Crawdaddy.

The week before last nearly killed me. Last week was tough but I started to get things sorted out. I was pretty tired out by the end of it, though.

I suspect that a night of skankin' in Watford may not have helped. On the other hand that may be what saved me.

Friday night and I sank down into a chair at The Barley Mow, Shepperton for an evening of traditional British rythym and blues.

I was watching 'Crawdaddy', a good choice of name. A Crawdaddy is an American Signal Crayfish, like a miniature freshwater lobster and good food in the southern states.

Here, we have a weak and wimpy British Crayfish that has been all but wiped out by it's ruff 'n tuff American cousin. We are banned from catching or moving them without a license but you never know what we get up to in the Thames Valley.

It's become a shorthand for the blues as well and in the early 1960's the famous 'Crawdaddy club' opened in Richmond and a long list of the greats of R 'n B played there including the Rollin' Stones (the spelling tells you that was still the Stones in their great days, when Brian Jones was still playing with them)

These Crawdaddies were recreating those sounds - The Stones, The Kinks, Muddy Waters - a whole host of the greats.

They were always at their best on traditional blues - their harp player shone when he stuck to his harp and that set the excellent lead guitarists smile off.

The last number was a completely unexpected version of Led Zeppelin's 'Communication Breakdown', at high volume and with vocals right at the edge - that was good.

Neil Harris
(a don't stop till you drop production)

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