Everybody's Somebody's Baby
Craig Inanen
My career as a songwriter has pretty much hit its peak the way I figure things. I made $60.41 for “Sausalito Monday Morning Blues” with Evicta Records about thirty years ago. I was so disappointed the next good song I wrote I gave away to a friend, Lucille Tucker. That was “Only Counting Stars” and she recorded it on the B side of her album “Heartaches and Broken Hearts.” It was a good song. She’s got the voice for it. I didn’t get any money for that one but she wrote me a real nice note of thanks. You probably never heard either one.
If you have I’m guessing you’re a die-hard Blues fan.
My music career did just fine, though. You might think I’m a failed musician too. Hell, I’m just barely in a working band. I’ll tell you at my age, that’s plenty. I can always look back on other days and other times in different places when that wasn’t the case if I want to. Mostly I don’t look back. Something might be gaining on me. Around Chicago you can always find work if you’re a good Bluesman.
I’m KJ Butler. Friday and Saturday nights I play with Old John Otum and Ruby Blue. Old John will never see 70 again. Ruby’s 19. Friday nights we play at the Walk Right Inn. On Saturdays you can find us for two sets at the Garden Spot Tavern. Wednesdays we practice at a Ford dealership, Harmony Motors. That’s a good practice spot. We set up in the service garage. Nobody cares how much noise we make or how late we stay.
Old John has played with some greats and almost-greats. Earl Hooker, Big Joe Williams, Willie Dixon, Koko Taylor, I can’t begin to name them all. Neither can he. You have to ask him ‘John, you ever play with Lefty Dizz?’ He’ll squinch up his face and look toward the ceiling, like the answer might be written up there. After a while he’ll say ‘Yeah, I guess I did. 1972 or so, Florence’s Lounge on the South Side.’
We acquired Ruby Blue through an ad on Musicians Connections after our old drummer, Shaky Jake Allen passed away unexpectedly. That happens. Like Casey Stengel said “Most people my age are dead at the present time.” A few people responded to it and you might think she would have been the least likely selection. Her background was band and orchestra in school and a 6 month stint with the Punk band wWo. You pronounce that ‘woe’. She was hands down the best and was willing to start working right away. Eager, even.
I’m pretty open minded. Her blue Mohawk hair style, her tartan plaid skirt and black leather vest, her colorful leggings and combat boots were fine with me. Her ear and facial piercings are an expression of individuality the way I see it. Her drum kit, a five piece Roland kit that had seen plenty of use caught my eye, though. That’s pro quality hardware. You can get a decent used car for what it would cost to duplicate.
So I went to her house to listen to her in person after hearing some MP3 files she sent me. Nice suburban home in one of the far western Chicago suburbs, well kept up and tastefully furnished. Her mother gave me a real suspicious penetrating look when I met her. She told me “That’s my baby.” I understood that but everybody’s somebody’s baby. Good line for a song. Maybe the fact I drive an unmarked white Ford van and had 45+ years on her daughter had something to do with it.
Ruby was nervous. She didn’t want it to show but she was. “Just do what you’re good at” I told her.
“You mean play anything?” she asked.
“That’s right” I said. “Play something you like.”
She looked at me like she didn’t believe me. Then she took a real deep breath and started in playing. I say playing, attacking would be more accurate. It was the most hellacious combination of sounds you could get out of a drum set, like an audible attack on your ears. Overwhelming, for about ten seconds and then a rhythm began to emerge from it like a beat that was battling its way to the top of a stormy sea. It emerged, strong and steady. She played that for another 45 seconds and ended it with multiple cymbal clashes. Then she looked at me. Defiant. As if she was daring me to say something.
“What was that?” I asked her mildly. “I didn’t recognize it.”
“Just something I’m playing around with” she said. “You said play something I like” she added defensively.
“Is that original?” I asked.
“Well, yeah.”
“OK” I told her. “Now play The Star Spangled Banner.”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“Our National Anthem, you know?”
“Yeah, I know it. OK.” She composed herself for a few seconds and then began playing. That’s not an easy song to play. She did it well.
“You’re hired” I told her “If you want to play with us. Come by Harmony Motors at 7:00 PM on Wednesday. Bring your drums. That’s where we practice.”
“It’s that easy?” she asked in disbelief.
I nodded. “For you it is. But three guys before you didn’t make the cut.”
“Wow” she said. I had to give her directions.
Wednesday evening Ruby Blue was 15 minutes early. She showed up in a late model Ford Expedition. I’d have bet it was her mama’s car. All three of us carried her drum kit inside. As we did I told her “I can pick you up and drop you and your stuff off with the van. We split equally four ways, one for each of us and one for expenses and the van. We play Fridays at the Walk Right Inn. Two sets on Saturdays at the Garden Spot. Wednesdays we practice here. Once in a while we’ll play somewhere else, too. Last month we backed up Alberta Wheeler at Frozen Hawk Studios.
“A real studio?” she asked.
“Real as they get” Old John commented.
I could see Ruby Blue was eyeing our equipment. It’s old but first-rate. You don’t need too much when you’re playing acoustic Delta Blues. Old John’s resonator guitar really caught her eye. Maybe she’d never seen one before. Maybe she just liked shiny things.
“It’s going to take you a while to learn the songs but a lot of them are similar. If you want I can bring you some sheet music. I forgot today. I don’t usually carry it with me.” I told her.
“There’s sheet music?” she asked.
“For some of them” I explained. “Can you read music?”
“Of course” she answered. Maybe she didn’t know a lot of drummers can’t.
“Lot of it’s got a shuffle rhythm to it” Old John told her. “dow, da dow, da dow, da or dump, da dump, da dump, da” She listened to him and nodded.
“We can work on solos, intros and outros later” I told her. “Right now you need to learn to recognize the songs and what beat goes with each one.”
“Solos?” she said. I don’t know if she was excited or worried but that got her attention.
