for frank

Frank Schaap, from a 2008 Facebook post by Clem Van Besouw.

Although there were many great moments of music and friendship, my favorite memory of Frank Schaap comes to mind in an instant.

It was the summer of 1992 and I was cast as Falstaff in a local outdoor production of Shakespeare’s “The Merry Wives of Windsor” at Woodland Park. The show’s producer and director came up with the idea of enlisting Frank, Nick Stump and Rodney Hatfield, all still very visible in local clubs after a decade as frontmen for the Metropolitan Blues All-Stars, as Falstaff’s roguish cronies Bardolph, Pistol and Nym. They would play interlude blues music between scenes (this was a contemporary adaptation), which was second nature to them. The three also had the duties of conveying a few spoken lines of Shakespearean text, which wasn’t. At all. Every night, the response was different in our scenes. Sometimes they would ad-lib. Sometimes they would offer a deer-in-the-headlights gaze. And on one particular night, Frank deviated totally by proclaiming, “Let’s head over to Lynagh’s, boys. I hear there’s a cool band playing there tonight.” The band, of course, would be them.

Never at a loss for words or a chance to express the joy of his very own sense of live performance was what Frank was all about. He was a character so full of life and color that he would have been right at home in Shakespearean times. But his time – locally, at least – was the 1980s and ‘90s, when the Metropolitan Blues All-Stars were the uncontested Central Kentucky ambassadors of blues, country blues and all-around roots music cheer.

What I learned from the band was immeasurable. Its sound was a blend of Chicago and country blues with flourishes of swing that helped heighten my appreciation of artists I already knew (from Muddy Waters to Tom Waits) while steering me to many lesser visible pioneers that included the brilliant solo acoustic blues stylist John Hammond.

As the Metros’ local dates started to become less frequent as the ‘90s progressed, Frank became a local regular in an acoustic duo setting with Lexington bluesman Joey Broughman. I remember vividly when the two opened a Kentucky Theatre concert for Hammond. I recall easily how excited the two seemed by the opportunity and how thrilled those in attendance were in watching two local favorites sharing the bill with a blues legend. Hammond openly expressed his admiration for the duo from the stage, as well.

Frank’s contributions to the local music community extended to numerous other groups and performance settings. Above all that, though, he was a friend to so many, myself included. As the years passed and his local shows became more like brief layovers in a touring/busking life that had him leapfrogging between continents, I saw less and less of him. After Broughman’s passing in 2007, his Lexington performances became a true rarity.

Friendship, though, endures. I remember seeing Frank a few years ago at a local Starbuck’s. He was sitting outside alone, reading a newspaper and asked me to sit with him so we could briefly catch up. I was in a rush that day, but accepted the invitation. We wound up chatting about music and life for about 30 minutes. That was the last time I saw him. I question constantly, as many do, the reasoning behind most of my day-to-day actions. That day I saw Frank at Starbucks, I made the right call.

The song that came to mind upon hearing of Frank’s passing yesterday afternoon was an old Sonny Boy Williamson tune called “Fattening Frogs for Snakes.” It was a song I heard him sing with the Metros countless times. The tune was so much like Frank – keenly spirited, darkly playful and endlessly fun.

Thank for the music, Frank. Thank you for all the fun, spontaneity, wit and scholarly command you invested it with. You did the blues proud and made your friends prouder.



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