Les
Paul threw his head back and split his face with
an ecstatic grin. Mr. Electric Guitar was surrounded by them,
in the hands of a deliriously diverse bunch of players from
every quarter of the amplified universe. They were all wailing
on a hard-rocking blues as they closed a joyful and memorable
set Saturday at the House of Blues in West Hollywood.
Jeff "Skunk" Baxter, out of the Doobie
Brothers and Steely Dan, who'd been giving the night a little
country-folk dimension, was at stage right.
Next to him was Dave Edmunds, producer and factotum
for the Stray Cats, the Flamin' Groovies, the Everly Brothers
and Jeff Beck, among others, who was adding flamenco-rock
licks.
Then came Lou Pallo, the regular
rhythm guitarist of Paul's Monday night trio at Iridium in
Manhattan, who'd been handling the vocals in his gregarious
way.
Beside him, next to the busily
strumming Paul, was a guy in a black Mark of Zorro hat
twanging away and singing hoarsely about his baby in a Chicago
blues style.
On
the other side of this remarkable headliner, the man
who invented multitrack and designed the solid body
Gibson electric guitar that bears his name, was top-hatted
Slash, formerly of Guns N' Roses, who managed some
credible improvisation, playing as hard as he could and --
like all the other guests -- way over his head.
And then there was Frank Brignola at
stage left, who covered for Paul after his recent heart
attack. He was a high-speed Django Reinhardt, boasting a
beautiful sound as a second rhythm guitarist and on his
feature, "I Surrender Dear."
But his sound was not so beautiful
as the sound Paul was getting all evening on his namesake
solid body -- a sound that was bold, rich and deep, like a
hornman, and exquisitely timed, particularly on ballads such
as "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."
But mainly, Paul was sticking to the
cheerful and merry side, stepping briskly through the old
faves like "How High the Moon," the first multitrack
recording, on which Paul played eight guitar tracks. It became
a huge hit for Capitol Records when the tower was new.
Paul, who turns 86 this week, led an
ear-friendly medley of "Caravan," "Wrap Your
Troubles in Dreams" and "Nuages,"
which preceded all the guests. (These also included the
pianist Paul Smith, who was his usual dazzling block-chording
self.)
Smith's "Green Dolphin
Street" brought Paul an another moment of transcendent
joy. As the evening progressed, he laughed off difficulties
with his hearing aids, which cut out when a battery died. And
he joshed with the bass player, Nicki Ivers.
"Can
I call you hon?" Paul asked her. "I leave
most of me on the dresser when I go to bed," he admitted.
"But you can play with my pacemaker."
She responded with a bass solo on
"The Man I Love," very songlike and almost as warm
as the master's work on "Blue Skies," "Sweet
Georgia Brown" and "Lady Is a Tramp."
There a little trill maneuver
brought a great big hand, one of many on this memorable night,
but one that Paul shrugged off, saying, "Oh, that was
easy." For him, maybe.
