Very appropriate that my trip upstairs at Mistral for the final of the 12 acts of the Festival Jazz Series would feature Bobbie Storm. She’s the ultimate saloon singer.

And it’s always been in bars where I have seen her around Charleston as she smoothly belted out jazz standards.

I snapped a lot of pictures (no flash of course) but this reflection in the bar mirror seemed to sum it up. Let me quickly add that I have never seen her take a drink.

She was backed by other favorites of mine - Tommy Gill on piano, David Patterson, drums and Wayne Mitchum, bass. I seem to remember Wayne called himself Neckbonius Monk.

Earlier in the day, over at Mad River Grille and Bar, Gary Erwin and his band, was pleasing a crowd of visitors and assorted Blues fans.

If we could nominate a Poster Person for the title of Blues Promoter, Manager and Performer, it would have to be Gary. To help you visualize this, I “posterized” a shot of him in action at his keyboard.

Both venues - and a stop for half a slab of delicious ribs at Sticky Fingers - featured VERY cold air conditioning, something visitors AND locals appreciate as we quickly move from Spring into that other Sizzling season in the Lowcountry.

Tonight will be a full slate of comedy at Theater 99. And that includes the Finale.

I bumped into Timmy Finch, one of the founders of The Have Nots, the other day and mentioned I was looking forward to the “big Finish” - a highlight every year for this and for their Comedy Festival. I added “it’s like a funny, funny smorgasbord.”

“Yeah,” Timmy shot back, “a real Poo Poo Platter.”

More Chucker on Spoleto at Chuckography.

Late one evening, a man was walking back from the store to his home. Moonlight trickled through tree limbs and Spanish moss like a stained glass canopy. The air was warm…and very still. Even the crickets had gone quiet as if they themselves didn’t want to disturb the now deafening silence. Sweat trickled down the back of the man’s neck, and yet he crossed his arms over himself and quickened his pace.

Upon passing the Second Presbyterian Church, the man caught wafts of voices echoing off of stone and brick. He stopped dead in his tracks to listen…

“I’ll take this one, you take that one”

“I’ll take that one, you take this one”

“You take this one, I’ll take…”

The conversation continued. The man amazed, realized that he was listening to God and the Devil in the midst of dividing up the souls that made their final resting place only a few yards away in the church’s graveyard. Worried he had lost his mind, he ran back to the store, made his plight, and convinced the store owner to come back with him to listen.

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