There's a lot of sadness in Pittsburgh right now. We lost Mary Jo Coll, a truly badass woman who booked shows at Howlers and Hambone's, two clubs that were shuttered in the past year or so. Jo, or Mama Jo as she was often called, gave a lot of bands a break. believing in them when the bands might not have been too sure about themselves. If the band was pulling their weight, plugging their show and putting everything they had into their performance, they got her approval. If the cash register wasn't ringing constantly with hordes of drunks, no problem. Maybe next time. And as one friend put it, you still might be good enough to play on a Thursday night, opening for a band from Cincinnati.
Jo went into the hospital not too long ago with stomach pains and "came out with stomach cancer," as she posted on Facebook. Without much in the way of health insurance, friends rallied around and staged a benefit for her earlier this month at The Funhouse at Mr. Smalls.
Originally there was talk of doing it at a later date, but it was pushed up. She wanted to be there and the photo at the top of this page is from that night. I got in as one of the last paying customers before it was sold out. Karla Doolittle, who organized the event, snapped this photo of the two of us. I wanted to talk to Jo but I didn't want to overwhelm her either. She looked weary but appreciative. So I gave her a hug and kissed her on the forehead. I hoped that would express my feelings for her.
She was a really generous person, which is even more impressive because she didn't have a whole lot herself. Many times, I saw posts on Facebook about a bunch of food that she was cooking up at her home. "Who's coming over," she'd ask. I wanted to drop by or meet her for coffee sometime just to chaw. She was older than me, but just by 10 years, making her more like a big sister than the "Mama" that she might be to other musicians. Along with music, we would occasionally talk family stuff, which seemed to deepen the rapport between us. And she was never one to say "No" to a show request. If the date I hoped to land wasn't open, she'd have a counter offer. There was never any hard sell, any warning that we needed to draw a big crowd or else. It's all about having a good time.
I can recall at least one show at Howlers where she corralled all the band members at the start of the evening to lay down the rules. All of it was reasonable (get the door person your guest list, no extra drink tickets, etc.). Once that was out of the way, she wanted to make sure everyone had fun. Then she'd park herself at the end of the bar where it turned a corner so she's see everyone who went into the music room.
For Jo's 60th birthday, she organized a show with a bunch of bands playing music from the '60s, specifically music that came from the Nuggets garage rock compilations. The Love Letters were lucky enough that we got on that bill. It just so happens the show took place the night before the 45th presidential inauguration. In other words, the day before the world was about to get a little darker. (Karl Hendricks would also pass away that night.) We could all sense the change for the worse that was coming (though we had no idea how bad it would be).
Jo wasn't going to let that ruin her party. She barged onstage in the middle of our set to make a few announcements and thank yous. With all of that out of the way, she issued a decree: "Let's have a good time. Let's forget all the other bullshit that's goin' on right now. Tomorrow is another day. For tonight - fuck the bullshit. Let's have fun."
We did, and it lasted all night.
Thanks, Jo. I'm sorry I never brought you coffee, but we'll have it someday.
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