Seeing the Light: A Tribute to Jeff Healey
As far back as I can remember, I’ve always loved guitar. In high school, my best friend Craig played a mean acoustic, as did a few others in our circle. On a Sunday night back in ’87, a few of us had gathered at a bar in the Beaches for dinner and drinks. It would be the first night I saw Jeff Healey live, and I would never forget it.
The bar was called Baker Street (it’s now called Quigley’s), and on that quiet Sunday night there were maybe seven or eight people in the whole place by the time Jeff and his band took to the tiny stage at the back of the bar. He sat down with his guitar lying across his lap. I had obviously noticed he was blind, but it was the positioning of his guitar that threw me off. I’d never seen such a thing.
As soon as he started to play, my friends and I were dumbfounded. All of us were huge blues fans and we particularly worshipped the late, great Stevie Ray Vaughan. I had to pick my jaw up off the floor. The sound coming from his guitar sounded just like Stevie Ray. I was completely blown away.
Now, I’m not saying Jeff was trying to copy Stevie Ray. He wasn’t. Anyone who was lucky enough to see Jeff Healey play live could see that he had his own style. I’m just saying I’d never heard a blues guitarist come even close to Stevie Ray in sheer artistry. Watching him play was a transcendent experience. It lifted your spirits and soothed the soul.
In between sets, Jeff sat in the booth next to us and joined his bandmates in a round of poker. He was using Braille playing cards and laughing away with his pals. During a break in their game I told him that he was going to be huge. He smiled and responded, “Hey, I don’t know if there’s seven of you out there or seven thousand, so it doesn’t matter to me, but thanks.”
For the rest of the night I couldn’t believe that there were only a handful of us witnessing this prodigy. I felt lucky to be there, as though I’d discovered gold.
Two years later I was on a date at Chicago’s on Queen West. I went upstairs to use the washroom and I heard a familiar sound. It was the opening notes of “Voodoo Child” and I immediately knew it was Jeff. I ran downstairs and practically dragged my date up the stairs as I told her, “I guarantee when we see who’s playing it’s gonna be this blind, white guy with his guitar across his lap.” Sure enough, as we entered the upstairs bar, there was Jeff mesmerizing his audience.
Years later, I happened to catch him at C’est What with the Hot Five Jazzmakers. I had no idea he was a jazz musician as well. Well, suffice to say he was fantastic on trumpet and was having the time of his life singing Dixieland jazz and blowing his horn.
I saw Jeff two more times at his club on Bathurst. He was sitting in both times with the headliner. Even though he gave the spotlight to the band, when he kicked into his trademark solos, the crowd went crazy.
Hearing of his passing over the weekend was a shock. I had heard that the cancer that robbed him of his sight as a child had returned. But I expected he’d beat it. He seemed like an unstoppable force to me. I learned that Jeff was only 41 at the time of his passing. Realizing we were the same age hammered home the loss even more. He was too young to die.
The only consolation I can think of is that Jeff Healey was a man who lived his life doing what he truly loved. His friends have said that his music gave him joy and kept him going. Jeff was prolific as a musician and an artist. He loved to play, whether for seven or seven thousand. His music helped us see the light.