Old John and I would play the first 12 bars or so of nine different songs we were currently playing in our sets. Then we’d coach her through the beat and all three of us would play the rest of the song. It went pretty well.
“We’re not looking for perfect” I told her. “We’re looking for good enough. Maybe on a good night it will be as good as you can do, but good enough is still the standard.”
“You make a mistake, you keep playing” Old John told her. By the end of the night most of the time she sounded like a decent pick-up drummer. Not great, but good enough.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked her as we carried the kit out to the Expedition.
“What time do you want to pick me up Friday?” she asked.
As we watched the taillights of the Expedition disappear I asked John the same question. “What do you think?”
“She’ll do if she’ll stick.” Pretty much what I thought.
Thursday night she called me on the telephone. “What should I wear?” she asked.
“It’s going to be hot” I told her. “Particularly under the lights. Wear something comfortable. John and I usually wear suits and hats, no ties, but we’re old school. That way we can take the jackets off. Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want” she repeated. “OK, seeya tomorrow.”
When I picked her up Friday was when she had the tartan plaid skirt and black leather vest, leggings and combat boots on. Her blue hair stood straight up in that Mohawk about 10”. I don’t know how she got it to do that, women’s hairstyles have always been a mystery to me.
It went about as I expected. The Walk Right Inn was busier than normal. Tips were good with all the extra people. It was hot, too. Ruby Blue made some mistakes but nothing I’d call the end of the world. John and I did too. It was good enough. John sang 8 of the songs and I sang 2. One of them is an acapella Gospel number, “Ain’t Gonna Grieve My Lord No More” which Ruby hadn’t heard. I use a stomp board and John and I clap. It’s call and response. I make the calls and he sings the responses. About half way through I heard a third pair of hands clapping.
On the way home, going down Rt. 20, Lake Street, Ruby was quiet until she asked me “Could we pull into this 7-11 so I can get a snow-cone?”
“Sure” I said flipping the turn signal on. When she came out she was attacking that snow-cone or whatever it was about the same way she can attack her drums.
I told her “You might want to bring some water with you tomorrow night. Helps keep you sharp. That Budweiser bottle I sip from all night long has tap water in it.”
“Tap water?” she asked.
“Sure” I said. “Been drinking tap water for 65 years, I’m not dead yet. The bartenders know, so when someone buys the band a drink they doctor it up for me. Charge for a beer I suppose.”
“Huh” was her response.
“Say, how old are you?” I asked.
“Um, 19?” she said. It was pretty hesitant.
“You’ve just been promoted to 22” I told her. “Law says you’ve got to be 21 to work these places.”
“Cool” she remarked. I could see a big smile by the dashboard lights. She was quiet for a while and then said “That Gospel song is pretty old, isn’t it?”
“That’s not really Gospel” I explained. “I just say that because it’s like a Gospel song except it’s what-do-you-call-it irreverent. I guess it’s a Folk song. I don’t know how old it is but the style, the call and response, that’s old. You can sing the responses along with John if you want. It sounds better with more voices.”
“I don’t sing too good” she admitted.
“Up to you” I told her. “Probably sing good enough, though. You think all the people in church sing good?”
“Hu-uh” she told me. “I like that line where it goes ‘Oh you can’t get to heaven on roller skates.” She laughed.
We unloaded the drum kit into the garage. This is about 3:00 AM. Her mother sticks her head out the door, doesn’t say anything and closes it. Ruby Blue and I look at each other. We don’t say anything either until she says “Seeya tomorrow.” I was thinking as I walked back to the van ‘That’s a happy girl’.
Saturday rolls around. When I go to pick up Ruby Blue she’s got on a new Panama hat. It looks pretty good. Sharp, you know?
“Nice hat” I tell her. It really is, it’s straw with a dark blue hatband that might be silk. Probably cost $40 or so. I don’t think she just had that layin’ around. “Looks good”
“I figured it makes me look like you and John” she explained.
“I’ve got news for you” I replied. “It’s going to take more than a hat for you to look like me and John.” It wasn’t that funny but we both laughed.
“Makes me look like I belong with you two.”
“That it does” I agreed. I drove for a while. “Second set tonight we’ll do some requests. Probably songs you haven’t heard. If you can pick up the beat go ahead and play. Just join in. You decide. If you don’t that’s OK. John and I’ve been doin’ this a long time, we can play without drums but we can’t play against the drums, you understand?”
She thought about that. “I get it. Maybe knock the volume down a couple notches on ones I don’t know.”
I nodded. “Now you’re thinking.”
Saturday night goes pretty well. Three voices on “Ain’t Gonna Grieve My Lord No More” does make it sound better. My deep baritone starts out ‘Oh the Deacon went down’ and John and Ruby echo me ‘Oh the Deacon went down’. Me again ‘To the cel-lar to pray’ and they do their part. ‘He found a jug’ they chime right in and I go ‘And he stayed all day’ and so on.
At the end of the first set Old John introduced Ruby Blue. “Before we take a little break I’d like to introduce tonight’s drummer. That’s Ruby Blue.” She did a little flurry on the drums and crashed the top-hat. “Give her a hand folks. We’ll be right back and if you’ve got any requests just write ‘em down on a fifty dollar bill and drop it in the guitar case.” People laughed and applauded.
“People don’t really write requests on fifty dollar bills do they?” she asked John.
“Haven’t yet” he told her “But a man can hope.”
There were some requests. People came up to John at the bar and asked ‘Do you know this?’ or ‘Can you play that?’ I stepped out back through the kitchen for some fresh air. It had cooled off a little bit. Ruby followed me.
“I got a beer” she told me. “Somebody bought the band drinks. Is that all right?”
“You’re in the band, aren’t you?”
“Yeah” she said but she said it a little hesitantly.
“Ruby” I told her “I’m not your mother. I figure you’re an adult and a professional.”
“OK” she replied. “John’s drinking but you’re not.”
