BB's Jazz and Blues Bar

Last night Cricket, Brandine (formerly known as Sunflower), and I (Violet) headed out to St. Louis's finest jazz and blues bar. By finest I mean dyed-in-the-blue, authentic, BB King probably played here (we forgot to ask), been-here-since-the-dawn-of-time, finest jazz and blues bar. No kidding. It started out in the mid-1800's as a warehouse in old "Frenchtown," then a general store, we think a dentist's office, and neither least nor last, a House of Ill-Repute. Hopefully it's last occupation is as a jazz and blues bar, for as such it is the epitome of a low-light, dusky, brick-walled, artistically vibrant, and smokey jazz and blues bar.

From 7pm until we left, a lone man played his guitar and sang the blues. "Playing" is a harsh, crude, and unfulfilling word. This man (whom we referred to as "Catfish") owned that guitar and owned his blues. The twang and "thunkety-thunk" beat that emanated from his strumming filled my soul. While his voice was no operatic wonder, his bluesy crooning (no matter that I recognized a mere two words- "cocaine" and "catfish") had me enraptured. There was an old knowledge that enveloped this man. He knew his voice, he knew his guitar, and he knew his blues forwards, backwards, up and down, inside and out, and sideways. Singing and strumming were to him as breathing in and out. The aura about him gave the impression that he played because life couldn't exist otherwise. I imagine that he must sit on his porch and speak in blues.

Not to burst that ol' Mississippi blues picturesque moment, but my tale does go on. Cricket and I decided we must have a drink with our cajun dinner. I can handle one glass of wine, Cricket can handle one glass of wine, so two glasses of white zinfandel ended up on our table. As our stomachs were full though, Violet (I) was enticed to imbibe just one more glass (so as to equal the level of intoxication of Cricket). Just for the record, Brandine did her share of encouraging as well. The result: two giggly and fiercely protective ladies on one side of the table (also pretending to have mild southern accents. For the record: Cricket sounded just like Britney Spears, while Violet on the other hand would have been mistaken for a southern belle), one sober and composed lady (Brandine) on the other.

Cricket and I had to use the ladies room and so headed downstairs to said location. The conversation heading into the room and whilst there went as follows.

Cricket: You know Violet, I am just sharp as a tack after I've had a drink."

Violet: Right. Sure you are, that's why you came up with K-Bread as a nickname?

Cricket: Oh hush, you know that's a great name. And I am so going to call him that. Anyway, like I said, I'm sharp as a tack right now. Before I've had one though, I'm dumber than a box of...

(Flush)

Cricket: I'm dumber than a box of....

(Flush)

Cricket: I'm dumber than a box of....

(Flush)

Cricket: I'M DUMBER THAN A BOX OF ROCKS!

Exit older lady from stall with terrified/horrified/mildly amused expression upon her face.

We tried explaining ourselves, but considering that we were both rocking the southern accent and stumbling just a tad, I doubt anything we would have said could have changed whatever that lady was thinking. I can only imagine.

Nevertheless, we still greatly enjoyed the blues and jazz for some time after. If anyone is ever in the greater St. Louis area, please head to BB's Jazz and Blues Bar, it's right close to the St. Louis Cardinals stadium.