The Blues Dog

Given a chance, I tried to do whatever I could to give another artist a boost.  Seems I am still doing it.  From May 31, 1989. – JDW

Blues means what milk does to a baby. Blues is what the spirit is to the minister.

We sing the blues because our hearts have been hurt, our souls have been disturbed.  –  Alberta Hunter

I got them Norma-Louise-forgot-I-had-to-work-tonight blues.  It’s cold and it’s raining.  Real hard.  This weather can get so old sometimes.  It’s Monday night and I’ve got a job to do.  Got to listen to Lloyd Jones and The Struggle.

“You broke my heart too many times,” Jones says to introduce the next song, “so I’m gonna let somebody new do it tonight.”

And then he sings, “I’d have to be blind, crippled and crazy to let you break my heart again.”

Jones wails, like he’s been there himself once or twice.  Like he means it.  He seems to mean all the songs he sings.  That’s why they call it the blues.

For Jones the long struggle may be just about over.  Finally, and none too soon.

“He’s going to be big,” says the band’s confident manager Peter Le Sueur, “and he deserves it, if anybody does.”

Since we know anybody does, who are we to argue with management?  Jones is definitely working hard.  He’s got his second album out: “Small Potatoes.”  He’s been drafted into the Miller Draught Beer’s national army of musical stars.  He just got back from a prestigious gig at the 20th Annual Jazz and Heritage Festival in the birthplace of the blues, New Orleans.

He’s got plans, he’s got dreams, he’s got a chance.  The Struggle opens a California tour July 1.  After that, Canada.

Further down the road, there’s talk of Japan.

This is home.  It’s not just another night on stage, but you can’t really blame Jones for looking toward the bright light of national renown.  He feels ready.  “The local people have been terrific.  I can’t say that enough,” Jones explains.  “But it’s time to get noticed.  And that’s the struggle.”

Jones is getting noticed.  The Miller sponsorship provides invaluable assistance, maybe even the spark Jones needs to take off.  The Struggle is one of just twenty-six groups enjoying the brewery’s largesse.

“They don’t give us money and they don’t get you gigs,” Jones relates.  “What Miller does is promote.  They coordinate media coverage, they do point-of-sale at the show, and they get some radio play.  It’s a real professional package.”

And so is Mr. Jones.  Attired in the obligatory black from head to toe, bespectacled and clean shaven except for a hirsute “tant” dangling beneath his lower lip, he comes dressed to play.

During a break, I asked him about his new record.

“I like it a lot!,” he said continuing without a breath.  “Next is getting the word out, getting the airplay.  We’re traveling all over.  We’ve been eager to play.  We have a great record.  I’m really pleased.”

I cautioned he would go blind and the palms of his hands would grow hair if he kept talking this way.

“Look, I wound up late in life doing my own thing.  I feel like I’m sixteen.  It’s a lot of work, but I feel young again.  I’m starting out at square one.  I’ve always worked for someone else.  Now I’m on my own.  And that spurs us on to keep struggling.”

Jones wrote all but one of the songs on “Small Potatoes.”

“It’s sorta my thing,” he relates, emphasizing that last syllable like it was spelled thang.

“I’ve always done it.  Took me a long time to realize that I like the story telling, song writing part of the music.”

Still, when you listen to The Struggle, when you cut through the underbrush, you come to one truth.  A single, simple explanation.

Lloyd Jones is a bluesman.

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