Not that Billy and the JJJs seem to have made much of a concession to the cozy confines of the Tea Room. Though their PA is probably set only on three, it's still plenty loud enough to drown out the espresso machine, and your neighbors — unless they shout. Drummer Paul Koch has brought his mini bebop kit: the bass drum is barely bigger than a typical snare, and he plays with Hot Rod sticks that produce less volume than standard ones but still allow him to whack with energy. Lead guitarist Kevin Winters happily picks his way through one sizzling solo after another on his Telecaster, while Rick Lee contributes pounding bass lines on a standard Fender and a futuristic-looking electric bass.
And there's Billy Mack. All in black, with the short sleeves of his shirt turned up like on a West Side Story Jet, long disheveled pompadour, reverbed voice, complete with Elvis hiccups and Jerry Lee Lewis screams, he's the picture and soundtrack of the fifties. But his is no slavish impersonation. Billy and the JJJs don't just play this music, they own it.
It's a shame there's no room to dance. The Tea Room is crammed with chairs and tables and sofas. Only the aisle is free, but Billy frequently commandeers that, strutting and slithering along it with his cordless mike, occasionally jumping on one of the few empty chairs, or melodramatically dropping to his knees and offering the mike to an audience member, working the crowd with just the right mix of moxie and excess.