Colonel Bruce Hampton

I first met Colonel Bruce some years ago. He  comes into the restaurant sometimes, and orders a chopped pork sandwich. He didn’t guess my birthday, so now every day is my birthday, and his. He claims I know where all the bodies are buried, and he may be right.

I’d never actually seen Bruce play, until last Friday night. It’s tough slaving over ribs all night and then driving 65 miles to home, but I had to go, right? Northside Tavern is the only place close enough I can get off work and catch the last set, so I went, chopped pork sammich in tow. Had to.

Let me tell you… I’ve never seen musicians have such a great time on stage. Never. Some come close, very close, but this was an experience that tickles that thing in you and makes you feel like you’ve been touched by something great, something bigger. These things are the things that spawn religion. Maybe it’s part of the legend, it’s real hard to say. You just know the musicians around him feel they’re part of that legend too. It shows in their playing, and on their faces. The Colonel just has a way of sharing himself, his heart, with everyone, and a way of commanding from the stage, something tangible enough to eat. One set, and I was full.

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