A very warm hello to all you readers of The Golden Gate Blues Society and to all blues lovers from shore to shore who may come across this publication and read it. I hope that you are all in good health and are supporting this vast well of blues talent in this very shallow pond of blues clubs.

Compared to some of America’s major cities, the blues club scene here is like Chicago in the 1950’s! So I won’t complain about it. But please do your best to support the artists who do this for a living. Blues is not a hobby like some of these horrible wedding Bar Mitzvah piles of shit groups that call themselves “blues bands.” They should stick to their day jobs! MERCY!

This is my first column for this organization, and I’m not too sure of the age bracket of people who read this, but as I get older hopefully I’m getting a bit wiser. Hopefully. Ha, ha! Anyway, many of us have lost friends or family to drugs, violence at home or in wars like Viet Nam, or to incurable diseases. We have all dealt with it in different ways. Some of us are a bit numb—our hearts have turned to stone. But still we all have hearts … right?

When keyboardist, singer, entertainer Stu Blank passed away in July of 2001, I was able to accept it. But it wasn’t easy. He was just too special a human being. I first met Stu in 1978 at The Rio Theater in a little town near Crockett. Stu was the opening act. I’m not sure if it was his group “The Nasty Habit’s” or what—it’s tough to remember due to all the heavy living I was doing back then. Anyway, I was singing lead at this place with my band called “The West Coast Sheiks,” which was really excellent with Terry Hanks, Fly Brooks, Rick McCracken, and a host of different sidemen who varied from gig to gig. And for an extra secret weapon, we would bring in photographer Randy Bachman, the pervert dwarf, to be part of the act. That group should have gone places, but that’s a whole other and different story. This is about Stu.
When I heard Stu and his group for the first time that night in 1978, I wasn’t that impressed. He reminded me of an Elton John-type clown, still uncertain and searching for his own musical voice and personality. I guess I was more of a blues purist back then. When I was backstage I met Stu and I remember he was very nice. He actually seemed a bit shy. And that was it. “The Sheiks” broke up one year later and I went back to New York City and never saw Stu Blank again until 1987 when I came back to San Francisco. When I returned to the Bay Area, my family was falling apart, and I had four kids that I loved very much! MERCY!

In 1987 Stu had a new L.P. out and he was voted in The San Francisco Chronicle as the new comer most likely to make the big time in a harsh, ugly, national music scene. That night Stu was playing at “The Lost and Fucked—I mean Found” (LAF), formerly known as The Coffee Gallery on Grant Street in North Beach. I remember I was really pissed off that the great old Coffee Gallery had been sold. I was really upset as I had so many good times in the old dump. Plus, it was so musically and historically rich in its past: the great Billy Holliday sang there, Janis Joplin too before she hit the big time, and all the beat poets read in there in the 50’s and early 60’s. Yea, those old walls had the mojo!
It was after midnight, Stu and the band were on a break. I went up to him and introduced myself. He remembered me from The Rio and was very happy to see me. There were two large rooms in The Lost and Found. As you walked in, directly to your left you could see a large round table and then a large bar about 50 feet long. To your right was a juke box and cigarette machine. There was a TV at the end of the bar hung up on a shelf if you wanted to watch it, but I don’t ever remember seeing it on at night. Directly behind the TV there were the rest rooms and the small office. Then there was this really great stage in the back of the club which was elevated about 2” – 3” up and about 35”—40” long and about 20” deep—unusually private. There was even a long wooden church pew on one side of the stage and a very large, ornate looking chair where you could sit during the breaks and lookout at the ten to twelve little round tables in front of the stage. And for an extra touch, there was another bar to the right of the stage that looked like the bottom of an old ship.

Stu and all his band mates were passing out joints and doing blow in the cozy safety of that upper bandstand. Stu offered me some of each and asked if I’d like to sing a song with the band. As I was enjoying the hospitality, I said, “Sure, I’d love to sing one!” I don’t remember what song I sang, but on the next break, Stu and I started talking. He was really interested in how I did the splits and he asked me if I warmed up before I did them. I remember laughing at his question. I didn’t even know what “warming up” was! Plus, no one had ever asked me that type of question before. I was a bit taken a back. I then began to realize that Stu was quite intelligent.