“With me one drink’s too many and a hundred of them aren’t enough” I told her. “I learned that a long time ago.” That gave her something to think about or maybe she was thinking about all that applause when Old John introduced her.
Before we started the last set John asked me “Do you know “Backbreakin’ Blues”? ‘cause I don’t.”
“Prison work song” I told him. “I don’t know it well enough to sing it.”
He stepped up to the microphone “Before we get started on the last set we had a request for “Backbreakin’ Blues” which is a good one but we don’t know it well enough to sing it. I’m sorry. If it’s all right with you we’ll do “Let Your Hammer Ring” instead.”
I knew that one, another call and response song but this was a little different. I’d have to clue Ruby Blue in. The other requests were no problem, “Key to the Highway” and “Boogie Chillun” where Old John would have to imitate John Lee Hooker’s guitar. I walked over in front of Ruby’s drums.
“Let Your Hammer Ring” is another acapella call and response song but it’s a different arrangement. All you sing is ‘Let your hammer ring’. I sing two lines, then you and John sing ‘Let your hammer ring’ then I sing two more lines and so on.” She nodded her understanding.
I told everybody “Let Your Hammer Ring is an old prison work song, a hammer song but it was really sung to keep time with axes when cutting timber. There’s about a hundred verses. I’m not going to sing them all.” People laughed. “It starts out like this” and began singing “I'm goin' down to the bottom, let your hammer ring - I'm goin' down to the bottom, let your hammer ring.”
Old John and Ruby sang their response “Let your hammer ring!” Ruby was a little slow. I stomped down hard on my stomp board. That might work better with a kick drum.
Then I sang the next verse “A-just to ring my hammer, let your hammer ring - A-just to ring my hammer, let your hammer ring.” and on and on we went.
“Nobody knows who wrote that” I told the audience after we’d finished. “Probably a bunch of people over the years.”
At the end of the night after Old John thanked everyone we got the customary round of applause. Ruby did a little riff, clashed the cymbals and we were finished with another Saturday show.
“That went pretty well” she said “Didn’t it?” finally as we were driving home.
“Yeah” I agreed. “Not bad” I drove a little further and then asked her “Do you want to stop for one of those snow-cones?” as we were coming up on the 7-11.
“If it’s OK, sure” We were both quiet for most of the ride. She crunched the ice in her snow-cone.
“Pay day” I told her after I’d pulled in her driveway and shut the van off. I handed her a small roll of bills. “Count it” I said.
She did. “This is more than we’d said” she told me.
“Tips” I explained.
“Oh. Cool.” The lights in her house turn on. We unload the drum kit. I’m thinking Ruby Blue might be all right.
Weeks go by. We change it from a foot stomp after the chorus on “Let Your Hammer Ring” to a muted bass drum kick. It sounds better. Ruby Blue comes up with an innovation. She was all mysterious about it, having something she was obviously pleased with to show John and me in practice. She turns a metal bowl upside down on the snare drum and taps that with a drumstick. It’s amazingly better. It’s got the right tone and it reverberates too, not just a dull percussion. Plus it’s louder. There are a couple of things of note during the next month beyond that. We start to leave the drum kit in my van on Friday nights. That way we don’t have to unload it in the middle of the night and reload it the next day. I guess that shows some trust. She also stops wearing outlandish outfits and starts wearing black shorts. Nobody told her to do that, it was her idea. It’s more comfortable she says. It also looks better with her black leather vest, more professional. Plus she’s got pretty good legs. When you’re selling entertainment stuff like that counts.
Time passes. She’s got a lot of the songs down pat now and we start to add some intros, some outros and a few fills. John is pleased. Me, too. I was sure she had it in her. He’s really taken with that solo she played for me the first time I went to hear her but we’re not sure how to work it in. Eventually we start to do that just before the break at the Garden Spot Tavern. An abbreviated version goes over so well and draws a round of applause that we incorporate the whole thing at the end of our sets. I know the crowd response is sweet music to her ears.
One night on the way home she’s chomping the ice from her snow-cone and she asks me “What are we called?”
“What do you mean?” I wasn’t certain what she was asking. Sometimes you have to listen closely to what she’s saying. She doesn’t say much and when she does sometimes you have to figure out what she means.
“The band. Do we have a name, or what?” Oh.
“I think we’re just John Otum and his band. He’s the big name, the draw.” This wasn’t a problem when it was just John and me. Even when Shaky Jake Allen was alive we just never thought about it.
Two weeks later there’s an insert on the bass drum skin facing the audience that reads ‘John Otum’. John is in cursive script at the top, Otum is in big bold Gothic letters below it. Not what I would have chosen but when Old John sees it he says “Well now.”
That was the same week ‘Alabama’ Hale Farley drops by the Walk Right Inn and asks us to back him up in a session. He’s got a fine looking fox on his arm. They stay for the whole set. He records out of Modern Recording down on the South Side of Chicago. Has for years.
On the ride home Ruby Blue is really excited and has about a thousand questions as to what to expect. Old John is finally overwhelmed with them and takes to answering “You’ll see, you’ll see.” After we drop him off I get hit with many of the same questions again. This is obviously pretty important to Ruby.
She starts one out “John wouldn’t say…”
I told her “He’s pretty tired tonight and he’s got confidence in you that you can handle it.” That quieted her down. In a good way.
The session goes well. We’re there early, well before noon. There’s a female vocalist just finishing up as we get there and we watch the tail end of her session through the glass. She sings the same verse six or seven times on cue. She’s sweating like she just ran a four-minute mile which would be quite a thing to see since she weighs about 300 lbs. John knows her.
“Mabel Watkins, this is Ruby Blue. Ruby, this is Mabel Watkins” he makes the introduction after she finishes, as we’re setting up.
“Nice to meet you, chile” Mabel says.
After she leaves the studio and is talking with the engineer Ruby says “THE Mabel Watkins?” to John.
“Only one I know of” he tells her. She’s suitably impressed.
