Always wanted to see Booker playing at the Mapleleaf (you know, like catching the minutemen in Pedro or the Dolls at Max’s), so I got my cash together and headed down with a pal in ’83 – first time in New Orleans. Hit a phone booth, dialed the club, and asked the dude what time the pianist’s weekly show began. “Sorry guy, JB died last week.”
Happy Birthday to one of the greats. “Classified” after the jump.
Lament For A Straight Line 