A couple of weeks or so after jamming with Stu at The LAF, Johnny Nitro hired me in his group “The Door Slammers.” Back then I was living in a hotel in North Beach called The Saint Paul which was on Kearny Street. I had the suite on the 2nd floor. After gigs, I’d have great parties up there. That’s when Stu and I became really good friends. Back then on Grant Street there were three bars with blues almost every night: The Saloon, The LAF, and The Grant 'n Green. Those three clubs not only created a really nice scene on the street, but it also brought all the blues bands close together. There was a really warm camaraderie—steady work tends to do that. Stu would also invite me and my kids up to his place in Petaluma. We had fine times indeed. Stu was so generous and giving. Plus he had a really great sense of humor! We’d have the greatest conversations. He was a pretty complex person to say the least.

Stu was never a stone bluesman. To me he was at heart a rock ‘n roller. Of course he could play and sing blues. But his strength was his great personality—it could really light up a room—and his uncanny ability to make up songs on the spot. I never to this day have met any musician who could spontaneously make up really great songs like Stu—with amazing lyrics—just ad-libbed from his head. I don’t think any of that special talent was ever quite captured on tape or video.

The gigs at Lou’s with Stu, Kevin Russell, Nitro, Tommy Castro, and John Conden or Sammy Piazza on drums, and yours truly on bass were the best times I ever had at Lou’s. I wish some of THAT was on video—well maybe not! Laura Gillespie, the original owner of Lou’s, also known as “The Queen of The Wharf," put her own piano in the restaurant just for Stu; he had an open invitation any day, any hour to come and play. She loved Stu like a son. One time way back when my dear friend David Maxwell, the deluxe of blues piano was in town, Stu and all of us were all playing at Lou’s. David sat in with us and, well, there’s only one Maxwell. He wailed! Just this year when Marcia Ball won the "Best Blues Keyboard Player" award in Memphis she said to David backstage with the utmost respect, “This award should be yours!”
Anyway, that night after the gig at Lou’s, David and me were going into the Grant ‘n Green to go see Stu. Stu was outside hanging out on a break and when he saw us approaching he ran up to David and in a very comical way started choking his neck and yelling "You cut me! You cut me!" David wasn’t too sure what was happening. I told him real fast that Stu was just kidding.

I’d say in about 1990 or so Stu got in Johnny Nitro’s Door Slammers, along with my old pal Perry "Barrelhouse" Welsh on harp and vocals and a very young Scott Rabino on drums. We had too much FUN!! MERCY ‘n RIDE! And we also made some really good music.
Stu stayed with the band on and off for three to six months. And we remained great friends. Then I left Nitro in 1991 and Stu and me did some gigs of our own. Then we got some good money gigs with eight-year-old guitarist Nathan Cavaliere from Australia from 1994. This really helped pay the bills, but Stu and me were both getting very sloppy in our night time habits. MERCY!

Then in about 1995 Stu and me along with guitarist Victor Voce who had just quit The Dynatones put together a band called “Blackie Jones.” Blues singer Lisa Kindred who was at the time my roommate thought up the name. It was a really good group. I wanted Vic to really become/ dress up like the character we created: “Blackie Jones.” You know, wear a black pin-striped suit, hair greased back, a thin pencil mustache—the works. Vic just couldn’t do that. Stu and I understood and respected his choice. But damn, to get the big sheckles you got ’a have a gimmick!
I remember sometimes after gigs when we were in towns that I never heard he would take me on rides into the night to admire the Redwood trees or the ocean. At four or so in the morning Stu would take me to these amazing places just to show me another side to life. How beautiful and serene it was. It was a whole different world. I think he was trying to heal us up a bit from the high life. It helped.

As the months were passing by, I was getting really, really sloppy and uncontrollable. It was time for me to clean up and I did. I decided to leave “Blackie Jones” and I started a group with singer Cathy Lemons. Stu and Vic were really saddened, and I was very much too, but without Vic playing the part of “Blackie,” plus Stu and me both going crazy, I didn’t see a future. I did do some gigs with “Blackie” straight and that was pretty tough. I think it made Stu take a look at his problems because a year or so later, Stu quit music to get straight. And he did it! Stu and me were both very proud of ourselves. We even did some work together with Boz Skaggs around that time.

I remember in 1996 Stu had a really nice barbeque out at his new place ”The Magic Lamp” in Santa Rosa where he now lived with his wife, Kathy, and their four kids. He invited a lot of his blues friends out to record a CD: Charlie Musselwhite, Tommy Castro, Lisa Kindred, Fly Brooks, Sammy Piazza, Johnny Nitro, Terry Hanks, Gary Silva, and me. It was such a nice, heartfelt time with a ton of good food, music, and old friends all grooving together. Ah, life was good!
From 1996 until 2000 I was busy trying to make a living playing blues with different blues bands, and living and playing in our own band with Cathy Lemons. Stu would occasionally call me up and say “When are you and Lemonhead gonna brake up? Let’s put a group together!” Stu was happy that I was happy, though.

