Robert Randolph & The Family Band: Unclassified

Smoke drifts towards toward the gray celing. A man about the age of fifty sits, puffing on a pipe. His eyelids are starting to droop, and he makes no effort to change that. He is sitting in a large, leather chair, legs crossed and the knee. The lighting is dark, with only several flickering candles trying to starve off the night. The fireplace sits empty.

Wind howls outside and a steady rain slants, tapping on the roof. From out of nowhere there is a crunch of gravel on the driveway and headlights swing across the room. A car engine is cut and feet step gingerly toward the front door.

The man's eyes are sleepy no more and he is at the door before anyone knocks. The door creeks open, allowing a spray of water to land on his face. "Come in."

He throws the other man's wet coat over a nearby chair and motions for him to sit down. There is silence as he struggles to get the fireplace started. It roars to life and he sits down opposite the wet man.

"Nice to see you, James."

The wet man grunts. "I'd hoped we'd never meet again, with you being the asshole you are."

"Yeah yeah, you say that everytime."

More silence. This time he pulls up a coffee table and opens up a wooden box. A wood and ivory chess set sparkles in the firelight.

"What'll you be this week, James? White or black?"

Wordlessly, James starts setting up the black pieces. Dan, with a snort, "Just the color to match your soul, eh?"

Several moves into the match James spoke. "You bastard. What the hell is this music you're playing?"

Pondering his next move, Dan failed to answer.

"It's too happy. Sounds like rootsy blues. With a strong gospel influence. What the hell. It's gospel with a blues influence. What is it?"

Article Author: The Theory

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