A friend from a social media site sent me a message, inviting me to attend a concert at the Jazz Kitchen in Indianapolis, on August 1st. She included information about the headliner, Clint Breeze, who was to be joined by Louisville Kentucky Hammond organist Kendal “Keys” Carter, and Indianapolis saxophonist Brandon Douthitt. Mary Lou’s message said that she had an extra ticket, and I hesitated about 1/10th of a second before I said that I would love to attend. I remembered having seen Carrington Clinton — Clint Breeze — when he played with jazz guitarist Charlie Ballantine at the Jazz Kitchen, and I do like jazz, so there was that.
On Sunday, July 25th, I had traveled to Greenfield Indiana with another friend to see bands play bluegrass and roots music. I sing with Tim’s wife in the Harmony Collected chorus (soon to be called Open Circle Chorus) and I rode with him to Greenfield to enjoy an evening of entertaining music. Tim’s invitation and my acceptance of it were perhaps, the inspiration for my acceptance of Mary Lou’s subsequent invitation; as the O’Jays sang in 1975, “I love music.”
Mary Lou pulled up to the house that I rent at about 4:50 p.m. on Saturday; a slight rain was falling, and I had armed myself with a small, green umbrella, which I did not use when I darted out to her car. I climbed into the front seat, and Mary Lou introduced me to her two sisters, who were seated in the rear. I chatted with Katie and Beth as Mary Lou navigated the broken, blasted, and flooded streets on the way to the Jazz Kitchen on N. College Avenue. Once there, Mary Lou let the sisters out of the car with me and went to find parking. When she rejoined us, we four were shown to a table near the front of the stage, sitting at stage right. We were given dinner menus, and I chose what I thought was a modest salad, but we all received our meals in great white bowls that seemed large enough in which to swim.
As we ate and chatted, Katie and Beth told me of their sojourns in North Carolina and Portland Oregon. I told Katie that I have family in NC, and that we called the state, “North Cackalacka.” Once the musicians took the stage, conversation was limited to excited exclamations as Clint Breeze worked his “kit,” (assemblage of drums, cymbals, and metal hardware) Brandon Douthitt made his alto sax squeal and Kendal Carter, in the tradition of Johnny “Hammond” Smith, a jazz organist who was also from Louisville, created soulful sounds on his own Hammond organ.
We four, in appreciation for the showmanship and musicianship shown by the three on the stage, had our own joyous outbursts and exclamations. Katie and I were more animated; Mary Lou and Beth were more restrained. At the end of the evening, we climbed into Mary Lou’s car, and headed home. When Mary Lou pulled up to my door, I remembered what Beth had told me about having seen a young woman working on my lawn, who gave her the gift of a dandelion “ripping-out” device. I told her that was probably my daughter. As I exited the car, I sang parts of the song that my mother always asked me to sing: “Thanks, for the time that you’ve given me…” I pointed to each of the three women in the car, and said, “You’re once, twice, three times a lady…”
I hope they knew how much I loved that musical experience with them.
cjon3acd@att.net