Mama at the Driskill
December 8, 2020
I read recently that Margaret Wright, a real Austin icon, has died. Lucky me, when Margaret was a regular as piano player at the Driskill bar, I was a regular as a drinker and have nothing but great, if Scotch-infused, memories of those days.
One night that Margaret was not playing, Mama and Daddy came to town (I think to see the first show I ever did here, Rodents and Rumors, directed by Jaston Williams at Cap City) and afterwards we went out to the Driskill for a celebratory drink or three. A skinny, non-descript kind of fella who was not Margaret Wright, was plodding away at the keyboard. Mama, Daddy, Jaston, and I (and other cast members I cannot recall) were gabbing away in that giddy after-a-show kind of way, talking over and through the music, more like it was a bother. Bless his heart; he seemed a little depressed, like he was performing live Muzak.
After a while, he announced he was taking ten. He had hardly gotten up to go when Mama leaned over and said, “I think I’ll show ‘em how it’s done.”
Uh oh. Here we go.
She got up, moseyed over to the piano in all her Color Me Beautiful glory—hair up, bright red lipstick, bangles on both wrists, rings on her fingers— sat down at the piano, adjusted her slip strap, and let ‘er rip.
Wham. People sat up. What in the world is this? She played “Ain’t She Sweet.” She played “Darktown Strutters Ball.” She slowed things down with “Begin the Beguine” and “Mood Indigo.” She played fast and wicked, she played slow and flirty. Occasionally she’d throw a hand up in the air, as was her style, a touch of drama, but not too much, and by the time that poor guy got back from his break, the entire bar was gathered around the piano singing “Amazing Grace.”
After we had sung every verse, Mama stood up, and the room burst into applause. You could tell people didn’t want it to end. She beamed her beautiful Southern Belle smile at her new fans, and then at the piano guy, who was hanging back, as though to say “it’s all yours now.”
Poor fella. Mama was not just a hard act to follow; she was an impossible act to follow.
He started playing again. I mean, I guess he did. But who would remember? All I can remember is Mama transforming a room full of people, some fully inebriated, who found themselves belting out “Amazing Grace” in a bar. Mama made stuff happen like that.
I sure do miss her. And I sure am grateful I have all these memories and stories to tell.
©2021 Joy Cunningham