Isaac Scott By Roberta Penn would cut through the chatter and clattering like a hot knife through butter. If you were dancing, you knew he was tuned in to your personal rhythm. And there were nights when his voice rang out like There have been nights when Scott was dressed in beautiful, subtle-colored suits especially tailored for his large frame with pastel shirts enhancing his rich color. His piercing guitar sound 7"he words sound like those you might hear on Sunday morning in a country church or at a Wednesday night prayer meeting. But your best chance to hear “Let My Mind Run Back” is in a tavern or club, sung by Northwest bluesman Isaac Scott. I first saw Isaac in 1978 when I had just moved to Seattle. To a Southerner who grew up in a town and a time where the only choices on the radio were blues and country, this black blues performer seemed out of place in the chilly Northwest. Since then, I have been back again and again to see this indisputably talented yet somewhat inconsistent bluesman who plays this area almost every weekend and some weeknights and always draws a crowd. the entire church choir on Easter Sunday morning — the joy after so much suffering. There were also nights, slow ones, when Isaac was in a shiny T-shirt and denim jacket and I felt like I was in a dingy bar on the chitlin’ circuit where most of the bands play too many nights for too little money and eventually give up. I began to understand Isaac Scott and his appeal — he is a mixture. In some ways he is a transplant from another time, another space. Born in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, Scott and his parents moved to Portland in the midfifties when Isaac was 8. His dad went to work for the Southern Pacific Railroad earning 62 cents an hour. The family lived in a housing complex supplied rent- free to company employees. Isaac recalls what he refers to as “the good times.” He says, “I had security, a home. I didn’t have to worry about clothes or being on welfare.” He remembers falling 12 Clinton St. Quarterly
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