Then in 2001 he called me up and he told me he had cancer –lymphoma! He was living all alone in a trailer in Santa Rosa and he asked me to come by, so the next day I was there. I went to see him as much as I could on the bus. I don’t drive. We had some really great talks. He told me that he was getting his spirituality together and that he had made up pretty much with everyone from the past and he now wanted to make amends with his X wife which he did. He was very proud of that.

When I went so see him in his trailer home Stu would cook for me and we go for rides in his car just like we used to when we were doing the high life—only now were straight. I remember one time late in March we road out to this big park with a huge lake that had cement all around it. There were these very beautiful bushes that were blooming all around. Stu knew the names of all of the foliage and flowers.
At this time musicians were doing benefits to raise money for Stu’s Family. There was a trust fund set up too. I met Stu’s sister who was so sweet and big hearted, just like Stu.

The last song Stu recorded was in 2001 on Tommy Castro’s “Guilty of Love” CD. The song is titled “Dirt Road Blues” and it pretty much says it all about Stu’s life. Stu was now doing all he could to get the most out of each day. He was very, very brave. The chemo therapy sucked! He endured session after session of it until he just could not take anymore.
My best memory of this period was when Stu took a party of friends and family to Tomales Bay at Point Reyes National Forest where he used to hang out in his teenage days. He made it to a very special and spiritual day. He invited all his kids, Vic, (Blackie Jones) me, Cathy, and his first wife. At that time Cathy’s nephew from Texas was visiting and I didn’t think Stu would want a stranger. I called up Stu to see what he thought. He didn’t blink and invited the little lud along. That was Stu, always sharing.
For this occasion, we all had to meet at Stu's trailer at 5:00 am! The drive from Santa Rosa to the beach was more than two hours. It was very sad, but also so heartwarming and beautiful.

It was a gorgeous, warm summer morning. The air out there was so clean and sweet. The dark orange sunlight was just peeking out above the horizon as we slowly made our way through these amazing hills with all these giant trees surrounding us. Huge rays of sunlight would just pour through the branches like golden bolts. Stu who was riding shotgun, now very, very weak from the cancer, stuck his right hand out of the car window as we drove. As each branch and leaf passed by, he’d let his hand gently feel it, actually caressing each one. I think he was realizing that this would be the last time he’d do this very simple thing. Cathy and me had to hide our tears.

This day was one of the saddest and greatest days of my life. Once we arrived at the bay, Stu did some fishing with Vic and his son Louie, and then he spent a lot of time talking with his kids, and his first wife. We stayed there pretty late. I actually don’t remember the ride back. Stu wanted me to take photos and show and tell everyone about our trip. It hurt me so much in my heart that I couldn’t show them to hardly anyone until now. I couldn’t even go visit, or call his family. It was just too painful for me. I missed him too much. I guess I was being selfish and weak. But that’s how I really felt. Then just two weeks ago as of this writing, Stu came to me in a dream. He was really pissed off at me. Literally! In the dream he actually pissed on a wall in my pad! That’s why I’m telling all this now. Stu liked to share.
I last saw Stu two weeks after the Tomales Bay trip; it was at John Lee Hooker's funeral in June of 2001. Stu was with his dear friend and drummer Gary Silva who was helping out with Stu as much as he could and Stu’s family. When I saw Stu standing with Gary I noticed to my shock that he had lost a lot of weight and all his hair. I slowly walked over to him and shook his hand and tried to hide the fact that I was blown away with the now apparent fact that Stu was gonna die. It just wasn’t fair! God was MEAN! Stu got straight and that alone was one of the biggest miracles. Stu was trying, really, really trying hard to turn around his life. There was so much in him to give, so many new songs to write and sing. And then the cancer….

On July 9th 2001 Stu Blank passed on at his home with all his family and his best friend Gary by his side. He went in peace. He was a true friend and such a special person.

Stu’s funeral had more people than John Lee Hooker’s. He was loved by so many people.
At the end of the funeral there was a film clip on a huge screen of Stu playing. Stu was singing “With A Little Help from My Friends”. Suddenly and inexplicably the film just stopped. The movie camera just broke down. Everyone started laughing. We all knew Stu was there and this was his little joke.

The Bay Area’s blues scene has a huge void in it for me because Stu Blank is no longer a part of it. Stu, you're really, really missed.