Listening Long and Late

One for the 5-String

31 one for the 5-string You have to tell a story. —Lester Young, on improvisation A Saturday night outside town. Full moon risen above the fields, their summer heat and fragrance drifting through the open doors of the roadhouse. Inside, I’m sitting-in with Joe and the Troubadours, a college kid trying to find the right notes on a pawnshop banjo. Joe plays fiddle; Jimmy the Dwarf, French harp; Windy’s on guitar. He’s wearing the black leather shoes, the ones with lightning bolts stitched along the sides, and the lightning bolt socks to match. By midnight he’s got his head thrown back, high-singing heartbreak songs and honky-tonk over the clamor, the crowd looking for a good time now after the week’s labor, couples stepping in close, swaying off into the gleam and shadows of the bar lights. You have to tell a story, Prez said. Here’s mine: A woman, slow dancing alone by the bandstand, smiled up at me, her damp face shining. Honey, she said, take these chains from my heart. Well, what did I know about women or the heart’s wayward hesitations, dreaming of those melodies unheard I read about in books. Lady, I said, I’ve never even seen you before. Asshole, she said, I meant the song. ...