Henry Butler Calling

June 23rd, 2006 at 09:48pm Michael Conniff 2

I am ashamed to say I had never heard of the piano player Henry Butler of New Orleans, but I saw him in the best possible way—without knowing who he was.

It happened as I got ready to get on the bus for the long way home Thursday night, but then I heard somebody stomping the piano in the distance and I was drawn down to the tent at Wagner Park, where some of the best music comes to life during Jazz Aspen Snowmass.

And there he was: playing his heart out with a small faint Sharpie of his name on a whiteboard. He was anonymous and monstrous, a local legend in New Orleans, and still suffering like so many musicians from the wreckage of Hurricane Katrina. I also learned later he went to the Louisiana School for the Blind and Southern University, and that he has played with everyone.

By the time he was done, I was deeply appreciative of those in-between moments that can come to pass at the JAS Fest—the sounds of a sweet saxophone escaping a local restaurant like an exhalation, or a legend calling for thunder from above.

Entry Filed under: Music, Aspen, Blues, Jazz