So this was supposed to be Rich Hope opening for the Bastard Sons of Johnny Cash. But as is so often the case when some one or some band that really rocks and looks like he/she/it really rocks tries to make that step over the border from the US, the Sons were stopped. I don’t know exactly what happened, but no matter what the hold-up was, Rich Hope would be performing alone tonight. He had the whole room to himself, and a skimpy mid-week audience that was likely the product of there not being an official headliner. So Hope went on late, and he entertained us all. How did he do that?

Well I was worried at first. I know the guy can do amazing things musically, but could he keep the attention of a cluster of people, some friends, some who just didn’t know the show had changed? At around 10:30, a solitary, stylish Rich Hope, in black jeans and a pink button-down, well-placed handkerchief accessorizing the whole thing, pops on stage and does what basically amounts to a soundcheck. He looks gingerly around at the sparse crowd, which really is pretty dismal. He plucks at his guitars for a bit, then asks the sound guy to put the house music back on.

He begins to address the crowd regarding the absent stage behind him, “I don’t know where these guys are. I was going to play a little show for you while we waited, but fuck it.” He leaves the stage, but not before laughing and foot-stomping along to the country-rock tune that began pouring out of the speakers. As the minutes tick on and his drummer (the notoriously non-chalant Adrian Mack, also the drummer in John Ford, of which Hope is also a part) still hasn’t put in an appearance, Hope quietly returns to the stage, places his harmonica holder around his neck, and straps on a guitar. And as he adjusts it around his shoulders, he again addresses the crowd. He apologizes for his drummer’s absence, and decides to just begin on his own. He thanks us all for coming anyhow. He sings something new, something old, and then regales us of tales from a musical boat cruise that John Ford performed on the prior weekend. A friend of his who showed up here had become an honourary admiral for having slipped on the boat and hit his head, and apparently the Black Halos almost fell overboard. Which is entirely unsurprising.

The show was effectively doubled in length because of Hope’s frequent stops for banter and humour. The guy needs his own lounge act. No no wait, he and Mack need their own lounge act. As Hope was describing record label logic, referring to his own earlier solo recording that labels now decide to sell for way too much money (“Let’s sell this unknown artist for $27.”), Mack suddenly showed up at the side of the stage, a big sappy grin across his face. “Hi Adrian,” said Hope. “Hi. I’m here,” Mack replies with a chuckle. “Okay. Is that what you’re wearing?,” Hope says back. The whole exchange is so simple, but so ridiculous, made so much more amusing by taking place in the middle of a set and in front of a bunch of people who were there to see music, not wardrobe conversations. Mack simply nods back, Hope shrugs it off, the audience laughs. “Okay. You’re here,” he continues. “I had food poisoning,” Mack explains. He’s still smiling. What the hell? I guess there’s really no reason to not go into a big comedy routine. They have the room to themselves, they can do whatever they damn well feel like. It got to be like hanging out at a friend’s house, it was so casual, everyone was on couches, these guys were just being goofs. Awesome.

Hope keeps on talking about how he thought the turn out would still be good because nothing else was going on in the city tonight. And then the Corb Lund Band was announced. “Damn Corb Lund.” On the show went. Hope has this rough, scruff voice, perfect for the kicking country rock blues menagerie that he plays. This was way louder than two people should be allowed to be. They completely abused their instruments. They filled the empty space and made it shake with 50’s-style rockin’ fury. Throw in some Bob Dylan covers and we’re all set. But man, what a guitar player Hope is. It’s actually pretty valiant of him to have gone on with the gig at all, but he is a showman after all… “Oh look, good news has arrived in the form of booze!” he exclaims as someone brings up some beverages for the pair. “Oh I’m so drunk. And unhappy,” says Mack. What? He’s trying to fix his mic boom, which keeps dropping down onto his drum kit. While he’s engaged in that, Hope fights back fits of giggles and tells everyone that no matter what, Mack always always always gets the faulty mic stand. No matter who says “oh no, this is the one that works,” it’s always the first one to fall into his lap or something.

Somewehere in the middle of my show notes, I started giving a friend of mine a French lesson, so I’m now weeding through a whole bunch of conjugated verbs and stuff, so bear with me. But it was somewhere around this point that Hope played a song, the title of which escapes me at this moment, where he just ripped into this fucking guitar solo that tore my head clear off. How does he do that???? I feel both sorry and extremely jealous of that guitar. Oh and the name “Sally” came up, which prompted Mack to say, “Does this little girl have a tambourine?” Hope was on the ball. “She sure does – but her daddy don’t know!” What does this all mean?? “Let it never be said that I’m not an egomaniac,” stated Hope as he perched at the edge of the stage in whatever limelight is available at the Media Club.

They argue too. They argue like an old married couple. “I don’t show you everything,” Hope said, turned at the waist to bicker at Mack. He looks shocked in response, and says with a huff, “I beg to differ, sir!” I don’t know, it was just so much fun to watch them yak. Encore, you say? Sure why not, Hope could do whatever he pleased. He wandered back to the stage and said, “Now, in an unprecedented move, I am going to play two Stones songs in a row. So fuck you if you don’t like it.” Atta boy. Off he went with the Stones, and off he went for another twenty minutes before finally surrendering the audience to the rest of their evening and their beds/early mornings, etc.

The room emptied quickly, and Hope went to a booth near the back to chat with a handful of stragglers. His pink shirt was now a deep rose, evidence of his supreme effort even for such a small show. He discussed, now very serious, the amazing entity that is Gram Parsons, the cool factor of the White Stripes and the talent of Jack White, more about the Rolling Stones, and was still going strong about it all when Mack, who had been on the stage trying to clear his drums, came over to the next booth, leaned over the back, grabbed Hope around the chest while he was still talking, and began to hoist him over the back of the seat. Hope was still talking animatedly, Mack didn’t quite have the stamina to hike the guy backwards like that, and they both kind of fell off to the side instead. Mack, weak with laughter, now had a good handle on Hope’s torso and dragged him, also laughing, heels scraping the floor, off in the direction of the stage.

Yeah that’s a vision that will stick with me for a while.

Elsewhere

By Andy Scheffler
Photos : Andy Scheffler
Published : February, 2005.