Well a wop bopa loo bop a wop bam
boom. No sooner did I send up the Bat Signal for some scat then Curtis Stigers rolls into town delivering a mouthful of
syllabic sensations. Suave ain’t the word; it doesn’t
do the man justice.
Stigers hit the stage with so much
cocksure swagger it was as if he were the missing member of the Rat Pack. This
silver-haired cat and his band (including homeboy, Bob Sneider
on the guitar) came out swinging like Jake LaMotta
with a case of the fleas. He wound the Kilbourn crowd
up good and tight with a singing style you could describe as velvety
vocal-ease. His band pumped and swung as tight as his suit.
He took time to dedicate Randy Newman’s “Living Without You” to the late, great jazz pianist and bon vivant
Paul Tillotson. It caught me off guard, and I got
teary: Tillotson, who appeared at the Jazz Fest some
years back, was a good friend to me and especially my wife. Stigers
was visually teared up as well before getting back in the swing of things. But
it was a gesture and a tender moment I won’t soon forget.
The crowd won’t soon forget the way he switched off
effortlessly from swingin’ on the sax to singin’ to the max. Curtis Stigers,
the ultimate smooth operator. Total class. Goddamn.
More magic on a Friday night followed with Gregg
Allman and his band with an amazing set of classic — timeless, really —
blues-based rock ‘n’ roll. Allman’s band? Amazing. Allman himself? The voice is
still there as he tore through an hour and a half set.
There was a beautiful rendition of “Sweet Melissa,” a soulful
take on “Midnight Rider,” a rockin’ sing-along
to “One Way Out,” and a barely recognizable re-working of “Whipping Post.” Allman,
who split time between the B3 and guitar, was a casual yet charming host with
all eyes riveted on him, was a thrill to see. However my pick for MVP is
definitely his guitarist and musical director, Scott Sharrard.
Sharrardsh-redded with
feeling and soul and frankly blew me away…
… just like the speakers did at the Los
Lonely Boys set outside. You probably couldn’t have seen them from space,
but you could certainly hear them. They played with a vicious Texican attack to a crowd of thousands and thousands. I dug
it for as long as I could, but I split after the subwoofers threatened to give
me an involuntary colon cleanse.
Saturday night I get my fill of Tia Fuller, before walking
off the edge with Flat Earth Society.
This article appears in Jun 29 – Jul 5, 2016.
