The Heart of My Guitar: Part 7 - Black and Blue

I was all of 15 when I was playing in little bars and niteclubs around Baltimore, thanks to our esteemed manager and his self-indoctrinated cohort, the “business agent.” Let’s call them “Mr. Black” and “Mr. Blue.”

Mr. Black was a friend who lived in the neighborhood.  He was a well-liked guy and always had a smile on his face.  He was definitely one of the in-crowd and until he had heard of our band he never had a word to say to me. Hell, he was a big-shot and I was just the nerdy kid who could be seen skateboarding up and down the street, to and from the corner store.

Now, keep in mind that when this band was formed, it was right around the time when the popularity of such musical acts as the Jackson Five, The Osmond Brothers, The Sylvers, and various other family-oriented musical groups were at their peak.  It never occurred to me that someone might actually think they could make money off of us.  For one thing, I never believed we were any good. For another thing, in my mind, we simply were not cute enough.  The Jacksons were cute. The Osmonds were cute. We were just young and poor.

First of all, none of us had the capacity to grow a big afro – the first step in being a young, black, cute, teen music idol. Second, none of us were singers.  We played all instrumental songs. Whho could be interested in a band where there was no lead singer? The very idea that anyone would try to legitimize this kooky little band was, to me, utterly and fantastically ridiculous. But before I knew it, there stood Mr. Black in the corner of our basement, watching us at our rehearsal – whispering and nodding to our new business agent, Mr. Blue, as he explained the massive earning potential of this neighborhood band from Baltimore, led by a 15 year-old kid and his 20 year-old brother.

Black and Blue. I would soon find out who those two guys really were and what those two words really meant.