Main Blues

Blues legend Buddy Guy and his band at one of the very first Bayfront Blues Festivals. My lasting impression was, “Buddy was cool, but who was the kid playing second guitar in his band who blew Buddy away on every solo?”

I remember asking everyone backstage, but the closest answer was “he’s just some kid from Nashville.” I thought I’d probably never hear or see him again. One of those brilliant talents that comes and then goes, like a shooting star, without a trace.

Almost ten years later Buddy played bluesfest again with some of the very same band members, and I had the exact same experience. Same young axe-slinger, still playing scorching rides, but this time I found out the cat’s name: Scott Holt. I remember thinking this is someone to make a point to listen for.

Well, Saturday afternoon, Scott Holt played bluesfest for the third time, now (sans Guy) under his own name. He still plays stunning guitar, has a good band of his own, writes interesting material and sings with some soul in his throat.

On my first witness to his guitar prowess, Holt looked like he was skipping his fourth-grade gym class to make the gig. Today, with shaved head, combat boots, earrings, black jeans and cowboy shirt, and tattoos on his forearms, he wouldn’t look out of place at some German heavy rock fest. But looks (as I learned the night prior with Sonny Landreth) aren’t the issue; talent is, and Holt has that to burn.

His beat up Strat (given to him by Buddy Guy and signed on the back of the headstock by Eric Clapton) was snarling even before the emcee had finished his introduction. Ripping into the blues chestnut “Messin’ with the Kid” (written by Guy’s former partner Junior Wells), Holt showed he has massive chops. He simply cut loose right from the opening bars, letting everyone know he was taking the stage like a Marine battalion commandeering a hill. He paced the stage from side to side like a caged cheetah, stalking the crowd and making jokes about a few of the seat markers. At one point, he purposely ran from a photographer’s lens, making a game out of getting his picture, all the while playing a ferocious solo.

“I Just Wanna Make Love to You” (the Willie Dixon gem) let Holt dig in with his mammoth tone and issue forth another “take no prisoners” solo. You could hear the string windings whistle and whine as Holt mercilessly tore up nearly every tune in the set with one searing ride after another.

Holt didn’t play with Buddy Guy for 10 years and not learn a few of the master’s tricks about interacting with the audience. Getting the crowd to sing along and then admonishing one particular crowd member for singing out of tune is straight from the Guy play book on how to be an entertainer, as well as a first-class musician.

Holt’s band was top shelf with “Lightning” Joe Peterson sharing some of the rides on piano and B-3, Marshall “The Engine” Weaver on drums and Dan T. Eubanks (looking like a forgotten member of Molly Hatchet) on bass. They worked together seamlessly, and genuinely were having fun on this sun-splashed Saturday afternoon.

“Outline” was a Holt original and showcased the rasp in his voice over the virtuosity in his guitar playing. It dealt with a chalk outline on the floor, guns, evening up the score, and prison bars.

“That Girl” let Holt venture out into the crowd (another Guy trademark), even running up the grassy knoll at the farthest reaches of the festival grounds. He took off his guitar at one point and set it in the lap of a woman who then played the most amazing atonal, distorted, banshee solo ever heard. The crowd ate it up. Holt then elbowed his way through the thick of the audience back to the stage, finally leaping from one piece of audio equipment to another, all the while screaming through his amp like his guitar was on fire.

He closed his set with “the first song I ever learned on guitar,” Jimi Hendrix’s “VooDoo Chile.” Suffice it to say that Holt has the Hendrix spirit in huge quantity. He surprisingly segued into Robert Johnson’ “Hellhound On My Trail,” which gave way to an thwacky drum solo, which melded into “America The Beautiful,” that turned into “Over the Rainbow.”

It was a tour de force conclusion to a red hot set that left cinders on the stage right in front of where Holt’s O’Brien amp had been sitting. Scott Holt is the real deal. Don’t forget his name.

John Ziegler reviews concerts for the News Tribune.