This music has a sort of a convoluted history.

A while back, Graham Reynolds of Golden Arm Trio fame was organizing a concert for double string quartet and contrabass. I wrote a suite of songs for it based upon the work of James Ellroy, entitled Crime Scenes: The Ellroy Suite, which included pieces inspired by Buzz Meeks, Lenny Sands, Mickey Cohen and Johnny Stompanato, Pete Bondurant, and others.

So far, so good.

But then the principal violinist broke her arm in a parking brake accident, and it all went to hell for a while. We wound up doing the concert with just a string quartet, and I ultimately arranged the music for my band Chris Black and the Holy Ghost. The above stream is a live recording from the Draught Horse, recorded by Adam Holzband.

Tom Benton played upright bass. Jeremy Bruch played the drums. David Lobel played the tenor sax. Wayne Myers played the bass trombone. Laura Phelan played the vibraphone. Adam Sultan played the smooth-sounding electric guitar, and I played the scratchy-sounding electric guitar.

Coincidentally, Ellroy gave a reading about that time in Houston, and I went, and I asked him to sign the title page of the manuscript of the original music, which he did with an enormous “J.”

The big J of Ellroy on my manuscript.

Below is a recording of the same music, arranged primarily for upright bass, with words.

The words go like this:

Well, the heat was a fur coat dipped in piss, and everyone smelled like a mule, and I stumbled in to a regular dog and pony show for perverts and giant cockroaches, and I said, “Welcome home.”

I asked the waitress for a Hi-Test, and some seventeen-year-old rough trade’s lips said, “pinche maricon,” but I let it pass. I slipped into the bano and dribbled hot rusty water down my neck, and I said, “Jesus will never find me here.”

Well some fat vomit-crusted junkie popped out of a stall, and his eyes said, “gringo cabron muy feo,” but I let it pass. I went back outside and I found my waitress, and I found my drink, and I found a little table where I could sit and think, and beneath my foot I found a baggie, inside a baggie, full of white powder.

I took a taste, and my gums went away, and I flew to Cuba.

I got back to find Jesus waiting for me at the end of the bar: Six-foot-four, two hundred and eighty pounds, with fists like bowling balls and eyes that saw everything. He saw the big roaches eat the little ones. He saw rough trade riding bareback on fat junkies. And He saw Cuba, dancing at the edge of his grasp like some crazy mirage.

And His eyes found me.

And he said, “Come unto me and rest.”

And I did not let it pass.

…

Hint: Jesus is Pete Bondurant.