Editor's Note: This post is the fourth of a month-long series, "Up All Night," on St. Louis culture after dark. Check back next Wednesday for a month of “Second Helpings,” or second-time-out St. Louis experiences.
St. Louis might be a town that likes to go out, but all nights aren’t created equally. With a good number of restaurants and even some bars dark on Monday nights, it’s often a little bit of stretch to “find something to do” on the first day of the work week. That’s why the Soulard Blues Band plays such an important role in the cultural fabric of our city, taking on extra imporatance at least one-seventh of the time. Because when it’s Monday, you know that the SBB is going to playing music at the Broadway Oyster Bar.
It’s been that way for more than two decades. The group, now a couple-dozen members into their own, take over the small inside stage during the winter months, moving outside for the other half of the year. Obviously, these days, they’re working inside the club’s venerable walls, playing sets from 10 p.m. until after 1 a.m. on what’d safely be called a compact bandstand. Though vocalist Marty Abdullah consistently jokes about playing until the liquor laws kick in, or the sun’s up, they’re usually winding down in the 1-ish range, after what can be their most interesting set of the night.
Though it’s not a rule, the evening’s often start out with that night’s version of the Soulard Blues Band playing anywhere from a couple to a handful of songs, themselves, introducing Abdullah, “the welterweight champion of rhythm ‘n’ blues," after an instrumental, or two. A hand-picked friend, or maybe a couple, work their way into the set, with other, potential sit-in members largely joining in through the second set. This batch of musicians can include anyone from 30-year veterans of their own bands to teenagers, who’ve been driven down to the venue by relatives for their first chance to jam with a “real band.”
What’s cool about the Broadway Oyster Bar scene is its diversity. In a town not always known for a lot of mixing in entertainment venues, the Soulard Blues Band brings in a quality, blended set of folks. And that’s true each and every time. Everybody’s there. Black and white and Asian, young and old and in-between. On Monday, a squadron of suits were in the back, while a mixed-bag of blues fans were in the front, including a blonde-haired teenager, obviously there on winter break from school for a shot at a sit-in. Not far from a bandstand, a regular Joe in a Blues jersey lurched unsteadily from the bar to his seat, to the gasps of the crowd, who marveled at his staying upright; nearby, two separate incidents of flirting were taking place.
It seemed that the romance meter was getting cranked during that third set. That’s the time when the band often settles into the same lineup that started the night, and the battle-tested classics get the true SBB treatment. Abdullah was in particularly fine voice, backed by some longtime co-horts, like Tom Maloney on guitar and bandleader Art Dwyer on the bass. Along with drums, trombone and, later, a backing vocalist, the band eased through ‘60s/’70s R&B (think Curtis Mayfield and Marvin Gaye) and then shifted into their version of the chestnut “Stagger Lee,” a song borne of the wildest years in our very own Downtown.
Adding to the color of the place is the old-school, blues club vibe, made up by the weathered wood-and-brick walls, the aging Mardi Gras posters and the neon beer signs. The tiny bathrooms somehow make sense at the Broadway Oyster, room enough for wide man, but no wider. The only oddity in the barroom is the TV; oh, sure, St. Louisans love their sports, but on a night when the only action is a string of highlights from that night’s Monday Night Football match-up, the set’s a weird (dare we say “unwelcome”) touch to what’s an otherwise super-authentic space.
Of course, the lure of that authenticity brings in many kinds of folks. Some will pay respects, sitting in the back of the room, then slowly, slowly filtering forward, close enough to tap Abdullah on the knee with a yardstick, if so inclined. These are the blues fans that hail from another city and are there to take in what they’ve heard is the best blues jam in town. Others, well, they’re tourists of their own sort, even if they call St. Louis home. With the band so close, they sidle right up, ask for their “Mustang Sally” and knock down many a beer, or two, or too many before close. Hopefully, they drop something in the tip jar for the troubles.
Luckily, the band’s seen it and heard it all before. And this past week, the goofs were pretty non-existent. A lot of good-natured fun was taking place; you had some close dancing, for sure; and then there were those gents (and ladies) pitching woo, as the honey-voiced Abdullah crooned to a comfortably busy room.
On nights like this, you might’ve thought about heading somewhere else before the evening’s end, but you’re glad that you chose the default setting, heading down to a room where you know something good’ll be happening, even with a nasty, winter’s mix falling from the sky.
This Monday’s third set was clicking along just fine. Monday turned to Tuesday. Outside the Oyster Bar, as rain turned to snow, a train rolled past on elevated tracks, competing with the slight sound of the, bleeding through the old front windows. Were you to try to manufacture “a St. Louis moment,” you’d have a devil of a time recreating this one. It came together naturally, and contained the perfect soundtrack.
