On The Shoulders Of Giants: By Shaun Davis

As I awoke to the sun beating down on my face it was as if the flashlight of God himself was beaming through the curtains of the Holiday Inn. I sat up to find that my head still ached from the festivities of the prior night. I peer through half closed eyes and notice beer bottles and clothes scattered around throughout the room. In the corner lies what used to be a full bottle of Vodka. I learned two very important lessons that cross my mind as my eyes cross the room. First never ever think that Hurricanes from Pat O'Briens and Kool-Aid are even remotely in the same ballpark. Secondly never ever go toe to toe with a blues band from Texas when it comes to partying.

I walk outside and find the nearest seat on the balcony overlooking the French Quarter. I gather my thoughts amongst the sounds of laughter and footsteps that fill the street below me. I smell Cajun food drifting through the air and though my stomach is still woozy thanks to the Hurricanes from the night before I cant help but smile for I know that I am very lucky to be sitting where I am at the moment. That very place is outside the room of the Wes Jeans Band. I collect my thoughts and think back to the first time I witnessed this amazing band perform and trace the steps from then to now.

As I sat in line at the Saengar Theatre in downtown Mobile Alabama waiting for a beverage I was anxious to get back to my seat before the night's headliner, blues guitarist Buddy Guy took the stage. I paced for what seemed like an eternity staring at my watch and wondered if there was any line in the history of America or concerts for that matter that took this long to wind down. Looking back now it was no more than fifteen minutes but what can I say I was like a kid at Christmas waiting to see Buddy's polka dotted guitar. I look over to see my friend Holly just as anxious to get back to our seats. As I turn back something catches my ear. The sound is raw and well to admit a little inaudible amongst the voices swirling through the line. At first I brush it off as promoters blaring some of Stevie Ray Vaughn's tunes through the house pa in anticipation for the headliner. As I try to focus back on the task at hand I realize that the sound is getting louder and that this isn't just a recording of Vaughn but by God this was indeed live. I dip out of the line forgetting my drink and my dates drink all together and run back to where my seat is. What I witnessed changed me from that moment on.

The young man on stage was decked out in cowboy boots torn jeans and a shirt that would bring back any hippie to the days of Jimi Hendrix and his Band Of Gypsy's. As he stood holding his own in front of a packed house that couldn't have been more into what they were witnessing he let loose with every ounce of energy inside, summoning up a talent that few have. Among the sweat and tears that fell from his face and splattered onto the ground there was a passion that is sadly lacking today among guitar players and bands in general. This kid had it and I didn't even know if he fully knew what "IT' was. His booming voice which if you closed your eyes tightly could have easily been Stevie Ray Vaughn himself screaming at you, asked the packed house if there was any Jimi Hendrix fans in the building. To a resounding yes he opens up the flood gates and lets the Bob Dylan/Jimi Hendrix tune "All Along The Watchtower" rain over a mob that was by this point taken from Buddy Guy and hanging on every note that Wes squeezed from his Strat. I have witnessed many guys who could make their guitars scream and squeal like a lunatic in charge of the asylum but by God I never once experienced what this guy pulled off. He didn't just make his guitar scream he made it gag on its own power. He took everything that his Fender threw at him and he gave it back ten fold showing it the same mercy it showed him. There wasn't a soul planted in their seat and for good reason. When he finishes his five-song set and leaves the stage the crowd wants more and lets him know it. It's at this moment that I could care less if Buddy came out at all. All I wanted to know was; "Who in the world was that guy, and will he be back?"

