01 Apr 1998 - "Bottom Line" Club, New York
The West 4th Street Fearless Foursome (myself included) met, as usual, a few hours before the show began, and did we ever get rained on! That's the price you sometimes pay for being first in line to a club with general admission seating. During those wet hours, we talked about every Johnny album ever made, sang a few songs, and had a few beers. It was fun. It's part of the reason I keep going.
Johnny Winter - Bottom Line Club, New York, Live 1998
About an hour before the show, we met the usual cast of characters: Teddy Slatus, Mark Epstein, and Tom Compton. After seeing them play last night, I am more convinced than ever that Epstein and Compton are truly gifted musicians—and nice guys to boot. Despite the rain, our friends at the Bottom Line wouldn’t let us in even one minute early. Of course, all that anger disappeared once we got inside. That was the easy part. Now for the hard stuff.
Johnny walked into the club while the opening band was playing, and the place went wild. I guess everyone was just glad that he showed up. He came on stage at 10:30, looking just as he has for quite a while now. Same walk, same clothes, same guitar, same Johnny. Or was it? Although we were hoping for a different set of songs (old stuff), he started with Hideaway , as usual. Except for one minor detail: he could barely play the notes. It sounded exactly like the rendition of Hideaway I performed in my bedroom in 1968, six months after I got my first guitar. It was painful to listen to. The version I knew and loved was recorded by John Mayall, with Eric Clapton on lead guitar—smooth and sweet. This bore little resemblance to that.
I thought, “Give him time, he needs to warm up.” But it was all downhill from there.
When you're sitting three feet from Johnny, you see, feel, and hear things that you just can’t when you're 20 or 30 rows back. He looked weak. He looked aged. No energy to be doing this sort of thing. Barely enough energy to press the strings against the neck. I know others have talked about him missing notes here and there. Last night, he missed more notes than I could count. And it wasn’t just me noticing this; my friends felt the same way. On every song, Johnny tried to play all of his signature riffs, but he just couldn’t do it. It’s the same old story: he stands at the microphone, rocks back and forth, eyes closed (he never looks at the guitar when he plays anymore), hearing in his mind what he wants to play, but his hands just can’t get it done.
Some of the songs seemed to drag on, with the same break being played three or four times in each song. I can't tell you how often I noticed Epstein and Compton exchanging glances as they had to slow down to keep pace with Johnny. It was like this all night. There was one song on the Firebird midway through the set, but the slide work was only fair, with very little variation between strings—mostly just up and down one string. I’ve heard him set the Firebird on fire in the past. No more.
The highlight of the night came after the encore (two songs, the second being a simple version of Fast Life Rider , one of my favorite songs from Second Winter ). Instead of immediately leaving the stage, both Johnny and Mark stayed to shake hands with the folks down front. I managed to shake both their hands, and Mark even signed one of my fan club pictures.
As I left the club, I grew more and more frustrated. I had this vision: it’s 1998, and someone decides that Muhammad Ali needs to get back in the ring and fight one more fight. It must not be allowed to happen. Similarly, I truly believe it’s time for Johnny Winter to take his guitars, donate them to the Smithsonian as national treasures, and hang it up. It hurts me to say this, and I apologize profusely to anyone who is offended by my utterly worthless opinion. But I have spent the last 30 years of my life listening to the man I believed was the best at what he did, and there is no chance at this point that he will ever do it like that again. If someone like me can see that, why can’t Johnny or his people? The reasons are immaterial. There comes a point when the audience feels sadness and pity for their hero. You've got to know when to call it a day—or a career.
I hope I’m not divulging any trade secrets, but I overheard Teddy talking about Johnny’s next project: a studio album with guest musicians. Perhaps one "elder statesman" of blues alongside a young, up-and-coming talent. He mentioned some names, which I won’t reveal here. Teddy, if Johnny keeps playing like he did last night, please don’t do it. It’s only about money.
If any of you disagree with my assessment, by all means, say so. If you want to throw me off this discussion list, I understand. I’ll go quietly. But remember, we only feel this way about people we really care about. While driving to work this morning, I sang to myself, “Last night, I lost the best friend I ever had...”
I’m sure Rick knows what he’s talking about, but I’d give my left nut to be able to play as well as Johnny does now. He doesn’t move much—indeed, he just sways back and forth—but he still gets the message across (to me, anyway). I’m going out to buy the new CD!
