Twelve Bar Blues

Spanning three continents and two centuries, Twelve Bar Blues is an epic tale of fate, family, friendship and jazz. At its heart is Lick Holden, a young jazz musician, who sets New Orleans on fire with his cornet at the beginning of the last century. But Lick’s passion is to find his lost step-sister and that’s a journey that leads him to a place he can call ‘home’. Meanwhile, at the other end of the century, we find Sylvia, an English prostitute, and Jim, a young drifter. They’re in search of Sylvia’s past, lost somewhere in the mists of the Louisiana bayou. Patrick Neate has written a story that straddles time and space, love and friendship, roots and pilgrimage and everything between. Poignant and hilarious, it will hook you – like a favourite tune – till the end. ‘If I could choose one current British writer to tell tall tales around my fantasy campfire, it would be Patrick Neate’ Daily Telegraph ‘Hugely enjoyable’ Independent on Sunday ‘An endearing romp. Continents, and eras, come together in an infectious celebration of a mixed-up music – and the mixed-up people who create it’ Boyd Tonkin, Independent ‘A rollicking novel … energetic, divinely plotted' The Times ‘Truly epic … consistently pleasing and worthwhile’ Face ‘A formidable work of imagination’ Evening Standard 'Stories are the lifeblood of Patrick Neate's fiction - his novels, like Salman Rushdie's, are full of them and simultaneously fascinated by them' Metro 'A sweeping novel about the history of black music and culture which spans New Orleans, African roots, witchdoctors and juju' Daily Telegraph 'A century of jazz, blues, and lost love, Neate's energetic novel has its heart in the bars of America's Deep South ... a moving tale' Marie Claire 'A genre-crossing peach of a fiction ... Vivid, bold and energetic ... an engaging and imaginative novel' Guardian Mount Marter, Louisiana, USA. 1899) Lick Holden was christened Fortis James. His momma Kayenne called him that because he was her eighth child and it was a strong-sounding name. Damn! He was going to have to be strong, all right. There wasn't much in the way of celebration surrounding Lick's birth. This was partly because he was Kayenne's eighth; partly because he was a breech birth and he almost killed his momma; and partly because his papa had bunked six months before. Mostly, though, it was because Fortis James 'Lick' Holden was born in the Cooltown district of Mount Marter just as the twentieth century was coming up for air; and a new birth was a blessing to no one, least of all the child. Some ten years later, when Lick first blew his horn in the funeral parades that snaked their way down Canal Street through Cooltown, he watched the way the sombre mood of such events soon evaporated into a festival of dancing and ragtime or jass (as the music was called back then - or 'jasm', both shortenings of 'orgasm'). Lick loved to watch the fine ladies swing their hips and stomp to those African beats. But he couldn't help but wonder if the whole scenario was somehow disrespectful. He asked Momma Lucy (his grandmother) about this and she told him, 'Fortis! You gots to celebrate a life somehow!' But Lick didn't buy Momma Lucy's explanation any. The way he saw it, the funeral parades were not celebrating a life so much as its passing. And that was the truth of life and death for a negro in Cooltown. Momma Lucy was there when Lick was born. She held her daughter's hands and stuffed her mouth with rags to bite on. She knotted the umbilicus and slapped the life into Lick until he screamed loud enough to make the wooden walls shake. 'The boy sho' got some lungs, Kayenne,' Momma Lucy said and she held Lick under the armpits and