Heading for the Pourhouse

Last fall I had the privilege to attend a “Guitar Summit”, a benefit for Musicares, a Grammy-sponsored organization set up to help out musicians in need of medical assistance. It was held in a newer club in downtown Minneapolis: The Pourhouse. A two-story space carved out of the venerable Lumber Exchange Building,
a Minneapolis landmark since 1885. The performers were venerable as well—an elite collection of Minnesota's finest rock and blues guitarist of the sixties and seventies.



There were some youngsters represented as well, playing "da blooz" fast and furiously:



That‘s Bobby Z, Prince’s Purple Rain drummer, on the skins.

It is usually a bittersweet affair to see this kind of show—the lack of rehearsal and, in a few cases, the loss of “chops” makes for an uneven night of music. The Barber and Peterson dynasties were featured as well. Fine musicians—but not guitarists—turning a guitar summit into a sideways version of Last Waltz, complete with a version of Dylan‘s Forever Young as an encore.