Every musician I’ve ever known and worked with has stories. And I mean stories. Whether it’s tales from the road or tales from the local club scene, anybody who has worked as a musician for any length of time has amassed more than a few good stories to tell.

Especially in Detroit.

Like the club I played with my blues band years ago, where the guy at the door used to keep a photo album of the life-sized mannequin he kept at home. As I recall, he had a name for her, and he liked to dress her up in different outfits and then take photos of her in various poses (none of them pornographic, just weird), and then paste those photos in a massive album he kept there at the club. He didn’t show those photos to just anyone, but if you happened to be someone he felt comfortable enough with, he wou

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