On Saturday, 0ctober 6^th the blues world was rocked by the tragic news that Nick Curran had succumbed to cancer and passed away at the age of 35.

I think most of our readers here at BLUES JUNCTION can remember, depending on their age, where they were when they heard that Hollywood Fats, Stevie Vaughan, Lester Butler, Marco Fiume or Sean Costello had died. These all were men, in their thirties, whose lives held such promise that their passing seemed particularly cruel. 

The death of Nick Curran falls squarely in this category.  It is a blow which has left many of us with the feeling that we are likely to never completely recover.

For me, Saturday, October 6^th, started with an absolutely glorious sunrise. I took advantage of the beautiful weather and good mood to take an extended bicycle ride around Newport Beach’s Back Bay. Many of the things that make life so enjoyable and rewarding were on display. The smell of sage and manzanita was making its way into my nostrils and into my consciousness. I could see water fowl gliding gracefully over the coastal wetlands. As I rolled through the path that circumvented the bay, other people were also getting their blood pumping and lungs filled with oxygen. They strolled, hiked, jogged and biked, all with a relaxed purpose. Some of life’s simplest yet more rewarding pleasures were ours for the taking.

I ended up at a small blues program at the nearby Orange County Fairgrounds that featured three local bands. I found myself in the company of several friends. When I left the show, I decided to take a circuitous route home, so I could enjoy a few extra miles of California coastal vistas before reaching my destination.  

By the time I got home, I felt that exuberant feeling that comes from fresh air and a vigorous workout. I felt as healthy and alive as any 55 year old, 250 pound lard ass can feel. I was in the middle of a wonderful day that was about to come crashing down around me.

The moment I walked in the door my phone rang. It was Fred Kaplan. The great pianist told me that Nick Curran had died.

I had heard in recent days that Nick was in pretty bad shape, but to me the little guy was a larger than life super hero and I never processed this information objectively. I didn’t, for a minute, think that this young man was going to leave us, at least not this soon. I was foolishly optimistic. I had just days earlier discussed the gravity of his health problems with some of Nick’s close friends and musical colleagues from Austin. The news of his death however was still a shock.

At this moment I was glad that I had left my electronic tethers behind for several hours and didn’t find out about Nick’s passing through the 21^st century town crier, Facebook or, God forbid, a text message.

Even though I didn’t know Nick as well as many of our readers, I valued the times I spent with him. He was twenty years my junior, yet a guy I could relate to on several levels and a dude who I couldn’t on several others.

He was a titan of toughness and a guitar wielding bad ass without peer. He had a voice that cut a dangerous swath through a room as easily as it tore through generations of fans who found different aspects of his music in which they could identify. I don’t know of anyone for instance who cites T-Bone Walker and the Ramones as primary influences. His vocals are often compared to Little Richard’s, but if you listen closely you will also hear lots of Rosco Gordon, Amos Milburn and Wynonie Harris in Nick’s singing. He was not trying to summon these voices from the past. He was just Nick being Nick. He was the future and that future seemed bright.

Nick didn’t wallow in the self-aggrandizing hyperbole in which so many so called blues musicians engage. Unlike Nick, these posers often say that they are reinventing the blues or moving the music forward as if they are doing us a favor. The reality is they are actually making a thinly disguised public apology, cloaked in self-serving bullshit, in an attempt to distract the public from their own lack of talent. Nick let his music speak for itself and it spoke volumes. He was a humble man who I believe wasn’t fully aware of his awesome gifts. His modesty was incredibly refreshing.

Nick had talent to spare and wielded that talent relentlessly with exuberance and abandon.  He was able to move beyond the genre of the blues and make music that suited his muse and did so without apology or hand wringing. He never played or sang a note that had even the smallest scintilla of compromise. He did things his way.

Nick had a persona as well as a personality. The different public images and fashion sensibilities he sported often didn’t comport with his demeanor, which at times could be almost shy, reserved, thoughtful and respectful.

The first time I met Nick was August 25, 2001. He was playing at a wonderful event called Blues on the Bay at an American Legion Hall in Newport Beach, CA. It was the first time Nick had played at a blues festival. An hour or so before he was to take the stage someone introduced Nick to me. I found the 24 year old musician to be engaging, intelligent and sporting a dry sense of humor.

On this day Nick was wearing a brown suit, brown shirt, brown neck tie and a brown kerchief in his suit coat. He was also wearing brown loafers and brown knee socks. How I know this is that he was also wearing brown shorts that matched his sport coat. His sartorial splendor had some scratching their heads.  As he told me, and as I suspected, his fashion sense on this afternoon was homage to young B.B. King. He was also sporting a very impressive pompadour that was a spectacular study in grooming prowess. I was, however, with my brother on this day and we were holding court and engaging in an animated conversation that neither of us thought was going to be interrupted by the music of little Lord Fauntleroy.

We were on an outside patio when Nick and his band the Nightlifes started playing. Our heads snapped as we looked at one another with our mouths agape. We raced into the room and stood in the middle of a half empty dance floor. Tears welled up in our eyes as we were in one of those very rare moments where the product came as advertised. Here was a young man whose singing, playing, choice of material and accompaniment all meshed together to create that elusive sound discriminating blues fans crave. We can live our entire lives hoping to find, anticipate and ultimately be disappointed at the music that is being tossed in our direction that is, at its very best, mediocre and yet touted as greatness. There was nothing mediocre about Nick Curran. On that Saturday afternoon eleven years ago, I became a Nick Curran devotee.

I was fortunate to be able to catch up with Nick at the 2002 Doheny Blues Festival where he played guitar with The Hollywood Blue Flames. Over the next couple of years, I was privileged to catch him play at the world famous Blue Café on a couple of occasions. He then took some of the pressure off of himself that comes with fronting his own band and joined the Fabulous Thunderbirds for a spell. I was able to again hear the amazing guitar of Nick Curran in a band that was older than he was when he played with them at the Doheny Blues Festival in 2007.

Most recently I caught up with Nick when he played at Art Martel’s 50th Birthday bash in October of 2010. He had been diagnosed with cancer just months earlier and had gone through chemotherapy, but by late summer he was given a clean bill of health and was back on the road. This was the last stop on his tour.

Nick proceeded to tear the place apart. He seemed to embrace tradition and thumb his nose at that notion all at the same time. He brought something fresh, exciting and new to the bandstand. More importantly he brought quality musicianship to the stage that was also fun.

On the way back to Texas, Nick’s van broke down out in the Arizona desert. He was cooling his heels   somewhere outside of Tucson. I learned of his predicament on Facebook. I sent him a private message thanking him for a great show. I also thought to myself, why can’t this guy catch a break? Here is a young man whose father passed away right around the time he was diagnosed with cancer. Now the poor dude is exhausted and stranded in the middle of the Sonoran desert just trying to get home. I wished him good luck.

Nick didn’t get much of that as his cancer returned and on Saturday, October 6, 2012, we lost a true American original. His death was a reminder, as if we need it, of the fragility of life. For me Nick’s passing is also a wakeup call as to how lucky we are to be able to enjoy another sunrise, smell the roses (or sage and manzanita) and be able to listen to great music.

On the evening of October 6^th, a spectacular sunset blazed across the western sky. The wispy light clouds that hung over the Pacific Ocean turned a deep red and seemed to hold off the inevitable darkness that was to come. It was as if Nick was saying, “I’m not done with you yet.” He wasn’t. I turned on a Nick Curran album. I walked outside and sat down on the front porch. I listened to Nick’s music as darkness finally enveloped the sky.

- David Mac