Paul de Lay Alive And At Large

[Charlie Sawyer <sawyer@xxxxxxx>]

	Paul de Lay was released from a federal prison camp on January
5th after serving 31 months for cocaine trafficking.  During his
imprisonment his band continued to perform as the "No de Lay Band,"
and musically, at least, de Lay and his musicians have picked up where
they left off in 1992 as if the time had been a brief layover.  De Lay
and his band have a strong following in the North West, especially in
Portland, Oregon, where they live, and a smattering of admirers beyond
the area, based on five recordings, three on vinyl from the 1980's and
two CD's from the 1990's (Criminal Records, PO Box 25542, Portland, OR
97225).  When the band toured in Italy before he went to prison they
were met by a devoted following they hardly knew they had.  Before I
made my way to Welches, Oregon, recently, I knew Paul de Lay's music
only through those recordings, but the power of that music was enough
that when I went to the West Coast on business I was determined to see
him play if I possibly could.  I was in luck and my efforts were well
rewarded.

	I found de Lay and the band doing a sound check in the
ballroom of a resort at the foot of Mt. Hood where Cocaine Anonymous
was holding a convention.  In his open harp case lay his arsenal
consisting mostly of Marine Band's and at least one each of Golden
Melody and Special 20.  He handed me a low E Marine Band and nodded OK
when I asked to play it.  I bent a note or two.  "Whao, whao, give
that back," he said, explaining that it shouldn't be bent before
breaking it in.  He got the low E recently from Charlie Musselwhite.
Charlie used to be known as one of the hardest players around, he told
me, but now Charlie breaks his harps in and plays very gently.  Beside
the diatonics in the case were three chromatics, a Super 64 in C and
two other, smaller ones in other keys, "because I'm still not
confident unless I'm playing in 3rd positiond," he allowed.  Also
resting in the case was an Astatic J 30, with a brushed steel finish
covered by some "space age material."  A gnurled chrome knob, taken
from a Fender Telecaster, stuck straight out of the side of the
bullet, and the cord ran across the stage to a battered, blond Gibson
Les Paul amplifier.
	There was ample time between the sound check and the first set
to talk.  De Lay is known for his unique style as an instrumentalist.
No one else plays quite like Paul de Lay.  It's not his velocity,
though he can be swift, nor his tone which is formidable, that make
his playing different.  It's the way he ranges over the instrument,
and over stylistic influences that set him apart.  Take the matter of
his tone on the diatonic.  His pallette ranges from thick and dark to
thin, light and ethereal, and he may employ the whole range in a
single five-note run.  I asked him to comment on this and on tone, in
general.
	"A lot of guys are what I call 20% players," he began.
"They take a ten-hole diatonic, they forget the top five holes, and
they play 80 or 90 per cent draw notes.  That uses only about 20% of
the instrument."
	I repeated a quote from an interview with him published in
Mississippi Saxophone where he said "If you're not tongue blocking
you're nowhere."  Is blocking crucial to tone? I asked.  "Whether
you're blocking or puckering the important thing is to get a big bite
of it.  You've got to get in close to the reeds before you can do
anything interesting.  Blocking is just a natural way to keep your
place, to know where you are.  You know where you are by where your
tongue is located.  If you move the harp over two holes, you're tongue
tells you."  What, then, are the factors that control tone, I asked?
	"Hands," he said, "for one.  I saw a video of Big Walter the
other day and I watched his hands when he was playing acoustic.  He
got the same sound without the amplifier as he did with it.  I suppose
the way your throat is shaped, too, has a lot to do with it.  Listen
to the way he plays on 'Walkin By Myself.'  He can bend and wiggle at
the same time.  Bend and wiggle.  Larry Adler can do that on blow
notes with equal ease.  I'd love to be able to do that, bend and
wiggle."
	I asked about his influences, particularly Paul Butterfield
whom he mentioned as his starting point in the Miss. Sax interview.
His description of Butterfield's influence struck me as highly unusual.
He said he went through a phase where he consciously assimilated
everything Butterfield had to offer him.  Then, later, there was an
eqully systematic phase in which he purged every one of those elements
he had so carefully acquired.  As if to explain why he would undo what
he had worked so hard to accomplished he mentioned hearing a
California player he had heard long ago who "played two hours of
straight Butterfield -- every lick was note-for-note Butterfield."
	I mentioned two live broadcasts of Kim Wilson last summer and
he recalled hearing one.  "I'm going to let the traditionalists
practice their art.  I going my own way," he said with a benign smile.
Going his own way does not preclude dipping back into the rich lode of
the old blues masters.  This was evident once he was on stage and the
band was warmed up.  All but a very few tunes were originals,
including a smattering of the fifty-odd songs he wrote while in
prison.  His time inside was very productive for his song writing, but
prison is no place to hone your chops because there's hardly a place
you can practice in peace, and it's no place to listen to recorded
music because prisoners are not allowed to have cassette or CD players
since they can be converted into tattoo machines, a sure-fire way to
spread AIDS.

	For me, the high point of the evening was de Lay's rendition
of "I Missed You Bad Last Night," a 16-bar blues on which the rhythm
section plays the familiar background from Little Walter's "Last
Night."  The lyrics evoke a lover's torture over love denied.  "My
friends say I'll soon be over you./I wish someone would tell me when."
Introducing the tune de Lay told his stone sober audience of
recovering cocaine addicts that he could be singing about a woman, but
then, again, he could be singing about something else [coke,
presumably].  His harp solo transported me to that special place I'm
always trying to get back to, whether I'm in Welches, Oregon, or
Cambridge, Massachussetts.  He rocked back on one heel, lifting the
toe of his two-tone Stacey Adams shoes, and blew 32-bars of pure
invention.  His phrasing is so unexpected and his harmonic sense so
original that he can make you feel like you are hearing the most
familiar chord progression for the first time.  On the I-chord he
plays figures that stress the 4th note of the root scale; on the
IV-chord he stresses the 1st and 5th degree of the scale.

	During the break I asked about his plans.  He is talking with
independent labels about a recording contract.  He is in demand around
Portland and "hasn't left the house for less than $50 more than once
or twice" since he got out.  He plans to marry next September.  "When
my girl fell in love with me," he joked to the audience during the
second set, "I weighed 400 pounds, didn't have a dollar to my name,
and I was going to jail for a couple of years."  Now he's down around
275 and lives in moderation, encouraged, perhaps, by a surveilance
device he wears on his ankle as a condition of his parole.  That's a
far cry from the days when he would get so loaded during a gig that he
would close up his harp case at the end of the night without bothering
to remove the smouldering cigar that customarily sat on a holder in
the middle of the case.  "No amount of beer is sufficient to wash the
taste of that cigar out of the wood of a harp after it takes a few
hours for the cigar to burn itself out in the closed case."