Time is a present you make to yourself, wrapped up in the end with a few ribbons of memory. Back when it seemed there was all the time in the world, some of it was well-spent with the laughter and music of John Belushi and friends inside the Blues Bar. Twenty years this month since the tragic passing of a 33-year-old rock'n'roll actor who helped shape a generation's hybrid embrace of popular music and merriment, one's thoughts still return to a small corner in Belushi's life. Before the December 1978 release of the Blues Brothers' chart-topping, double-platinum Briefcase Full of Blues, The Blues Brothers movie of 1980, its Blues Brothers 2000 sequel, or even the House of Blues chain, there was the gin mill that nurtured it all, the Blues Bar-an unlicensed, derelict brick tavern on the corner of Dominick and Hudson Streets in the then-lonely industrial canyons of Manhattan's SoHo district.
In 1978, Universal Pictures gave Belushi and his buddy Dan Aykroyd money to finance the development of the script for The Blues Brothers. John used his share to lease a suite of offices at 130 Fifth Ave. to be the headquarters of a creative partnership with Danny dubbed Black Rhino Enterprises/Phantom Enterprises. Danny took his portion of the advance to establish-as he once had in Toronto and Chicago-an after-hours haunt in which he, John, and cronies from their scuffling days in the fabled Second City improvisational comedy troupe could "gather their thoughts."
The ancient four-story tenement that would house the Blues Bar was rented in the summer of '78. Aykroyd left its windows painted black as they had been after the former watering hole for factory workers was shut down in the early '70s. Each weekend, following rehearsals and broadcasts of the Saturday Night Live (SNL) TV show they helped launch, they filled the long, narrow room with cohorts, beginning with a bash for the Grateful Dead when they played on the SNL Nov. 11, 1978, program.
The choice menu on the Blues Bar's battered jukebox encompassed R&B, rock, and reggae, from Sam & Dave's "You Don't Know Like I Know" and "Goin' Back to Miami" by Wayne Cochran & the C.C. Riders, to two rare singles donated by this columnist, "Jah Live" by Bob Marley & the Wailers and Tapper Zukie's "A Message to Pork Eaters." Belushi and Aykroyd usually supplied the booze and Budweiser that fueled the joint, though patrons customarily chipped in to buy more when provisions ran low. The hangout had no stage, no sophisticated sound system, no frills of any sort (beyond the single flower-often a plastic rose-that Aykroyd would place in a vase atop the porcelain ruins of the toilet in the otherwise forbidding ladies' powder room, "Just so we have something nice for the womenfolk").
Belushi and Aykroyd's brother, Peter, cached assorted amps, mikes, and musical instruments in the corner of the room nearest Hudson, and all assembled were usually urged by Belushi to join in on jam sessions. Thus, this columnist wound up keeping the beat behind Boz Scaggs and members of ZZ Top on bygone nights so John could slip out from behind his white pearl Ludwig drum kit to sing or dance. John had been the leader of two bands (the Vibrations and the Ravens) he formed at Wheaton Central High with enduring pal Dick Blasucci (Dick and his brothers on guitars, John on percussion), and he loved the sound of live rock'n'roll played with spirit and a sense of fellowship.
Actors, film directors, musicians, writers, fashion models, family members, friends of friends, curious passersby, and the occasional spillover from the strip club further up Hudson formed the basic clientele. If you could find the place, you were welcome. There was no velvet rope, no gatekeeper, no security, and any locks lingering on the doors were regularly broken anyhow, because Belushi sheared them off with handy cinderblocks whenever he forgot his keys. Unless it was the bitter depths of winter, both the front entrance and the side exit on Dominick were thrown open to the breeze, and the party routinely spilled out onto the public sidewalk. As John quietly reflected at the bar one evening, "I used to tell my father, 'This is America, Dad, you're not in Albania anymore. You made it out and escaped to a free country. Let's enjoy that freedom.'
" On another night, as journalist/screenwriter Mitch Glazer (the "Miami Mitch" who penned the seminal conceptual liner notes on the back jacket of Briefcase Full of Blues) and Keith Richards were ordering beers from volunteer bartender Francis Ford Coppola, an off-duty Con Edison worker and a guileless young couple who'd wandered too far from the West Village began to wonder aloud why no one would allow them to pay for their drinks. Belushi and Aykroyd were equally hospitable about loaning the entire premises to their downtown neighbors. After the Greenwich Village-based Crawdaddy magazine faded out circa 1979, its former staff (including those of us who'd migrated to Rolling Stone) asked to borrow the saloon for a farewell wingding. John-whose first appearance on the cover of a national magazine (Nov. '77) had been for Crawdaddy-and Danny-who'd written ("Heavy Metal Silence," January '78) for the publication-happily obliged.
Both Belushi and Aykroyd remain rooted in the public's mind for the camaraderie they brought to their work together, particularly as Jake (John) and Elwood (Danny) Blues. Lighthearted, sincere, and unpremeditated, the Blues Brothers' performances on SNL and on hit albums, tours, and in films were exceptional (due in no small part to a crack band that boasted the likes of Steve Cropper, Donald "Duck" Dunn, Tom Scott, Paul Shaffer, and Steve Jordan). While the Blues Brothers took some hard critical knocks, participating artists such as Ray Charles and James Brown saw it differently.
"John was a loyal fan of rhythm and blues," Charles told this writer in 1982, well aware that even Blues Brothers co-star Aretha Franklin's record sales had reached a fallow point, "and I know for a fact that the Blues Brothers movie and soundtrack got a hell of a lot of people back into R&B." Brown concurred: "When John and Danny invited me to be a part of the Blues Brothers film, they helped me get myself going again. I was going through a bad period at the time, having trouble getting my records released. John flew in to watch me cut my stuff for the soundtrack album. He knew I was having problems with my career, and he said, 'How can I help?' He was there for me, understand?"
Brown's appearance in The Blues Brothers sparked a resurgence in his popularity, and during the rest of the '80s he saw renewed chart success. Meanwhile, Belushi himself started having trouble, sinking into a severe depression after disappointments over film projects. Sadly, no one was there for him when he died in Hollywood of a drug overdose in the early hours of the morning on March 5, 1982.
Two decades later, memories of that dark time include Aykroyd's somber words in the days immediately afterward: "John and I often discussed the roots of hip comedy in the Bohemian and American beat scene. He did a character called Shelly Bayliss: a guy in a black suit, white shirt and black tie . . . with shades on . . . a stoned hipster in a suit . . . a suit to fool the cops . . . shades to hide the eyes. Add a hat and Elwood and you have the uniform of the Blues Brothers. We were playing guys who had nothing, who always had to start at the bottom and work up. These were roles, not the way we wanted to live our lives. The John I knew could only have been assisted into oblivion during the course of an experiment. He hated needles and could never have inserted a hypo into himself.
"The full rewards of knowing and being with John," Aykroyd added, "will never be totally understood by even those who loved his work, don't care how he died and are just sorry he's gone. To these people, I say his sweetness and generosity were as big as his appetite for life."