[Harp-L] Paul deLay story

["Blunt White" <playharp@xxxxxxxxxxx>]

Below is a reprint of great Paul story that appeared in our local music 
monthly, written by Mark Gould (AttorneyGould@xxxxxxx).

Enjoy,
Blunt White
Banker by day, Bluesman by night


I remember the first time I laid eyes, and ears, on Paul deLay, and it blew 
me away.


It was in the very early 80s, while I was in law school in Portland, Oregon. 
It was a rainy (so what else is new out there?) Saturday night, and my 
buddies and I decided to take a break from studying and go out to drink some 
beers and, hopefully, see some good live music.


Desperately, we thumbed through a local music weekly and found a ragtag club 
in, if memory serves me, the southeast part of the city that looked like it 
would serve our purposes. The advertisement said it was ?blues night,? and 
that bottled beer was a dollar. That was more than good enough for us.


Figuring that we couldn?t beat that on a student?s savings, even if the 
music stank, we wandered down there. Unfortunately, it looked like a big 
mistake from the get-go. The joint was dank, dreary, and a bit smelly, but 
with really nowhere else to go, no other plans than to drink, and figuring 
that the beer was as cold at that dump as anyplace else, we promptly ordered 
the first of many rounds to hopefully get us through what promised to be an 
awfully depressing night.


After a couple of hours, around 10 or so, the lights dimmed, and the 
evening?s entertainment started. A very big, and I mean very big, guy, with 
a harmonica in hand, lumbered onto the stage, a self-professed ?Blues Band? 
in tow, and the music started.


Growing up in the blues haven of southern New England, and being weaned on 
the likes of Little Walter, James Cotton, Charlie Musselwhite, Paul 
Butterfield, and Boston?s own Magic Dick, not to mention my old high school 
chum Sugar Ray Norcia, I wasn?t expecting much.


Yet, as soon as deLay blew a few notes, I was, well, blown away. His 
physical size was matched only by his talent. He said very little, letting 
his music speak for itself, and it spoke volumes.


We stayed, drinking and cheering, through three sets, late into the night 
and early into Sunday morning. When, we left the club, deLay, whose bulk 
made him very hard to miss, even in a crowd, was standing outside in the 
rain.


I walked over to him, offered my hand, and said ?somewhere Little Walter is 
smiling.? He took my hand in a big, meaty paw, smiled, and said, ?man, 
that?s about as nice a compliment as I could get. I?m glad you enjoyed it.?


?Enjoyed it? was putting it mildly. I asked him, in those pre-Internet 
search engine days, if he had any music out, and he mentioned an album. The 
next day, armed with both a championship-sized hangover and what little cash 
I could round up, I went looking for it. I must have gone to three or four 
of the great, small Portland independent stores before I found what turned 
out to be a gem.


I brought the album home to my apartment, put it on the turntable, and it?s 
been a staple of my listening experience since that time. For once, the 
quality of the record matched that of the live performance.


I moved away from the Northwest a short time later, and was only able to 
follow deLay?s career long distance from then on. Yet, I remained a fan, 
buying all of his releases, but, unfortunately, never seeing him live again.


I mention this now, because one of the friends who went to that show with 
me, some 25 years ago, e-mailed me last month that deLay passed away 
recently.


When I heard that, I was sad because his passing robbed the world of another 
of the truly great, yet underrated, bluesmen, and there just aren?t that 
many of them left anymore.


On the other hand, though, I was so happy to be a fan of this great player, 
Paul deLay, whose legacy will live as long as the blues that he played and 
clearly loved so much.


Rest in peace, Paul. And keeping blowing that harp.



Comments to Mark T. Gould    AttorneyGould@xxxxxxx

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