Brian at the bar.

The Brian Setzer Orchestra; Brian Setzer, guitar and vocals

My cousin T. has worked in downtown Minneapolis for almost his entire career. During this time he has developed around him a sense of community. He knows the man who works in this shop, he knows the guy who works in that office building, he knows the fellow who owns “such and such” a business one block over and he knows some of the workers who have offices in different firms on different floors in his building. T. has also made himself a “now and then” regular at a bar in a hotel nearby; some place where he can take a client or where he can unwind for a few minutes before facing rush hour.

“Hey, T.,” the bartender said one late afternoon. “Come over here. I’d like you to meet someone. T., this is Brian Setzer and his wife. Mr. Setzer, this is my friend T.” T. was absolutely touched. We live in an age where fame and celebrity carry impossibly high status, by far surpassing the actual accomplishments, good deeds or talents of any given “superstar”. Yet, in light of this, the bartender hadn’t set up a full parade of autograph chasers to fawn over the guitar player’s world-wide fame. In a gesture of sheer class, the bartender had singled my cousin out, by virtue of his knowledge of his clients: Mr. Setzer had a son in college, and T. had a son in college.

I picked up this album at the Tower Records in upper Manhattan one beautiful autumn day. They had one of those machines that let you listen to a portion of a song or two through a set of headphones. What had caught my eye was the inclusion of “A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square” and “Route 66”. But I stayed for the guitar-playing.

This was new to me. Glenn Miller put the trombone up in front of the band. Harry James but the trumpet up in front. Woody Herman and Bennie Goodman put the clarinet up front. Buddy Rich put the drums up front, for crying out loud. And Harry Connick, Jr., put the band behind a nine-foot Steinway. The guitar’s time had come, and it had come in the guise of Brian Setzer, the Strayin'est Cat you ever saw.

In a shameful way, I’m a little envious of T.’s brush with greatness. I meet famous people a little more frequently than most everybody else. And it happens most frequently on the fly. But it happens because I am hired to play the piano in a place where celebrities orbit. Mind you, I don’t have stars in my eyes. Celebrities are people. I’m a people. You, dear reader, are a people, too. Music can certainly function as a conversation starter with me. But, I am gratified when common ground is found in a completely different field on the farm.

Credits: To my cousin T., and many others, who draw me out of my music world and let me be just a people.