If the measure of a man is how much he's missed when he's gone, Ikey Owens was a tremendous individual. While many of the musicians who performed Friday night were Owens' bandmates in Jack White's outfit (Dominic Davis, Daru Jones, Fats Kaplin and Lily Mae Rische, until Owens' death last October; Ruby Amanfu, as well, during the Blunderbuss tour), Owens collaborated with others as a sideman, producer or sympathetic friend, the force of his positive personality radiating much-needed encouragement in times of doubt.
Friday night at The Basement, the assembled group represented a small slice of the people the inventive keyboardist knew or worked with in his 20-year career — which included Southern California ska revival as a member of Long Beach Dub Allstars, heavy progressive experimental rock as keyboardist for The Mars Volta and some of the best hip-hop records of the last decade, all before he became a key component in White's pan-American soundscape — but they let us know the depth of his impact on them all, celebrating his life with soulful ferocity that was a joy to witness.
Wisely, we rolled in early and rode the flow of foot traffic into the main room like a Fremen on a sand worm and negotiated a sight line to center stage. As instruments were up tuned and amps powered on, a table was placed onstage, topped with two large vases of lilies. Cocktail in hand and Detroit Tigers cap on head, Third Man Consigliere and de facto emcee Ben Swank set the tone, declaring this a celebration of Ikey, "in the spirit of warmth and love and good life lived."
The 15-song set that followed was loosely structured, almost like acts in a play, but kept the feel of an intimate, informal jam session, welcoming us in like any of these players might invite Ikey into their own living room. The first phase featured spare arrangements and a spotlight on phenomenal vocalists, resonating the grief of their loss. Kristi Rose took the stage first with Sam Cooke's "Lost and Lookin'," backed by her husband, agile multi-instrumentalist Kaplin, on acoustic guitar and Davis on bass. Kaplin and Davis followed with a wild, dark fiddle tune called "Little Egypt," heavily influenced by Turkish and Armenian music — sounds Kaplin loves, and from places Ikey had hoped to visit. Kaplin left the stage, and Davis' wife, Rachael Davis, stepped in for a fresh, ethereal take on the Nashville-recorded Dylan chestnut "Lay Lady Lay," followed by Taj Mahal's lively "Cakewalk Into Town," with Kaplin on fiddle and Jones behind the drums.
Courtney Jaye and her band — featuring Cory Nichols on drums, David Grant on bass, Stanton Adcock on electric guitar — took the stage next, as Jaye opened with a story about her friendship with Ikey. In the several years they knew each other, they never worked together, she said. Shortly after he moved to Nashville last July, he saw her perform a solo set of new songs she described as "non-traditional, non-denominational gospel music." The lukewarm response of the weeknight crowd told her she should shelve the songs, but Owens showed enthusiastic interest, pushing her to work on them and offering suggestions over the next few months. As "The Kingdom Is Inside of Me" built slowly from a droning Delta raga to a triumphant gospel proclamation, we could feel the whole room swaying slightly. Maybe it was the beer? In any case, Owens' intuition was right: The power in this material, which praises spiritual awareness rather than any particular religious tradition, is tangible.
Then Rische came up, flanked by her sister McKenna Grace on one side and guitarists Kenneth Brian and Travis Stephens on the other. We never saw Rische with her family band,
Jipsy, back when they were working Broadway, but we imagined it might have gone down a little like this. Lily Mae's razor-sharp fiddle danced a violent tango with Brian's searing slide, galloping along to the rhythm of Stephens' acoustic while blood harmonies flowed as if from the knife wound in the classic murder ballad "Pretty Polly." After the Risches stepped down, Davis and Jones joined Brian and Stephens for a pair of songs Owens produced on Brian's forthcoming record, tunes scorched by the fires of blues-based Southern rock, but with thin veins of cool jazz running throughout.
Ruby Amanfu was next, backed by Kaplin, Davis and Jones on a spare, haunting version of "Anyone Who Knows What Love Is (Will Understand)," a 1964 hit for New Orleans soul queen Irma Thomas. “It’s hard to say ‘was’ talking about Ikey. Souls like that just are,” said Amanfu, explaining how Owens encouraged her to keep pursuing her solo career. Her next song, an original called "Taking Memories," with Lily Mae on harmonies, was a strong reminder that Amanfu is a damned good pop songwriter, too. Overcome by emotion, she cut the tune short. Kings of the F**King Sea, the rock duo comprised of Third Man Books chief Chet Weise and Ettes drummer/fashion designer Poni Silver, finished out the main set, reminiscing about their transcendent trio performances with Ikey. Their ear-splitting, turbo-charged pair of songs transmuted the anger inherent in their grief into poetry in motion — high-kicking, pegged-in-the-red motion.
As everyone (with the exception of Kristi Rose, Courtney Jaye's rhythm section and the Kings) piled back on stage for the encore, there was some speculation about whether Jack White might breeze through the back door and join in. We'd have taken that bet, weighing the odds at 50/50, but we'd have lost. And it didn't matter. The twin-fiddle, twin-guitar, triple-vocal rendition of Tom Petty's "You Don't Know How It Feels" was the perfect tribute to a man who loved music with what seemed like every fiber of his being, bringing people together for the sheer joy of playing. That spirit, shared by far more than just this group, makes Music City an outstanding place to be a musician. Owens only made his home here for three months, and he was already becoming an integral part of the community. For that, he'll always be missed.
