Detroit is famous for Motown and electronic music, and is also known to have very good jazz, blues, and hip-hop scenes. Everyone knows this- everyone, except for the receptionist at the hotel where Bat and I stayed during my first night on the town, back in 2009. We asked about live music and she gave us a map of downtown. ”You’ll like the casino district in Greektown.”
Being accustomed only to Chicago’s Cartesian grid system, we were quickly outwitted by the angular intersections of Detroit’s spoke layout. But in Detroit, two wrong turns do make a right turn; after we made a sharp turn away from an overly persistent street beggar, we stumbled upon the seedy stew of bright lights, homeless people, suburban tourists, cops, and Greek cooks that comprise Greektown.
For the most part, everyone seemed in their own world except a couple of guys who asked us for a cigarette, and the waiter at a Greek restaurant who courteously and efficiently delivered mediocre Greek food to our table.
Steven of Steve's Place (photo courtesy of G. "Bat" Murphy)
Having settled the hunger problem (at least ours, if not the city’s) we strayed away from the bright lights of Greektown. The corner of Congress and Beaubien was pretty dark, but Bat thought she spotted a shadow cross a dimly lit window beneath a painted sign labeled “Steven’s Place.”
We stepped inside, where Steven himself greeted us cordially and convinced us to have a shot of Peppermint schnapps along with our beers. There was one other customer along the bar, a generic “what am I still doing in Detroit?” type who relayed us the history of his inertia.
Sketch of Travelin' Blues (by G. "Bat" Murphy)
The only other person in the bar was a man in a straw hat who looked like he might have just paddled up from the Mississippi river in the 19th century. Sitting at a booth by himself, he howled out some blues covers on an acoustic guitar. With a coarse, rich voice, he played a wide range of delta blues, Chicago blues, plantation blues, some Motown, and some of his original pieces. Bat requested some Howlin’ Wolf covers and he knew every single one.
I got to chatting with the bluesman (who goes by the name Travelin Blues). Articulate and attentive, he described himself as a “military brat” born a black minority in Germany and spending time in Connecticut and Cleveland before settling in Detroit. Though modest, he acknowledged that he did have some success, that Mick Jagger had once come out to see him, and that he was once famous for playing outdoors in Greektown through the brutal winter.
These days, he no longer plays in Greektown. Casino owners became concerned that the crowds he drew were distracting visitors from gambling, and so they forced him out of the area. Today, he has a standing nightly gig at Steven’s and occasionally tours Europe.
I asked him if he had ever been approached by record labels.
Travelin' Blues at Steve's Place
“Yes, I have,” he acknowledged, but expressed his concern that for the most part they had selfish interests and wouldn’t allow him to play the music the way he wanted. “I tell them to go jump in a lake.”
While we were chatting, one more customer arrived at the bar, a man in his mid-seventies. “Hey Steve, you old dog,” he greeted the bartender. “I can’t believe you’re still here… I’m gonna make this quick. Just a shot of Jack and I’m outta here.”
Steve poured the man a shot. The man gulped down the shot. He was gone in three minutes.
As the night wore on, Steve and his wife, who shuffled out from the back on a walker, began to nod off. I asked Steve what time the bar closed; he just shrugged his shoulders. Travelin Blues kept on playing, even though we were the only ones there. Late in the evening, Steve and his increasingly sleepy-looking wife began bickering. We finally left; Steve hugged me on the way out and told us to stay safe.