The engineer gives me three release forms. I hand one to Ruby Blue and tell her “Sign this.”
She looks at it. Like a lot of legal papers it’s hard to figure out what it’s really for. It’s got blank spaces and fine print. “What is it?” she asks.
“It’s a copyright release form. It says that you’re working as a musician for hire and that you release all rights to copyright of the music to Stars Over Alabama.” I explain. “Standard practice. We all sign one.”
She was still trying to read it and make sense of it. “What’s Stars Over Alabama?” she asks me.
“That’s ‘Alabama’ Hale Farley. It’s like a company name, a legal name, he uses for his record business.”
“Oh. I should use my real name?” she asks.
“Sure” I told her. “Name and address. It’s a legally binding contract. It’s done all the time.” She signs it Rebecca Barkowski. Then she draws a dash and writes Ruby Blue after that. That’ll work. I give them back to the engineer who doesn’t bother to read them.
Hale Farley arrives. He’s got four old standards he wants to record. They’ll be filler tracks if they’re used at all. He’s got a red bandana tied around his hair and is wearing a tee shirt that reads “Show me what you got” on the front. We spend about an hour on each song. He and the engineer, who’s got a long dirty blond ponytail are finally satisfied. About mid-way through a young man in a suit walks in and talks with the engineer. Farley turns toward Ruby Blue and asks her “Are you in the union?”
Her eyes get real big. “N-n-no” she says.
“Don’t worry” he tells her. “I’ve got this covered.” She probably hadn’t thought to worry until he said that. The young man enters the studio, Hale Farley greets him and takes him by the arm over into one corner of the room. A few minutes later we resume working on “Little Queen of Spades” and nothing more is said about that. Hale Farley wants me to echo his call and isn’t pleased with my efforts. I can’t get my voice up high enough.
“What about you?” he asks Ruby. She’s not playing the drums on that one, just sitting there listening. “Your voice higher?”
“Yeah, maybe” she says.
“Let’s give it a try” he tells her. That works nicely. Two takes later that one is in the can and the echo is suitably plaintive and eerie at the same time. The engineer is happy. He gives us a ‘thumbs up’ through the glass after the second take.
On the long ride home Old John sits in the passenger seat of the van and dozes. It’s been a long day for him, counting travel time over 7 hours. Ruby sits in the back on the floor with the equipment. It’s only got two seats, it’s the commercial version. She’s quiet. I drop John off and Ruby moves to the passenger seat. “You’ll get about $320 for today” I told her. “They subtract 10% for the Union pension fund. Hale Farley has to pay it but you don’t get it. They’ll mail it to you. You should get a check in 15 days.”
“Oh cool” she said.
“We didn’t get an overtime rate which technically kicks in at 3 hours and they aren’t paying extra for your drum kit because they did have one there you could have used.”
“I looked at it” she says. “It wasn’t much. Do you think it went OK?” she asks me.
“Yeah I do. If it didn’t the guy with the ponytail would have let us know. Believe me he would have let us know.” That put a smile on her face.
Two months later a CD shows up in the mail. ‘Alabama’ Hale Farley’s “One More Time”, which has three cuts on it that we recorded. That was a nice touch. He didn’t have to do that. The return address is Stars Over Alabama with a Hodgkins, Illinois P.O. Box number.
That Saturday night Ruby Blue is really quiet on the drive home. I know her well enough to be able to ask her “What’s wrong?” The night had gone well.
“My Mom’s gonna be so mad” she tells me.
“Why is that?” I ask.
“Coming home late with beer on my breath. She’s been on me for a couple weeks. She says I’m lazy because I sleep until 10:00 in the morning.”
“But you don’t get home until 2:00. Sometimes 3:00.”
“I know” she says. “I try and tell her.” She’s quiet again. She’s got her feet up on the dashboard, curled up on herself with her arms around her knees, making herself smaller. I don’t know what to say. Maybe there’s nothing I can tell her. “She wants me to get a real job” she adds.
I don’t know what went on in the Barkowski household the next three weeks. Ruby Blue didn’t say and I didn’t ask. With us it was business as usual, making music and entertaining people. Looking back on it now I can guess.
Saturday evening I pull into Ruby’s driveway. Her drum kit is still in the back of the van from last night. She comes running out of the house like her ass is on fire. Her mother is standing in the doorway, shouting “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare, young lady! You get back here!” She’s shaking her fist, too. Ruby jumps in the van and slams the door.
“Just drive!” she tells me. I drive. We weren’t very good that night. Everything was a little bit off. It’s as if there was a dark cloud lingering over us. Driving home that night I ask Ruby “Do you want to stop for a snow-cone?”
She shakes her head. “Nah, not tonight.” We unload her kit, carrying it into the garage. It seems as if every light in the house is turned on but no one comes out.
Old John has to go up to the V.A. hospital in Madison, Wisconsin Wednesday. He says it’s hard to get an appointment there and that was the only day they would take him so we cancelled practice. Thursday Ruby Blue calls me and tells me “I have to quit the band. My parents won’t let me play anymore with you guys.”
“We’ll get by” I tell her.
I’m about to say more when she wails “I know! But I won’t be there!” Then she hangs up.
Six months pass. John and I are playing at the Walk Right Inn. We’ve just fired another drummer a week ago when a girl walks up to us. She’s got spiked blue hair and is wearing a black leather dog collar. With leash attached. She’s got on a sleeveless man’s undershirt and what looks like a ballerina skirt. It’s Ruby Blue, of course.
“Hey you guys need a drummer?” she asks. We both get big hugs. She’s working at a dry-cleaners, has bought a used car and is sharing an apartment with a girlfriend. She’s ready to start playing once more. She says she’s been practicing.
Old John will never see 70 again. I’m getting up there myself, not far behind. Ruby Blue is 19 years old and she has most of her life in front of her. I’m glad I’ll be able to share some of that. I think it’s going to be an interesting ride.
