Would you brave a hurricane to track down an author/singer? Apparently, I will. Given, it was a very minor hurricane (yep, I’m a native Floridian), and what would be better on a rainy Saturday afternoon than settling in to hear some jazz. That was my reasoning, along with wanting to see if the musician Sean Dietrich, was also the writer Sean of the South. Yeah, that guy, the down home heartfelt, tear wringer writer whose work has appeared in Southern Living, The Tallahassee Democrat, and seems to be ‘viral” on my Facebook feed. So on that rainy afternoon in October, I watched palms sway in a blustery wind as rain beat time against the glass windows while Sean Dietrich sang and played keyboard.
So, here’s the backstory. I didn’t even know he sang, really. Of course I Facebook binged on his writing once captivated the words he could spread smooth as love and honey into print and cyberspace. His Facebook site included a few videos, mostly of him reading his work. One of him singing on a front porch, but I didn’t catch on then. However serendipitous, his name jumped out at me from a local weekend flyer advertising Jazz by the Bay, and I wondered just how many Sean Dietrichs there could be.
To satisfy my curiosity I needed to see him in person and take a listen……so back to that rainstorm attached to a little thing called Hurricane Nate and the dash around the block trying to find Sean. The original venue was by St. Andrew Bay, open air, picnic blanket BYOB relaxing. But then Nate axed that plan. Fortunately, the venue relocation was announced via tacked up last minute poster board dripping psychedelic colors, and to get close enough to read it meant dancing through the rain. Fortunately, Jazz by the Bay was not cancelled due to wind gusts and showers, merely relocated to a bar a few blocks away.
Once steered in the right direction and finally seated, damp and pleased the music hadn’t started, I scanned the room for the face I knew I’d recognize from all that “research.” Hot Damn it was him, THE Sean of the South, the writer, about to sing and play keyboard. With a mellow voiced “alright now,” the music began, and he filled the air with soul, humor and humility. And boy could he play and sing. Grace gifted him with musical talent and a way with words. Midway through the set Sean began a new tune, got a few bars in and started the lyrics only to halt mid-chord, with a chuckled, “played the wrong damn song.” Once he started back up it all sounded just right judging by the smiles, head nods and foot tapping in the audience.
The set included Old Devil Moon, Besame Mucho, and Amazing Grace, as well as a few not recognized by this neophyte. Sean punctuated each song with a smile and a quick story, shedding some light on the writer/musician. Much too soon, he finished the set with “You are my Sunshine.” Now, this last song was dedicated to Johanna, a woman of indeterminate age and evident spark who danced with her hat pulled low and her unlit cigarette held high. She’d been waiting for her song, and jubilantly sashayed to the rhythm.
At the conclusion, I emerged from my fan girl stupor to ponder the crowd a bit. From where I sat (near the front, well duh) it was evident that I was under-aged by about 15 years or so. So was Sean for that matter, but this was unmistakably his tribe. He had relationships with these people, bound together by music, writing, academics and life. They knew him and he knew them, and I realized I was part of a small intimate reunion of sorts. Near the end of the set, grizzled blonde near me leaned in close to her friend. In a gravely voice she loudly proclaimed, “Jazz is in my heart” as she raised her wine glass. Mine too honey, mine too.
Books by Sean Dietrich
