ZOOT MONEY

ZOOT MONEY AT THE JAZZ CAFÉ, POOLE – 14/07/23

“They’re packing them in tonight,” I say, squeezing myself into my chair, which is just inches away from the stage. Most of the gigs I go to these days seem to be populated by octogenarians, and tonight is no exception. Even the man himself is eighty-one (“on Monday”, as Al Kirtley corrects him at one point) and can be seen falling asleep in his chair while everyone else is packing themselves in. Another old man – at least late seventies – seems quite worried. “He barely responded when I spoke to him,” he says. He shrugs as if to suggest great uncertainty, as if the future is a perilous place. Eventually, however, ZOOT MONEY is roused and shuffles off to the toilet revealing a stoop, which seems to have developed since we last saw him here a year ago. He seems older, like time has finally caught up with him, and I understand at once the old man’s concern. To look at him and watch the effort it takes to put one foot in front of another you can’t help but wonder if he’s still got what it takes. But, somehow, as soon as he sits behind his keyboards and positions the microphone the concern dissipates. He’s still got it. The music is so deeply embedded and his mastery over it so complete that it seems he could continue to perform even if he were asleep. He plays at times like someone might wait for a bus or decide which underpants to wear, which is not to say that his playing is thoughtless or mindless, but just that it seems so natural, such an ordinary thing for him to be doing, and it reminds you that this is someone who has devoted pretty much their whole life (“sixty-four years” as Kirtley reminds him) to doing almost exactly what they’re doing right now, which is playing a uniquely distinctive mix of rhythm and blues, soul and rock and roll. No one else does it quite like Zoot.

Waiting for the bus

In the interval I ask the bass player – or “Chaucer” as Zoot refers to him – if they need to rehearse for a show like this. “There wouldn’t be any point,” he replies. “Zoot does it different every night anyway.” “So, you just have to keep a close eye on him,” I say. “Exactly.” And the band certainly is doing just that after the break. While Zoot seems at times in a world of his own, his bandmates follow his lead, or just keep quiet as the songs or his meandering mood requires. “Thanks for still being alive,” he says as the evening draws to a close, “and for coming out to see me after all these years. It’s wonderful.”

Wonderful

After the last song, Big Time Operator, has finished, Zoot takes a sip from a cup of tea. “Ugh,” he says, “no sugar!” Al looks at him with a kindly expression. “Sugar’s bad for you anyway, George,” he says.