The music belongs to the people at Sassy Ann's Blue Jam

by Jesse Fox Mayshark

It's a Wednesday night in North Knoxville and Sara Jordan is testifying to the faithful. Her audience sways, arms reaching for the ceiling, urging her on—"Yeow!" "All right!" This isn't any mid-week church meeting, though. It's Sassy Ann's weekly Blue Jam, and Jordan is reading from the Gospel of Etta James. As she and the rollicking band behind her finish a sweaty, thumping rendition of James' "In the Basement," a man at the table in the back by the stairs turns to his companions and says, "That's the blues, man." "The blues," a guy next to him says approvingly. A woman to his left nods her head and smiles. "That is the blues," she says.

There's actually a lot of blues in Knoxville. You don't hear about it as much as some of the other local scenes, maybe because it tends to draw an older, less trend-conscious crowd than the rock and dance clubs. But most nights of the week, you can find some kind of blues somewhere, and one of those somewheres is usually Sassy Ann's. The converted Victorian three-story at the fringe of the Fourth and Gill neighborhood has dubbed itself "Knoxville's House of Blues," with good reason. And the designation is never more apt than on Wednesdays, which for the last three years have been home to the freewheeling open-mike Blue Jam.

"I love the music," says Susan Williams, a Wednesday night regular and a member of the Knoxville Blues Society. She doesn't sing or play, but she—like many in the enthusiastic crowd—can't help dancing her way through the evening. "This is fantastic, all these different

musicians jamming. Wednesday nights are the best here."

"It's one of our big nights for the week," Sassy Ann's manager Jane George says. "It's amazing to me how people who don't even know each other can get up there and play and sound good."

The jam is basically what it sounds like—anyone who wants to can sign up to play a four-song set with a group between 8 p.m. and midnight. The man responsible for constructing each group—a drummer, a bass player, a couple of guitarists, a singer, a keyboard and/or harmonica player—is youthful emcee LaBron Lazenby, the ponytailed guitarist for local faves The Boogeymen. Laid-back and personable, he usually sits in on a couple of sets himself, depending on how many people show up to play.

"It's an opportunity for everybody being able to play and appreciate what [the blues] is about," Lazenby says, sitting at a downstairs table while a jam set proceeds upstairs. "You try to grasp that feeling."

That blues relies as much on feeling as on virtuosity makes it a natural for an open-mike setting. (Sassy Ann's has also launched a bluegrass jam on Thursday nights, replacing a jazz night that didn't draw as well.) The musicians called together each set may or may not have played together before, but as long as they know basic blues patterns and structures—1-4-5 progressions, shuffles, jump blues, etc.—they usually make out all right. Sometimes it can produce a mesmerizing version of Stevie Ray Vaughn's "Texas Flood"; other times, a shaky stab at a Ray Charles chestnut. Either way, the audience usually responds favorably.

"Wednesday night is about one of the most appreciative nights of music in town," says Lazenby, who's careful to call for applause for each player at the end of the sets.

The jammers are about evenly divided between hobbyists and professionals, with most of Knoxville's leading blues figures making at least occasional appearances. Some, like blues queen Jordan, guitarist Billy Valentine, and the rollicking Big Daddy Rick Rouse, are mainstays of the jams, leading less polished players with verve. With so many recurring faces, there's a communal feel to the evenings.

"It's a wealth of creativity and passing around recordings and saying, 'Man, you gotta check out this one, I've got this Little Walter you've got to hear,'" says Boogeymen keyboard player Mark Caldwell.

For the musicians accustomed to paying gigs and tightly rehearsed material, Wednesdays are a chance to just do what they want. "It's freedom, man. Just play what you feel," says Andy Lewis, a lanky blond-headed bass player who just joined a band that arose from Blue Jam sets.

For others, it's a chance to play with talented musicians in front of an encouraging crowd. Dave Schaufele, for example, works in accounting by day. But on Wednesdays, the middle-aged businessman gets out his guitar.

"It's a way to keep your chops up, as they say," he says. "There are some excellent players. I mean LaBron, he is an extraordinary guitar player."

The pros take the mentoring seriously. Lazenby talks proudly about guys who have been coming for a year or more, whose skills have improved markedly. One of those is budding teen idol Brad Renfro; when he's in town, the young actor often comes to Blue Jam. Another is 13-year-old Danny Lee Michel, whose dad Steve is an ace guitarist himself. Danny's parents bring him most Wednesdays. "We're a blues family," says mom Diane, another Knoxville Blues Society member. And if her son's a little late to school some Thursday mornings, that's okay—he's a year ahead in his studies anyway.

Onstage, Danny can be hard to spot lurking behind the other players. But when he takes a solo—a little hesitant, maybe, but clear and carefully structured—the whole bar listens intently and cheers raucously at the end. "That kid works his butt off," Lazenby says. "He loves the blues, and man, he is going to be a monster."

The song selections in each set are an education in themselves, from standards by Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf to modern blues-rock of the Stevie Ray school, with plenty of obscurities and even occasional original tunes thrown in. Lazenby, whose own band tends more toward bluesy groove rock than blues per se, says he loves the opportunity to play the classics.

The enthusiasm of the musicians rubs off on even neophyte visitors. Tas Shore, for example, just moved to Knoxville from Texas. Her first visit to Blue Jam was two weeks ago, when she was impressed by "the different sounds they can do and that they all appreciate each other's music. It wasn't like one person was trying to outshine another. You can tell they cared about the sound and the music.

"So I'm back this week, it was so good," she says.

Schaufele admits the mesh of players in a given set doesn't always work. "Sometimes it's a challenge, for sure," he says. "But quite frankly, it's worth it to get up once a week, play four songs, and really express yourself and play the blues."