Return of the road warrior: Roy Book Binder

“Long story …,” Roy Book Binder says, and he says it often, almost always as a prelude to a very long story. He’s such an engaging conversationalist that every story he tells, long or otherwise, is welcome.

“I never thought I’d be an old blues singer,” he says, “but here I am.” He started out as a young blues singer in the mid 1960s, a friend, student and protégé of Rev. Gary Davis, the finger-picking blues guitar legend, a supremely influential singer and songwriter.

Book Binder is 77 now. He’s had a home in St. Petersburg for decades, although he really lives on the road. At his peak, he was playing 200 dates across the country, traveling in a tricked-out van (which later gave way to a tricked-out RV), being a gypsy and a road dog, the kind of guy who likes to make a few people happy with his songs, then be on his way.

Saturday’s gig at the Hideaway Café will be Book Binder’s first concert appearance since February. “Sure I’m going crazy,” he says, “but you gotta be crazy to be in this business anyway.”

The cold reality of the pandemic, he says, “broke my heart, but at least I’m healthy. I lost like 35 cities last year across the country.”

Since he has no manager, no office and no accountant, he was pleasantly surprised to receive unemployment compensation for the time lost. “Most musicians never have records of their gigs,” he says, “I mean, I paid taxes – I didn’t pay much – but I’m registered. I’ve been getting Social Security since I was 65.

“Most musicians get a girlfriend that works, and they play bass for $60 a night. So there’s no records. You’ve got to have a trail. It’s called the music business.”

This was a lesson he learned young, from his stepfather, who was an accountant. And that’s a long story, too.

Book Binder considers himself a folk musician. He says he’s more of an entertainer than a hot-shot player. And the soul-bearing sadness of Delta blues is not his thing; he plays Carolina style, with bits of ragtime, country, old-timey and blues all blended together with a dollop of dry humor. The vo-dee-oh of Leon Redbone and the sinewy swing of Dan Hicks’ Hot Licks.

He was a favorite guest on the old Nashville Now TV show, with Ralph Emery. “I was like a ‘goober’ act, like Grandpa Jones, Stringbean and Minnie Pearl. A novelty act that could pick.

“One time I’m up there and I’m doing ‘He’s in the Jailhouse Now,’ and the other guest is Charley Pride. Afterwards, Ralph says ‘Charley, this is Roy Book Binder, I want to introduce you two,’ and he starts laughing. He can’t control himself. And I’m like ‘What’s so funny, Charley?’ He says what’s so funny? You’re up there playin’ like my uncles in Mississippi, and I’m doing Hank Williams songs.’”

He moved to Florida after his divorce in the early 1990s (his wife spent 18 highway-roaming years in the van with him). Through his friendship with Tampa blues harmonica player David “Rock Bottom” York, the newly-single Book Binder began wintering in the bay area. In the spring, he’d head back out.

During this period, he formed a band, the Hillbilly Blues Cats, with Rock Bottom and bassist Billy Ochoa. “I never jam with anybody, because I don’t know how,” Book Binder chuckles. “But they knew how.”

Their self-titled CD came out on Rounder Records in 1994.

Two years later, he fell for Rock’s sister-in-law Nancy. They bought a house down the block, and have been together – in the bay area – ever since.

Nancy doesn’t like the travel as much as Roy does, but sometimes she’ll fly out somewhere and join him for a few days.

“This is the first time I haven’t been on the road in 55 years,” says Book Binder. “My identity is the stage personality – you know, I created my life and I live it, instead of the life I was born into. Nobody was actually born into it except Hank Williams Jr., bless his heart.

“But I’ve been doing work in the yard. We’ve got a nice little house in St. Pete. And I really got to know my new wife – we’ve been married for 22 years!”

What might be different today, Book Binder is asked, if he had by some fluke become rich and famous back in his Nashville Now days?

 “Long story,” he says.

“That was never the goal. I was realistic to start with. People have these grand visions. I got out of the Navy in ’65, met Rev. Davis in ’66 and dropped out of junior college to go on the road with him. I dropped my G.I. Bill. The dream was to make $100 a week playing the guitar.

“And like the new wife always says, ‘Well, you’ve done it.’”

Hideaway Cafe info and tickets here.