...with one cigarette stuck in the guards of his saxophone and another in his jaw while playing major metropolitan arenas and fields of flora and fauna for the last fortyfive years.
...back lot dirt tracks with clapped-out British motorcycles held together by shoestrings and baling wire.
As the northern temps dropped, headed for the frozen lakes of Wisconsin and northern Illinois in a non-working heatered 69 Ford van to lap the plowed lake and river tracks with so many other madmen and madwomen.
...motors SCREAMING in the crystallized air of twenty below temperatures.
...then on to evenings filled with raunchy, driving Blues music, OUT came the piano from the ice-racing van to clank the Blues in the Cornfields with his "brothers in arms" in those farm clubs surrounded by bleached corn husked desolation with the likes of Glenn Davis and the Blues Commission, Pat Hall, Charlie Peterson, Big Jack Bosian, Dave Wood, Jumbo Jim Johnson blowin' harp, Jon McDonald, Edgar Gabriel, Magic Slim, Heartsfield with the great Perry Jordan, Jimmy Burns, Charlie Pierce and Greg McDaniel.
...back down to the city with Ron Haynes, Steve Hashimoto, Zvonimir Tot, horns for Greg Allman during a massive Chicago snowstorm reminisant of a seventies show at the Aragon Ballroom with ZZ Top and old friend Richie Havens, where T.S. came out on stage in a white satin suit to a grand piano and had his soprano saxophone tied up to the rafters and swung down into his hands while standing at the piano...SHOWTIME!
He's not done, yet!
Drinking incessantly for thirty-eight of his sixty-five years, he gave it all up to move to Bisbee, Arizona. Now, sitting down at his piano delivering the disstillation in it's simplest form, piano and vocal, raw, somtimes sweet, sometimes rasping renditions of his material condensed over half his lifetime of diverse multidirectional, multifacited living and writing, writing and living.
Watching and listening to T.S. Henry Webb is like driving from one end of Bisbee to the other. Metropolitan to down home country, symphonic to Broadway, Blues to burlesque, polka, vamps to vaudville, vortical instrumental mianderings to purposely soulful lovesongs and musical statements, unmistakenly original and filled with fun and emotion.
The struggle of recording his material starting in the analog universe of 1964 right on up through the seventies, with producer Teo Macero, and into the analog to digital difficulties of the eighties, and finally, in the nineties, being able to transfer a goodly percentage of the early work in pure analog pounded in on premium Ampex 456 at +3.5db. to pure digital with lots of headroom.
Following a shot at reigniting the Flock, onward ho! Back to solo in Bisbee.
Simple, straight forward Webb, piano and vocals, coming to a place for you to listen...soon.