On LaCienega, smack in the middle of Hollywood, California, a rather mixed bag of people huddled around the doors of a small building covered with peeling pink paint called McCabe's Guitar Shop. Included in the odd combination of ponytailed movie biz people, elder black folks, and mohawked punkers stood what looked to be your typical bohemian art couple. The gentleman was dressed in a long silver coat and multicoloured scarf, almost in defiance of the normal hot weather. His partner had long black hair, and wore a white tanktop, black jeans and a pair of doc martens. Both wore Ray-Bans and spoke with decidedly un-American accents.
"Who are we seeing, Doctor?" the woman asked.
"It's a surprise, Leela," the Doctor replied, hands thrust into his pockets. "But I think you'll like it."
"It?"
"The music." The Doctor adjusted his hat, the flashed his trademark smile to his companion.
"Are we going to see Black Sabbath again?" Leela asked, her voice growing with excitement.
"No."
The doors to McCabe's opened up. The throng around the door was expertly herded into a line to the left, putting the Doctor and Leela near the front by default.
"Should be able to get good seats then," the Doctor muttered to himself.
The bar was along one wall and had guitars hanging from the ceiling above it. The bartender, a young woman with vermillion hair served drinks with a speed and grace created by years of experience. The stage - if you could call it a stage - was a foot high and not much wider or deeper. A stool, microphone, tube amp and Gretch hollow body on a stand were the only objects on the stage. A pair of lights shone above, bathing the small stage in harsh light. Surrounding the stage were a series of tables, all small, each one seemingly different from the next. After the tables filled out, some people found stools at the bar, others claimed their own section of wall or rail in the back to lean against and a few grabbed some of the floor between the tables.
The lights dimmed, and the old man walked out to a round of applause. He wore a brown suit that looked both anachronistic and timeless at the same time. Perched on his wrinkled head was a Panama hat. No introduction was made - it wasn't needed.
"Evening," he rumbled, a voice that sounded spiritual, humble and sad. He sat down on the stool, spent a moment or two plugging in his guitar, adjusting the mic, getting himself ready to perform one more time.
"This one's called Boogie Chillun," John Lee Hooker announced.
***
Leela watched the old man strum his long, tar-coloured fingers against the strings of the guitar. He played a simple melody, repetitive, but the repeat happening in odd, staccato moments. Leela watched him tap a beat out with the heel of his shoe.
And then he sang. Leela was stunned at first, the voice filled with emotion. She felt kinship with this elder, telling his stories the way Andor and others from the Sevateem had when she was a child.
The Doctor had seen John Lee Hooker once before, back when he was still with UNIT. Liz Shaw would sometimes listen to Hooker's records while working with him. As much as he hated to admit it, the songs affected him personally. And when the Doctor found out that Hooker was playing at the Marquee, he hopped into Bessie and saw the show on the sly. (Alistair wouldn't have understood.) Hooker was backed by Canned Heat on that night, but it was when Hooker did a solo number that really knocked him out.
And when Leela decided to blast Z.Z. Top's LaGrange earlier in the TARDIS, the Doctor decided he wanted to see John Lee one more time.
***
Hooker played two sets. The music went from fun boogie to sad tales of pain and loss. Leela was mesmerised by the whole performance. The Doctor felt it within his hearts. Afterwards, Hooker sat by the front of the stage, signing autographs and talking to the fans. The Doctor and Leela patiently waited until most of the crowd had moved on.
"That was amazing, Mr Hooker," the Doctor said, extending his hand. Hooker smiled, shook hands with Doctor.
"Thank you. Came a long ways to see me?" Hooker asked.
"Yes, we did," the Doctor answered.
"How long have you been playing?" Leela asked.
"Since I was a kid. Probably keep playing till I'm dead." Hooker said this truthfully.
"Living for your music."
"Naw, Son," Hooker replied, his wise brown eyes staring at the Doctor. "I still have stories to tell, and people still want to hear them. That's a good thing to have."
The Doctor nodded.
***
Outside of McCabe's, the sky was filled with stars and bright lights. Leela and the Doctor walked out the doors, stopped on the sidewalk.
"What did you think, Leela?"
"It reminded me of the Sevateem. They told stories the same way," Leela replied softly.
"Makes sense. Oral tradition through poetry and song. Common trait among primitive cultures."
Leela looked at the Doctor. "What about your culture?"
The Doctor smiled. "Well, the Time Lords have been around for centuries..." His voice trailed off.
"And?" Leela asked.
"And, well, they wouldn't understand," the Doctor said. "They're not primitive."
"Does that mean they're better because they have no songs?"
