Mr. Danny Barker

Back in '92 or '93, when I was a lowly second audio engineer on Austin City Limits, the one and only Dr. John came to do a show. He brought with him an old New Orleans musican by the name of Danny Barker (http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/tg/detail/-/B00000AFUR/ref=m_art_li_1/104-3081343-9983902?v=glance&s=music). I didn't really know who he was, but he was to guest with Dr. John, and during setup and soundcheck Mr. Barker proved to be a genuinely likable old cat, sharply dressed in a suit and brown derby. Crew members gravitated to him as he made small talk and gamely took in the goings-on.

I did know that Barker was primarily a banjo player, so I found it odd that some higher-up at ACL (presumably) decided that he should play electric guitar during his appearance. I watched closely as they strapped a blue Peavey electric on the poor man, and I have to say that, given his expression, they might as well have handed him an octopus. I can also say that I watched him in soundcheck and during the taping, and he didn't turn the instrument up. He may not have known how to. So his strumming was basically for show.

But he was a lot of fun, smiling and joking as he ran through one of his big hits from the 40s, "Save the Bones for Henry Jones." He thanked the crowd with a tip of his hat.

He passed away a couple years later.

***

In the late 90s I headed out to grab some supper for Kelli and me one evening. Popeye's was having one of their periodic crawfish specials, and I took the opportunity to satisfy my craving for some back-home sorta food.

I stood in line there and noticed a print of a watercolor on the wall. It was a band, portrayed just tearing it up in the middle of a lively crowd in some juke joint.

And pictured there on the banjo was a young Danny Barker.

***

Another anecdote from the Dr. John show:

The man himself was in foul spirits that day during soundcheck. His CD Going Back to New Orleans, a terrific old-school rave-up, had just come out, and he was touring in support of it. He'd assembled a crack band of funky N.O. guys, but clearly there was a black cloud over his head. I later learned that long about then he was kicking a decades-old heroine habit, which could certainly explain a lot.

But soundcheck was going well, and what few words he said were in that brassy N.O. accent.

They were running through one number when a trumpet player had the audacity to stop the band in mid-song. You could sense the tension as this guy dared to bring it all to a grinding halt.

He started to make his case about how this one particular part they'd played TWICE in a row on the record, but they kept playing only once live. Everyone went quiet as all eyes in the room turned to Dr. John to make the call.

"We played it twice on the record?" he asked.

Nods all around.

"FUG da record," he said.

And that was that.