Outer Banks Onstage

Mojo Collins brought his vision of folk and Piedmont blues, not to mention a bit of psychedelic rock, to the front porch of Corolla's Whalehead Club Thursday.

It was another lovely evening on the great lawn in front of the club. The sun was slightly lower in the sky than last Thursday at the same time; the breeze was a little cooler.

On the front porch, by a banner reading "Sponsored by Corolla Classic Vacations--Corolla Real Estate," William Collins, late of Raleigh, Montana, San Francisco and most recently Kitty Hawk and Wilmington, was setting up his equipment.

Sitting backwards on a stool in front of which was a small trunk with a tambourine on it, he bent his head down low to a weathered acoustic jazz guitar in order to tune it.

Nearby an old black amplifier leaned back on a stand facing a microphone attached to a public address system.

The setting sun was also a little more to the north than last week, and the facade of the pale yellow club building was already in oblique grey shadow. The blue sky was reflected brightly in the forward-facing glass of the doors and windows in the shadows at the back of the porch.

Above were only a few wispy clouds in that blue sky; some small puffy clouds lay near the horizon.

On the lawn, picnickers and music lovers were arriving with blankets and folding chairs. Mojo Collins turned to the vocal mic by his stool.

"Testing. One. Two," he said, looking up at the growing crowd.

"I think the show's gonna start in just a little bit, but Mojo's gonna go and change clothes. He'll be right back."

Edna Baden, Executive Director of the club, arrived and glanced at her watch. Finding no Mojo, she set off, then reappeared by the refreshment stand at the right side of the club building with Mojo.

He had shed his white t-shirt and painter's jeans for tan slacks, a yellow Hawaiian shirt and snappy black-and-white shoes, while maintaining his straw hat.

The sun sought the horizon as Mojo, back on the porch, panned a videocam across the audience, some of whom waved at him. He waved back, and Edna Baden moved to the mic and introduced him as he changed his videocam for a guitar.

Before taking his position at the mic, he opened his orange-lined guitar case toward the audience. A dollar bill was taped underneath the top. Then he sat on the stool with his feet on the little trunk with the tambourine on it.

He sang "A Better Way," a low-key country blues, fingerpicking his guitar in a Piedmont style that recalled Skip James or Sonny Terry. His voice was laid-back and natural-sounding; perfect front-porch music.

As he played his foot tapped the trunk in front of him on the beat, producing a mild bass-drum sound and a tambourine shake. He kept this percussion up through the show; it produced ample backing for his single-string guitar solos.

He played "Sam and Omie's," which he wrote "about thirty years ago," about the venerable Whalehead Junction eatery. These first songs seemed to employ a standard guitar tuning; probably the spare guitar on the porch was tuned to an open key for slide-work.

The sound, across the lawn, was at a perfect level -- the audience could have been on the porch with an unamplified Mojo, in the cool breeze, maybe with a pitcher of lemonade or a jug between them.

Before "Carolina Morning," Mojo asked, "How many people here are from North Carolina? One person!" This was a more folk-flavored offering with a jazzy progression. Two photographers flanked Mojo on the porch and snapped him as he sang, "Ten more miles and I'll be on your porch."

He continued with another song from his 2004 CD, Welcome to the Outer Banks, "Red Sky in Duck." This was played with more treble and took on an almost electric aspect. Still accompanied by his foot, which was beginning to sound like Mickey Hart, he took an extended single-string solo on the tonic chord.

Some in the audience flashed back to the Fillmore Auditorium of thirty years ago; Mojo's solo was more concise than Mickey Hart's guitarist's, though.

"Carolina Flavored" was dedicated to Mojo's new grandson, "who don't know nothing about war." This country blues, about growing up in Raleigh, produced spontaneous hand-clapping in the audience.

"Here's a song I wrote for my ex-wife. Oddly enough it's called 'Big-Hip Mama.'" He whistled a solo for this ode, which included the lyric, "I want a big-hipped mama, three hundred pounds or more/She comes into a room, all the fellows run to the door."

A departure was Mojo's fine acoustic solo version of the Chantays' primal 1962 surf-music masterpiece, "Pipeline." This was a full-rock-band instrumental, from back when surfers first wore crewcuts, and Mojo was all over it.

He segued right into a slow blues shuffle, "Angel in Love," even breaking out a wah-wah pedal for a long solo that made some in the audience think about light shows.

Back to the country blues, Mojo sang of childhood on a farm in "Carolina Tradition," a mouth-watering survey of a fine old southern menu, including "black-eyed peas and collard greens." His expert guitar work on this song featured plenty of double-stops and trills. Afterwards, he said, "...And what about the homemade Nana pudding?"

Now and then children approached his guitar case to leave offerings. Mojo managed to thank them between lyrics. His music and demeanor were sweet as a nut, from the quiet country blues to Hendrix-tinged blues improvisations like "Positive Feedback," which inspired plenty of the same from the happy audience.

Mojo told how he travels the state teaching schoolchildren about the history of folk music and blues in the state. "It's a thrill to be able to give back what the good Lord has blessed me with."

Mojo dedicated a bluesy "Battle Hymn of the Republic" to "the soldiers who are giving their lives in Iraq, so that we can live free here at home."

It was dark by now. When Mojo said he would be back after a ten-minute break, and Edna baden opined that he was kidding, as "we've run out of daylight," Mojo graced the departing audience with a beautiful rendition of "America the Beautiful."

"Mojo!" they cried.




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