarist and a harmonica playing friend showed up, but we're in a band together and that hardly counts. The bartender and the owner showed up too , but having to count them makes it even sound worse.

            I played a few songs as did the other guys but we weren't feeling it and decided to just sit and talk. We got bored with that so we went back up on stage and started to jam. My guitar just sat in it's guitar stand, an innocent bystander. In this club there is a grand piano situated in such a way that and when I play it my back is to the audience and the entrance. I wasn't aware that while we were playing a small crowd of about 15 people came in an sat down to listen to us.

            Jared tapped me on the shoulder, mid-song and said " Jim. you better turn around. You won't believe this"

              Our new audience consisted of two older grand-parent-type couples (most likely the same age as me) two younger mom-type people and nine little kids. The kids were all sitting quietly side by side in chairs on the dance floor, watching and listening. They clapped politely when I stopped to talk to them . Very sweet and a little strange. Here it was 9:00 at night in a blues club and I was suddenly performing for a little second grade girl's birthday party and they wanted to hear the blues.

              Alex , the little girl in the middle with a rocker headband had wanted to hear live music for her birthday . Her mom asked around and was told that my band and this club was the place to go when you're eight years old and want to hear some hot blues after pizza. The club we play in is all ages by the way in case you're ready to call child protective services.

          I usually make up my own new blues lyrics on the spot so I carefully went to work, slightly hampered by the fact that I had to keep my lyrics kid- appropriate. Until that night I hadn't really thought about how much I relied on sexualy oriented lyrics to get laughs. 

             We played the " I lost My Homework" Blues, a rousing song that included references to one  dog's appetite for paper and the Hoover Dam. Then we did a short version of " I'm Afraid Of Bug" blues and I don't mean Bugs Henderson for you die-hard blue fans. The moms could even relate to that one. One of the kids  sat in and led us through Sweet Home Alabama - sort of. And course we finished with an up-tempo shuffle rockin version of Happy Birthday with a killer hrmonica solo that brought down the house.

              This went on for about 45 minutes and the bar sold a lot of soft drinks. The owner was thrilled to have anyone show up and now he wants to market toward the school aged kids more often, as if I din't feel like the oldest working musician already. 

         So now even my fans are  getting younger as my guitar keeps getting older and older and yet I don't feel like I'm changing at all. I just keep gigging. In fact. I'm booking a tour of hospital maternity wards in the near future to play for new borns. If I can convert them to fans, they'll mine for life! In music they say nothing changes but the changes but I don't think they mean diapers.

           The all ages club in question is the SLO Down Pub in Arroyo Grande, my new stomping ground and our band will be playing there this Thursday night (11/13) in all our glory. Come in and you'll hear some talented young musicians, one old guitar and me the "ever-ready musician" that keeps on going and going.

            The SLO Down Pub is located in Arroyo Grande on the corner of Grand and Brisco. Go to www.slodownpub.com/ for more information. If it's the blues you crave, cradle to grave... we got it good and that's not bad. Come see me at www.screamingjimmy.com

      

- Screaming Jimmy

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