~ ~ ~
May 2026
Craig Inanen
My career as a songwriter has pretty much hit its peak the way I figure things. I made $60.41 for “Sausalito Monday Morning Blues” with Evicta Records about thirty years ago. I was so disappointed the next good song I wrote I gave away to a friend, Lucille Tucker. That was “Only Counting Stars” and she recorded it on the B side of her album “Heartaches and Broken Hearts.” It was a good song. She’s got the voice for it. I didn’t get any money for that one but she wrote me a real nice note of thanks. You probably never heard either one.
If you have I’m guessing you’re a die-hard Blues fan.
My music career did just fine, though. You might think I’m a failed musician too. Hell, I’m just barely in a working band. I’ll tell you at my age, that’s plenty. I can always look back on other days and other times in different places when that wasn’t the case if I want to. Mostly I don’t look back. Something might be gaining on me. Around Chicago you can always find work if you’re a good Bluesman.
I’m KJ Butler. Friday and Saturday nights I play with Old John Otum and Ruby Blue. Old John will never see 70 again. Ruby’s 19. Friday nights we play at the Walk Right Inn. On Saturdays you can find us for two sets at the Garden Spot Tavern. Wednesdays we practice at a Ford dealership, Harmony Motors. That’s a good practice spot. We set up in the service garage. Nobody cares how much noise we make or how late we stay.
Old John has played with some greats and almost-greats. Earl Hooker, Big Joe Williams, Willie Dixon, Koko Taylor, I can’t begin to name them all. Neither can he. You have to ask him ‘John, you ever play with Lefty Dizz?’ He’ll squinch up his face and look toward the ceiling, like the answer might be written up there. After a while he’ll say ‘Yeah, I guess I did. 1972 or so, Florence’s Lounge on the South Side.’
We acquired Ruby Blue through an ad on Musicians Connections after our old drummer, Shaky Jake Allen passed away unexpectedly. That happens. Like Casey Stengel said “Most people my age are dead at the present time.” A few people responded to it and you might think she would have been the least likely selection. Her background was band and orchestra in school and a 6 month stint with the Punk band wWo. You pronounce that ‘woe’. She was hands down the best and was willing to start working right away. Eager, even.
I’m pretty open minded. Her blue Mohawk hair style, her tartan plaid skirt and black leather vest, her colorful leggings and combat boots were fine with me. Her ear and facial piercings are an expression of individuality the way I see it. Her drum kit, a five piece Roland kit that had seen plenty of use caught my eye, though. That’s pro quality hardware. You can get a decent used car for what it would cost to duplicate.
So I went to her house to listen to her in person after hearing some MP3 files she sent me. Nice suburban home in one of the far western Chicago suburbs, well kept up and tastefully furnished. Her mother gave me a real suspicious penetrating look when I met her. She told me “That’s my baby.” I understood that but everybody’s somebody’s baby. Good line for a song. Maybe the fact I drive an unmarked white Ford van and had 45+ years on her daughter had something to do with it.
Ruby was nervous. She didn’t want it to show but she was. “Just do what you’re good at” I told her.
“You mean play anything?” she asked.
“That’s right” I said. “Play something you like.”
She looked at me like she didn’t believe me. Then she took a real deep breath and started in playing. I say playing, attacking would be more accurate. It was the most hellacious combination of sounds you could get out of a drum set, like an audible attack on your ears. Overwhelming, for about ten seconds and then a rhythm began to emerge from it like a beat that was battling its way to the top of a stormy sea. It emerged, strong and steady. She played that for another 45 seconds and ended it with multiple cymbal clashes. Then she looked at me. Defiant. As if she was daring me to say something.
“What was that?” I asked her mildly. “I didn’t recognize it.”
“Just something I’m playing around with” she said. “You said play something I like” she added defensively.
“Is that original?” I asked.
“Well, yeah.”
“OK” I told her. “Now play The Star Spangled Banner.”
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“Our National Anthem, you know?”
“Yeah, I know it. OK.” She composed herself for a few seconds and then began playing. That’s not an easy song to play. She did it well.
“You’re hired” I told her “If you want to play with us. Come by Harmony Motors at 7:00 PM on Wednesday. Bring your drums. That’s where we practice.”
“It’s that easy?” she asked in disbelief.
I nodded. “For you it is. But three guys before you didn’t make the cut.”
“Wow” she said. I had to give her directions.
Wednesday evening Ruby Blue was 15 minutes early. She showed up in a late model Ford Expedition. I’d have bet it was her mama’s car. All three of us carried her drum kit inside. As we did I told her “I can pick you up and drop you and your stuff off with the van. We split equally four ways, one for each of us and one for expenses and the van. We play Fridays at the Walk Right Inn. Two sets on Saturdays at the Garden Spot. Wednesdays we practice here. Once in a while we’ll play somewhere else, too. Last month we backed up Alberta Wheeler at Frozen Hawk Studios.
“A real studio?” she asked.
“Real as they get” Old John commented.
I could see Ruby Blue was eyeing our equipment. It’s old but first-rate. You don’t need too much when you’re playing acoustic Delta Blues. Old John’s resonator guitar really caught her eye. Maybe she’d never seen one before. Maybe she just liked shiny things.
“It’s going to take you a while to learn the songs but a lot of them are similar. If you want I can bring you some sheet music. I forgot today. I don’t usually carry it with me.” I told her.
“There’s sheet music?” she asked.
“For some of them” I explained. “Can you read music?”
“Of course” she answered. Maybe she didn’t know a lot of drummers can’t.
“Lot of it’s got a shuffle rhythm to it” Old John told her. “dow, da dow, da dow, da or dump, da dump, da dump, da” She listened to him and nodded.
“We can work on solos, intros and outros later” I told her. “Right now you need to learn to recognize the songs and what beat goes with each one.”
“Solos?” she said. I don’t know if she was excited or worried but that got her attention.
