Sometimes the blues is about being so low-down that when you look up, you see the bottom. But somehow, expressing that emotion musically gives the players, and listeners alike, such an overwhelming feeling of well-being… it’s almost like medicine.
It’s hard to describe; sort of like trying to describe what an orgasm feels like. You can’t. You have to experience it to actually feel it! And in Santa Fe, circa 1984, I was about to experience the blues from a brand-new perspective…
Doc Span…Two Fisted Blues!
I was once exposed to yellow fever. It gets in your blood and remains there for the rest of your life. So does the blues. Once seduced by that sultry femme fatale, like a monkey on your back, you can’t kick it.
‘Ma Blues’ is pervasive. And the inexplicable thrill of playing the blues is like a fever you can’t break. (Who would want to?) Texas blues, Chicago blues, Delta blues; these are not styles. These are strains of a highly infectious virus: “blue fever.”
Simple but nuanced, the music comes from within. Once it takes a hold of you, you can’t shake it. It’s a part of you. And the only way to get it out is to bare your soul and sing it out, loud and strong!
When Doc Span rolled into Santa Fe, the musical climate changed dramatically. It was like a severe weather front moving in. No local weatherman could’ve predicted it.
I can’t remember how we met. It’s almost as if he was in my life all along. Doc is from Hoboken, New Jersey. And so was Frank Sinatra, the Chairman of the Board. Doc was like the “Harp Enforcer.” Both of these gentlemen commanded respect, but unlike Frank, Doc Span is a large, imposing man. He could disarm any lout by simply staring them down.
I’m proud to say, that after all these years, he and I are still good friends. As a matter of fact, just prior to writing this piece, Doc sent me a Face Book message to say he had been reading my Evil Mistress series and was enjoying it. I told him how weird it was that he contacted me at this particular moment – out of the clear blue!
“Friends are people who know you well and like you anyway.”
– Greg Tambly
Back then, Doc was putting an Alaska tour together, but I declined. A young Santa Fe guitar slinger, Chris Donahue, joined the band and off they went. When they finally returned from the tundra – without injury – Doc set about putting together a more “substantial” band.
Chris had stayed on and proved to be a great guitar player, and he could sing his ass off. On bass was my friend and fellow biker, Lannis Lloyd, who worked at the Candyman music store. He was also a strong singer, no doubt. On keyboards was one of the best piano men in New Mexico, Sherman Rubin. All the way from Boston, Sherman came to Santa Fe armed with a lifetime of experience in jazz and the blues. (And they let me play drums with them!)
All together, we had ourselves a formidable line-up called: Two Fisted Blues! Pretty soon we were locked and loaded, ready for action. We started gigging right from the git-go.
In the late sixties, Doc set up shop in Chicago and worked at the Cook County Jail “passing out pills and holding sick calls.” His real name is Robert Spinhoven, but his black “patients” found ‘Spinhoven’ a little too cumbersome, so they called him Span… Doc Span.
Doc reminded me of my old pal and band leader, Michael J. Martin. Michael was a decorated army point man; Doc, a navy paramedic. Both of them were near-mythical characters. Lannis and I were vets, but this band wasn’t a military unit. (Not even!) It was more like a home for wayward boys – delinquents – and Doc was the stern supervisor. But, man, could we cook!
I don’t know what it is with me, but most of the bands I played with were like family. And this one was no different. (Although Ma and Pa Moeller and “My Three Sons” took the cake!)
L to R: Sherman, Lannis, Doc and friend in the Duncans’ den.
We were playing the bar at the Inn of the Governors in Santa Fe and one evening Koko Taylor and her Chicago crew walked in. It turned out that they were staying there and were to play Club West on the weekend. On the break they introduced themselves and, later, the young guitar player sat in.
Of course, I gravitated to the drummer, Vince Chapelle. We struck up a conversation about mundane stuff, like wives, kids, music, astro physics. (Right.) Vince had a slew of children and had played with Koko for many years. Before they finally left town, he and I exchanged addresses. (We sent each other Christmas cards that year, and that’s about it.)
Koko heard us play one song and then looked at her watch like she was late for a wang-dang-doodle. She grabbed her old man, Pops, and shuffled out the door. But Vince and the boys loved us. Go figure. We finally heard them one late night, and they were great. The real thang!