Months passed before I would catch this band again and as I sat in the back of the room gathering the courage to approach one of my new found heroes I waited for him to begin his set. Among a sea of people ranging from the ages of fifteen to sixty Wes straps on his guitar and the band begins to warm up. You can feel it in the air and see it in the face of everyone patiently waiting. From this point on there are no cares or worries. No one is thinking about their jobs or about problems at home. No one is thinking about school or bills. No one cares about ex girlfriends or ex boyfriends. They are all here for the same thing. This is a new kind of monster completely this is all one hundred percent pure emotion. A roller coaster ride that begins at top speed and pushes to the point of warped speed. The set begins with a song off his new CD "Forrest Of The Pines" that is called appropriately enough "Forrest Of The Pines." Once again I realize that this band is indeed as real as it gets. Jack Miller beats the drums as hard as he can in a fashion that would leave John Bonham blushing and Neal Pert asking for a tissue. Syd Hydro weaves his bass methodically through each song looking quite at ease as only he can while opening the way for Wes to once again blow down the gates. They feed off of each other one fueling the other to play harder and faster until they look like they will spontaneously explode like a supernova. Wes plays with every ounce of his heart and it is very evident. As he rips and tears through his riffs he constantly pulls from his bag of tricks everything that he has learned from his heroes through the years. I sit and watch with my mouth hanging to the floor in sheer amazement at this incredible sight. I can only think that this is what Jimi Hendrix must have looked like when he tore Berkley apart or what Stevie Ray Vaughn looked like when he returned to Montreaux and blew the crowd off their feet. The band grooves and hits you with everything they have until finally you feel as if a Texas flood had just fallen on you, sparing you long enough to catch your breath then coming down again and again until it takes you with it. Only in this case that flood is the Wes Jeans band and if you aren't with them by the time they hit the stage you surely are when they walk off of it. I gain the courage to approach the guys who are now recovering from their blistering set and notice that they are some of the nicest people you could hope to meet. Three guys just living in the moment and enjoying what they were put on this earth to do and that is to change it with their gifts. I would witness this band again and again and notice that each time I see them they get better and better. It doesn't matter if they are playing The Flora-Bama or The House Of Blues in Chicago, it doesn't matter if they are opening for Indigenous or opening for Lynyrd Skynyrd they play every show with the same amount of energy and enthusiasm. They play the same way to crowds of ten as they do to crowds of ten thousand. For this reason alone this band makes anyone they open for cautious and weary to follow after.

To carry the torch of heroes is a burden many want but only few can handle. Like his heroes who came before him Wes is coming into his own as a guitar genius and is making his mark on every stage he takes over. To think that there isn't something spiritual guiding him every time he straps on the guitar is ludicrous. No one can be as intense and powerful as he is without something or someone guiding him. As I sit and talk with Wes inside the hotel room I notice that he indeed is very aware of what many want from him and also a bit nervous at the prospect of carrying the torch of the guitar gods that have come and gone long before his time. We sit for hours which, seem like only minutes talking about our heroes and whom we think is the best guitarist that ever lived. I sit and as I listen to the words being spoken I notice that not only is this twenty-six--year-old guitar guru a skilled and disciplined musician but also an incredible fan of music who has a tremendous love for life. A guy that is grateful for everything he has and even more grateful at the chances he has earned. We talk about everything from his home in Marshall Texas where he was schooled about the blues at a young age to his heroes he has met in his life ranging from Jimmie Vaughn, B.B King, and Billy Gibbons to even yes Al Hendrix, father of Jimi Hendrix himself. As I ask Wes what the defining moment was for him that made him choose to pursue music as his career he takes me back to a Jimi Hendrix guitar festival where he came in second out of thousands after only playing guitar for nine months! He said Al Hendrix approached him with tears in his eyes and said that he personally thought that Wes should have won because he played from the heart. He said it was then that he realized through an epiphany that this was indeed the path that he should pursue.

A wise man once said that you never find music but that if you're open to it true music instead finds you. Upon witnessing what Wes, Jack, Syd and Crystal have put together with this band I know without a doubt as do many others that true music has found them and brought them together for something that is indeed bigger than they are. In the blues community many loyal followers have watched as nearly every musical movement from punk to jazz has had a revival throughout the years leaving the blues just under the radar. These same loyal followers have held their breath in hopes that they would have a new leader emerge and bring them back to prominence. If there is anything I can tell them it would be this, It's almost time to let that breath go and witness what you've been longing for. He is among us.

-Shaun Davis-