Old John and I would play the first 12 bars or so of nine different songs we were currently playing in our sets. Then we’d coach her through the beat and all three of us would play the rest of the song. It went pretty well.
“We’re not looking for perfect” I told her. “We’re looking for good enough. Maybe on a good night it will be as good as you can do, but good enough is still the standard.”
“You make a mistake, you keep playing” Old John told her. By the end of the night most of the time she sounded like a decent pick-up drummer. Not great, but good enough.
“Well, what do you think?” I asked her as we carried the kit out to the Expedition.
“What time do you want to pick me up Friday?” she asked.
As we watched the taillights of the Expedition disappear I asked John the same question. “What do you think?”
“She’ll do if she’ll stick.” Pretty much what I thought.
Thursday night she called me on the telephone. “What should I wear?” she asked.
“It’s going to be hot” I told her. “Particularly under the lights. Wear something comfortable. John and I usually wear suits and hats, no ties, but we’re old school. That way we can take the jackets off. Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want” she repeated. “OK, seeya tomorrow.”
When I picked her up Friday was when she had the tartan plaid skirt and black leather vest, leggings and combat boots on. Her blue hair stood straight up in that Mohawk about 10”. I don’t know how she got it to do that, women’s hairstyles have always been a mystery to me.
It went about as I expected. The Walk Right Inn was busier than normal. Tips were good with all the extra people. It was hot, too. Ruby Blue made some mistakes but nothing I’d call the end of the world. John and I did too. It was good enough. John sang 8 of the songs and I sang 2. One of them is an acapella Gospel number, “Ain’t Gonna Grieve My Lord No More” which Ruby hadn’t heard. I use a stomp board and John and I clap. It’s call and response. I make the calls and he sings the responses. About half way through I heard a third pair of hands clapping.
On the way home, going down Rt. 20, Lake Street, Ruby was quiet until she asked me “Could we pull into this 7-11 so I can get a snow-cone?”
“Sure” I said flipping the turn signal on. When she came out she was attacking that snow-cone or whatever it was about the same way she can attack her drums.
I told her “You might want to bring some water with you tomorrow night. Helps keep you sharp. That Budweiser bottle I sip from all night long has tap water in it.”
“Tap water?” she asked.
“Sure” I said. “Been drinking tap water for 65 years, I’m not dead yet. The bartenders know, so when someone buys the band a drink they doctor it up for me. Charge for a beer I suppose.”
“Huh” was her response.
“Say, how old are you?” I asked.
“Um, 19?” she said. It was pretty hesitant.
“You’ve just been promoted to 22” I told her. “Law says you’ve got to be 21 to work these places.”
“Cool” she remarked. I could see a big smile by the dashboard lights. She was quiet for a while and then said “That Gospel song is pretty old, isn’t it?”
“That’s not really Gospel” I explained. “I just say that because it’s like a Gospel song except it’s what-do-you-call-it irreverent. I guess it’s a Folk song. I don’t know how old it is but the style, the call and response, that’s old. You can sing the responses along with John if you want. It sounds better with more voices.”
“I don’t sing too good” she admitted.
“Up to you” I told her. “Probably sing good enough, though. You think all the people in church sing good?”
“Hu-uh” she told me. “I like that line where it goes ‘Oh you can’t get to heaven on roller skates.” She laughed.
We unloaded the drum kit into the garage. This is about 3:00 AM. Her mother sticks her head out the door, doesn’t say anything and closes it. Ruby Blue and I look at each other. We don’t say anything either until she says “Seeya tomorrow.” I was thinking as I walked back to the van ‘That’s a happy girl’.
Saturday rolls around. When I go to pick up Ruby Blue she’s got on a new Panama hat. It looks pretty good. Sharp, you know?
“Nice hat” I tell her. It really is, it’s straw with a dark blue hatband that might be silk. Probably cost $40 or so. I don’t think she just had that layin’ around. “Looks good”
“I figured it makes me look like you and John” she explained.
“I’ve got news for you” I replied. “It’s going to take more than a hat for you to look like me and John.” It wasn’t that funny but we both laughed.
“Makes me look like I belong with you two.”
“That it does” I agreed. I drove for a while. “Second set tonight we’ll do some requests. Probably songs you haven’t heard. If you can pick up the beat go ahead and play. Just join in. You decide. If you don’t that’s OK. John and I’ve been doin’ this a long time, we can play without drums but we can’t play against the drums, you understand?”
She thought about that. “I get it. Maybe knock the volume down a couple notches on ones I don’t know.”
I nodded. “Now you’re thinking.”
Saturday night goes pretty well. Three voices on “Ain’t Gonna Grieve My Lord No More” does make it sound better. My deep baritone starts out ‘Oh the Deacon went down’ and John and Ruby echo me ‘Oh the Deacon went down’. Me again ‘To the cel-lar to pray’ and they do their part. ‘He found a jug’ they chime right in and I go ‘And he stayed all day’ and so on.
At the end of the first set Old John introduced Ruby Blue. “Before we take a little break I’d like to introduce tonight’s drummer. That’s Ruby Blue.” She did a little flurry on the drums and crashed the top-hat. “Give her a hand folks. We’ll be right back and if you’ve got any requests just write ‘em down on a fifty dollar bill and drop it in the guitar case.” People laughed and applauded.
“People don’t really write requests on fifty dollar bills do they?” she asked John.
“Haven’t yet” he told her “But a man can hope.”
There were some requests. People came up to John at the bar and asked ‘Do you know this?’ or ‘Can you play that?’ I stepped out back through the kitchen for some fresh air. It had cooled off a little bit. Ruby followed me.
“I got a beer” she told me. “Somebody bought the band drinks. Is that all right?”
“You’re in the band, aren’t you?”
“Yeah” she said but she said it a little hesitantly.
“Ruby” I told her “I’m not your mother. I figure you’re an adult and a professional.”
“OK” she replied. “John’s drinking but you’re not.”