Another time we were playing Albuquerque at a top-notch room. The place was packed. At break, a good-looking. long-haired Native American with a guitar case approached Doc. He said his name was Mudbone, that he sang the blues. Mudbone played a few licks on his Strat and the next thing we knew, Doc had invited him to sit in.
As it turned out, this complete stranger kicked ass, and the boy had a voice on him. Suddenly he was the front man, and the crowd paid attention. Oh, yeah! And then we played a slow blues and during his lead, Mudbone went down on his knees. He never stopped playing, but laid his guitar, backside down, on the floor. And then started making love to his precious ax. I mean, he was sensuously humping his damn guitar. All the while – literally – making that baby moan! A-a-a-a-ah… o-o-o-o-o-ooh…
I want to tell you. The ladies went nuts. We looked around at each other in sheer disbelief, mouths agape. Finally, he got back up and ended the song. And then he passionately kissed the head of his beautiful guitar and left the stage, garnering a standing ovation.
I swear I have never, EVER seen anything like that in my entire life. And then he was back the next night for an encore. How the hell do you follow an act like that? Mudbone actually joined us in Santa Fe, and he and his friend, stopped by our house to clean up and rest before the gig.
Doc Span: “I remember Mudbone and him grinding his guitar at an Albuquerque club. Years later we bumped into each other and he remembered playing with us. Not sure if it was San Francisco or Sydney but he was still able to make his guitar moan! Do you remember the woman who dropped her clothes on the dance floor at George K’s TAC club and danced completely naked, bending over in front of us? Wild Santa Fe!!”
We played Taos a lot. One snowy night, after the gig at La Cocina’s on the Plaza, we returned to our motel. Some fool suggested that we hit the hot tub. We stripped down to the bare essentials – towels and shoes – and dashed through the deep snow.
The boys in Taos with Lannis singing.
Unfortunately, Sherman Rubin, three sheets to the wind, took a bad spill and planted his face in a berm. He emerged without his towel . . . and his false teeth were missing! They were buried somewhere beneath the surface. Someone told him to come back in the springtime when the snow melted. (Sounded like good advice to m.) He eventually found his teeth, and then stumbled back to his room to worship the porcelain god.
“Life is hard. It’s harder if you’re drunk and stupid.” – Aristotle, after a bad night.
The band had a good run, and then it was time to close up shop. Doc took off and finally moved to Australia. He soon got into a blues band and became quite the celebrity. As it turns out, the Aussies love Chicago blues and couldn’t get enough of the charismatic harmonica man. He and I kept in touch. (Like I said: We’re family.)
And then the beautiful Noni came into his life. Doc wasn’t gonna let this one get away, so he married her. In the late eighties, Doc and Noni came to America and, at one point, visited Santa Fe. One glorious evening we dined at our house under candle light. Our ladies were dressed to kill and Doc and I wore our tuxes. After dinner he and I smoked cigars and reminisced. That was the last time I saw Doc in the flesh. I’m sorry to say that Doc’s soulmate passed away in 2020. We miss you, Noni!
By 2003, Doc Span had gained quite a reputation down under; but his notoriety was about to increase exponentially. He had become friends with the multi-talented Matthew Cang (The Alex Harvey Band; sound track for The Saint, etc.), a guitarist, writer, producer, musical magician, from the United Kingdom. Matthew convinced Doc to collaborate on an international recording project. The two wrote 11 fantastical pieces of music that have a subtle Australian motif.
The end product was the 2004 cd, Spantronics. Recorded in Queensland, Australia and Somerset, UK, it’s one of my all-time favorite albums! (No kidding.) The brilliant recording is a tremendously satisfying blend of pop, killer grooves, clever sampling, husky vocals and incredible blues harmonica. The lyrics are funky and cool, and sweep the listener into the ‘dreamtime’ of the Outback . . . and beyond. Even the die-hard ‘blues purist’ can find much within this music to crow about.
(The tracks you have been listening to are from Spantronics!)
Even though we’re half a world away, Doc and I are close – and it’s all because of the music. Catch you later, mate!
“Hell, if it wasn’t for music, I wouldn’t have no friends at all…”
– Blind Lemon Pledge (DC Duncan)