Dianne Austin: An Evening With Clay's Friends

An Evening With Clay’s Friends
By Dianne Austin

I raced into Hollywood the other night, amidst the rain, lightening and thunder, to see Jacob Luttrell do his solo set at a club on Fairfax. I saw someone who resembled Jacob come in shortly before the first band was to go on, but I assumed it was a relative of his, perhaps his younger brother.

While I was standing in front of the bandstand, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and realized that the person I thought was a relative of his was actually Jacob. It was the hair that did it—he had cut it very short and it was styled differently than before. I had to apologize about the lack of recognition, but he was a good sport about it and gave me a hug and a smile.

After sitting through the first set with a band I was less than delighted with, it was Jacob’s turn. Right before he began playing, he cooed to his audience about this and that while adjusting mikes and tuning guitars. He glanced over to the corner table closest to the bandstand and said something low I couldn’t quite hear, but the names “Quiana” and “Angela Fisher” were both audible.

As I ran over to say hello to the girls, Jacob began the first strain of his song. Since my timing was not the best, and Jacob had just begun his set, I grabbed Quiana’s hand and led her over to where my family sat (which was slightly less distracting for him since our table was a little further back from the bandstand.)

Always up—glowing and unmistakably ready for a fun night out listening to Jacob’s music, Quiana’s enthusiasm rubs off like glitter from a Christmas ornament. We chatted awhile and then she returned to her group to enjoy the sounds in her own inimitable fashion—she stood for the entire set and didn’t stop moving for one minute. She likes to hoot and holler as well, which I must say, was the popular reaction to Jacob’s music from most of us who were there that night.

And so it should have been because Jacob Luttrell is amazing as a solo artist. Most of the songs he performed (all his own) are those you will hear on his soon to be released promotional CD. I was familiar with them, as I’ve had the privilege of hearing the recordings before.

Upon a first listen, you realize--Jacob’s got the music in him. From his soulful and silky funky vocals to his instrumental riffs on guitar and keyboard, he shines in every area.

At one point in a particular song, he let us know that the trombone would be the instrument of choice for that bridge in the piece, and since he didn’t have the horn to play it on, he simply simulated the sound with his voice instead. The way in which he worked his voice for that sound was incredible. It just seems to pour out of him with a sense of rhythm and style that comes from a combination of his inherent talent and an immense cumulative experience in the music business.

Songs like “Sweet Woman” and “Work Too Hard” are filled with emotion and drawn from personal understanding. Jacob throws himself into his music and gets lost. And when you’re part of his audience you find yourself lost as well without ever wanting to find your way out of his musical forest. Because these woods are not dark and confusing—they are ever, ever so enlightening!

At the end of the set, Quiana went up onstage at Jacob’s beckoning to do a duet with him and it was memorable. She’s also an artist that has it “goin’ on” and they were able to jam on a new song Jacob had written. Quiana has such stage presence and finesse; it is as noticeable as Jacob’s and the two are a good match musically.

We were also treated to the musical stylings of Ted Stillman on lead guitar and Daniel Pearson on bass guitar.

Afterwards, I got a hug and hello from Angela, who was more low key than her backup partner Quiana, but also happy to be there enjoying Jacob’s set.

Angela is a strong presence in any room she enters. Although she wasn’t standing and bouncing along with her girlfriend Quiana, it was evident she was loving what Jacob was doing. I get the feeling that her support is high on the importance ladder for Jacob. Angela exudes strength and determination, poise and power, and I believe her associates feel like they can draw a little bit of that good stuff from her whenever she’s around.

I didn’t want the Luttrell set to end, but (like they say) “all good things. . .” which left us wanting more. Jacob told me the following day on the phone that he left Molly Malone’s, the Irish pub/music hall I had seen him at, and went to another club called Guys that night to sing one more set of songs there. I was upset he hadn’t told me he was going, but after hearing that his evening ended in the vicinity of about 3:30 a.m., I was glad he didn’t. Driving home for an hour and a half at that early morning hour would have left me bleary-eyed and unable to face the next day.

One of the “friends” I got to meet for the first time was Cherie, the pretty, doe-eyed girl with the incredible voice who opened for Clay during his summer solo tour. Just as pretty close up as she was on the stage, Cherie came across as a little subdued, but sweet—quietly taking everything in without garnering a lot of attention herself. She stood by the wall and watched. Quiana introduced us. I thought of Clay, imagining that’s how he would have been, had he been there.

And then there was Nick Leisey. I asked him where Clay was and he said. “Oh, he’s home.” I assumed that “home” was the newest L.A. quarters Clay must have acquired while spending so much time here lately.

“But look around at this place and the crowd”, I said. “Do you really think he’d get mobbed here? He could pull his hat way down, wear the clothes he usually wears, and if he stood over there by the wall, don’t you think he could get away with it?” I admit, I was pressing him about this.

“It isn’t that,” he said. “He just doesn’t like it--he rather stay in.”

So I switched gears and put the focus on him. I teased him a little about his new celebrity status. He was in complete denial. I could have proved him wrong, however, if my husband (who was my photographer that night) had just taken a couple of pictures of Nick with all the young ladies surrounding him.

My husband, though, is a Nick and Clay kind of guy. He told me he wouldn’t play “paparazzi” and shoot pictures of any of the Aiken crowd while they were just hanging out enjoying themselves for an evening. And while my little devilish alter ego, “bad-girl Journalist” kept popping up to tempt me all night, I just stifled her and agreed he was right.

I feel compelled to comment at this point that Clay may not have been there at the Irish pub that night, but his spirit was certainly fueling the crowd—me included.

Before we left, I got one more chance to speak with Jacob. He met my mother and got a kick out of their short conversation (my mother impresses people with her unique charm and wit, I must admit).

But something that must be mentioned here is Jacob’s natural, easy and sweet demeanor. He immediately wins people over with a personality that is never set on automatic mode. Instead, his engagement with people is spontaneous, warm and real.

After hearing him sing, and watching him play; after listening to the songs that come from his heart, and then talking with him about how the music is so much a part of who he is; one gets the feeling that this young man has nowhere to go but up.
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Editor: Michelle Arce

Copyright 2005 by Dianne Austin. Printed with the permission of the writer.