“With me one drink’s too many and a hundred of them aren’t enough” I told her. “I learned that a long time ago.” That gave her something to think about or maybe she was thinking about all that applause when Old John introduced her.
Before we started the last set John asked me “Do you know “Backbreakin’ Blues”? ‘cause I don’t.”
“Prison work song” I told him. “I don’t know it well enough to sing it.”
He stepped up to the microphone “Before we get started on the last set we had a request for “Backbreakin’ Blues” which is a good one but we don’t know it well enough to sing it. I’m sorry. If it’s all right with you we’ll do “Let Your Hammer Ring” instead.”
I knew that one, another call and response song but this was a little different. I’d have to clue Ruby Blue in. The other requests were no problem, “Key to the Highway” and “Boogie Chillun” where Old John would have to imitate John Lee Hooker’s guitar. I walked over in front of Ruby’s drums.
“Let Your Hammer Ring” is another acapella call and response song but it’s a different arrangement. All you sing is ‘Let your hammer ring’. I sing two lines, then you and John sing ‘Let your hammer ring’ then I sing two more lines and so on.” She nodded her understanding.
I told everybody “Let Your Hammer Ring is an old prison work song, a hammer song but it was really sung to keep time with axes when cutting timber. There’s about a hundred verses. I’m not going to sing them all.” People laughed. “It starts out like this” and began singing “I'm goin' down to the bottom, let your hammer ring - I'm goin' down to the bottom, let your hammer ring.”
Old John and Ruby sang their response “Let your hammer ring!” Ruby was a little slow. I stomped down hard on my stomp board. That might work better with a kick drum.
Then I sang the next verse “A-just to ring my hammer, let your hammer ring - A-just to ring my hammer, let your hammer ring.” and on and on we went.
“Nobody knows who wrote that” I told the audience after we’d finished. “Probably a bunch of people over the years.”
At the end of the night after Old John thanked everyone we got the customary round of applause. Ruby did a little riff, clashed the cymbals and we were finished with another Saturday show.
“That went pretty well” she said “Didn’t it?” finally as we were driving home.
“Yeah” I agreed. “Not bad” I drove a little further and then asked her “Do you want to stop for one of those snow-cones?” as we were coming up on the 7-11.
“If it’s OK, sure” We were both quiet for most of the ride. She crunched the ice in her snow-cone.
“Pay day” I told her after I’d pulled in her driveway and shut the van off. I handed her a small roll of bills. “Count it” I said.
She did. “This is more than we’d said” she told me.
“Tips” I explained.
“Oh. Cool.” The lights in her house turn on. We unload the drum kit. I’m thinking Ruby Blue might be all right.
Weeks go by. We change it from a foot stomp after the chorus on “Let Your Hammer Ring” to a muted bass drum kick. It sounds better. Ruby Blue comes up with an innovation. She was all mysterious about it, having something she was obviously pleased with to show John and me in practice. She turns a metal bowl upside down on the snare drum and taps that with a drumstick. It’s amazingly better. It’s got the right tone and it reverberates too, not just a dull percussion. Plus it’s louder. There are a couple of things of note during the next month beyond that. We start to leave the drum kit in my van on Friday nights. That way we don’t have to unload it in the middle of the night and reload it the next day. I guess that shows some trust. She also stops wearing outlandish outfits and starts wearing black shorts. Nobody told her to do that, it was her idea. It’s more comfortable she says. It also looks better with her black leather vest, more professional. Plus she’s got pretty good legs. When you’re selling entertainment stuff like that counts.
Time passes. She’s got a lot of the songs down pat now and we start to add some intros, some outros and a few fills. John is pleased. Me, too. I was sure she had it in her. He’s really taken with that solo she played for me the first time I went to hear her but we’re not sure how to work it in. Eventually we start to do that just before the break at the Garden Spot Tavern. An abbreviated version goes over so well and draws a round of applause that we incorporate the whole thing at the end of our sets. I know the crowd response is sweet music to her ears.
One night on the way home she’s chomping the ice from her snow-cone and she asks me “What are we called?”
“What do you mean?” I wasn’t certain what she was asking. Sometimes you have to listen closely to what she’s saying. She doesn’t say much and when she does sometimes you have to figure out what she means.
“The band. Do we have a name, or what?” Oh.
“I think we’re just John Otum and his band. He’s the big name, the draw.” This wasn’t a problem when it was just John and me. Even when Shaky Jake Allen was alive we just never thought about it.
Two weeks later there’s an insert on the bass drum skin facing the audience that reads ‘John Otum’. John is in cursive script at the top, Otum is in big bold Gothic letters below it. Not what I would have chosen but when Old John sees it he says “Well now.”
That was the same week ‘Alabama’ Hale Farley drops by the Walk Right Inn and asks us to back him up in a session. He’s got a fine looking fox on his arm. They stay for the whole set. He records out of Modern Recording down on the South Side of Chicago. Has for years.
On the ride home Ruby Blue is really excited and has about a thousand questions as to what to expect. Old John is finally overwhelmed with them and takes to answering “You’ll see, you’ll see.” After we drop him off I get hit with many of the same questions again. This is obviously pretty important to Ruby.
She starts one out “John wouldn’t say…”
I told her “He’s pretty tired tonight and he’s got confidence in you that you can handle it.” That quieted her down. In a good way.
The session goes well. We’re there early, well before noon. There’s a female vocalist just finishing up as we get there and we watch the tail end of her session through the glass. She sings the same verse six or seven times on cue. She’s sweating like she just ran a four-minute mile which would be quite a thing to see since she weighs about 300 lbs. John knows her.
“Mabel Watkins, this is Ruby Blue. Ruby, this is Mabel Watkins” he makes the introduction after she finishes, as we’re setting up.
“Nice to meet you, chile” Mabel says.
After she leaves the studio and is talking with the engineer Ruby says “THE Mabel Watkins?” to John.
“Only one I know of” he tells her. She’s suitably impressed.
The engineer gives me three release forms. I hand one to Ruby Blue and tell her “Sign this.”
She looks at it. Like a lot of legal papers it’s hard to figure out what it’s really for. It’s got blank spaces and fine print. “What is it?” she asks.
“It’s a copyright release form. It says that you’re working as a musician for hire and that you release all rights to copyright of the music to Stars Over Alabama.” I explain. “Standard practice. We all sign one.”
She was still trying to read it and make sense of it. “What’s Stars Over Alabama?” she asks me.
“That’s ‘Alabama’ Hale Farley. It’s like a company name, a legal name, he uses for his record business.”
“Oh. I should use my real name?” she asks.
“Sure” I told her. “Name and address. It’s a legally binding contract. It’s done all the time.” She signs it Rebecca Barkowski. Then she draws a dash and writes Ruby Blue after that. That’ll work. I give them back to the engineer who doesn’t bother to read them.
Hale Farley arrives. He’s got four old standards he wants to record. They’ll be filler tracks if they’re used at all. He’s got a red bandana tied around his hair and is wearing a tee shirt that reads “Show me what you got” on the front. We spend about an hour on each song. He and the engineer, who’s got a long dirty blond ponytail are finally satisfied. About mid-way through a young man in a suit walks in and talks with the engineer. Farley turns toward Ruby Blue and asks her “Are you in the union?”
Her eyes get real big. “N-n-no” she says.
“Don’t worry” he tells her. “I’ve got this covered.” She probably hadn’t thought to worry until he said that. The young man enters the studio, Hale Farley greets him and takes him by the arm over into one corner of the room. A few minutes later we resume working on “Little Queen of Spades” and nothing more is said about that. Hale Farley wants me to echo his call and isn’t pleased with my efforts. I can’t get my voice up high enough.
“What about you?” he asks Ruby. She’s not playing the drums on that one, just sitting there listening. “Your voice higher?”
“Yeah, maybe” she says.
“Let’s give it a try” he tells her. That works nicely. Two takes later that one is in the can and the echo is suitably plaintive and eerie at the same time. The engineer is happy. He gives us a ‘thumbs up’ through the glass after the second take.
On the long ride home Old John sits in the passenger seat of the van and dozes. It’s been a long day for him, counting travel time over 7 hours. Ruby sits in the back on the floor with the equipment. It’s only got two seats, it’s the commercial version. She’s quiet. I drop John off and Ruby moves to the passenger seat. “You’ll get about $320 for today” I told her. “They subtract 10% for the Union pension fund. Hale Farley has to pay it but you don’t get it. They’ll mail it to you. You should get a check in 15 days.”
“Oh cool” she said.
“We didn’t get an overtime rate which technically kicks in at 3 hours and they aren’t paying extra for your drum kit because they did have one there you could have used.”
“I looked at it” she says. “It wasn’t much. Do you think it went OK?” she asks me.
“Yeah I do. If it didn’t the guy with the ponytail would have let us know. Believe me he would have let us know.” That put a smile on her face.
Two months later a CD shows up in the mail. ‘Alabama’ Hale Farley’s “One More Time”, which has three cuts on it that we recorded. That was a nice touch. He didn’t have to do that. The return address is Stars Over Alabama with a Hodgkins, Illinois P.O. Box number.
That Saturday night Ruby Blue is really quiet on the drive home. I know her well enough to be able to ask her “What’s wrong?” The night had gone well.
“My Mom’s gonna be so mad” she tells me.
“Why is that?” I ask.
“Coming home late with beer on my breath. She’s been on me for a couple weeks. She says I’m lazy because I sleep until 10:00 in the morning.”
“But you don’t get home until 2:00. Sometimes 3:00.”
“I know” she says. “I try and tell her.” She’s quiet again. She’s got her feet up on the dashboard, curled up on herself with her arms around her knees, making herself smaller. I don’t know what to say. Maybe there’s nothing I can tell her. “She wants me to get a real job” she adds.
I don’t know what went on in the Barkowski household the next three weeks. Ruby Blue didn’t say and I didn’t ask. With us it was business as usual, making music and entertaining people. Looking back on it now I can guess.
Saturday evening I pull into Ruby’s driveway. Her drum kit is still in the back of the van from last night. She comes running out of the house like her ass is on fire. Her mother is standing in the doorway, shouting “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare, young lady! You get back here!” She’s shaking her fist, too. Ruby jumps in the van and slams the door.
“Just drive!” she tells me. I drive. We weren’t very good that night. Everything was a little bit off. It’s as if there was a dark cloud lingering over us. Driving home that night I ask Ruby “Do you want to stop for a snow-cone?”
She shakes her head. “Nah, not tonight.” We unload her kit, carrying it into the garage. It seems as if every light in the house is turned on but no one comes out.
Old John has to go up to the V.A. hospital in Madison, Wisconsin Wednesday. He says it’s hard to get an appointment there and that was the only day they would take him so we cancelled practice. Thursday Ruby Blue calls me and tells me “I have to quit the band. My parents won’t let me play anymore with you guys.”
“We’ll get by” I tell her.
I’m about to say more when she wails “I know! But I won’t be there!” Then she hangs up.
Six months pass. John and I are playing at the Walk Right Inn. We’ve just fired another drummer a week ago when a girl walks up to us. She’s got spiked blue hair and is wearing a black leather dog collar. With leash attached. She’s got on a sleeveless man’s undershirt and what looks like a ballerina skirt. It’s Ruby Blue, of course.
“Hey you guys need a drummer?” she asks. We both get big hugs. She’s working at a dry-cleaners, has bought a used car and is sharing an apartment with a girlfriend. She’s ready to start playing once more. She says she’s been practicing.
Old John will never see 70 again. I’m getting up there myself, not far behind. Ruby Blue is 19 years old and she has most of her life in front of her. I’m glad I’ll be able to share some of that. I think it’s going to be an interesting ride.
~ ~ ~
May 2026
