Another tale of a hard working, gigging musician -
The Thanksgiving Feast - All Food, Not Much Music
We got a call to play a Thanksgiving feast at a church, and the offer for pay was just great for the short time we would need to play. This was right before Eva was to be born, so the extra income would be really nice, and Shelley wouldn't have to exert herself too much at all, especially since the pastor told her they had a new sound system that we could plug into. The problem with using their sound system, or should I say multiple problems were as follows:
1) The guy helping us with the sound was the youth pastor, focused on selling his pies to raise money that night, and had little interest in helping us with the sound.
2) He couldn't get the monitors working, so we lost 20 minutes of sound check time.
3) He went and did something else, and never really returned as soon as he got the monitors working, so I was left to run back and forth to try to get us sounding good.
4) The drums were locked in a glass booth, and their monitors were headphones that Glenn said never sounded any better than a buzzing humming mess.
5) The drums were badly tuned, but we were told that the regular drummer would be upset if we tuned them. (I shudder to hear his playing).
Well, the dinner was scheduled to start at 6, but at 6:15 they were setting up more tables and chairs because more people came than expected. By 6:30 the pastor was getting people geared up to get in the line to eat. That was when I realized that it was a community trough, and pastor had already told us not to shake anyone's hand because swine flu had ripped through the congregation. Suddenly I was realizing that I was going to stop at Taco Bell later that night.
They did have us go through the line first which was nice, because I thought we were going to play during the dinner. boy was I wrong. People ate, and sat, then the pastor sent them through for seconds. 20 minutes later (it was 7:30 by now) they started auctioning off the pies. This was when the not-so-enthused sound man, became a very enthused pie autioneer. There must have been 50 pies. By the time it was over, it seemed like 100 pies. It was 8:10, and NOW, they were ready for us to play.
Pastor gave a really nice introduction for us, but there was one problem. People were now tired and ready to go home. They had eaten, and sat through a long pie auction, and were now putting on their coats, and walking out. The crowd started at nearly 250 people, but by our second song, that had dwindled to around 75. by the time we were finished 1/2 hour later, there were roughly 20 people there. I realized they were all staying because they were the crew to clean up the tables, chairs, and close the place up.
Pastor apologized for messing up the time as there was no-one there to see us. We told him we understood, as that has happened many times before, which was totally true.
You know you are a true musician when the event planner apologizes to you for no one being there for you to play in front of...and it is the 1000th gig this has happened to you.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
You Know You Are a Real Musician When...
You re a Real Musician When:
You realize that the cheers from the audience after
a particularly
difficult passage are for a sports play on the big
screen TV over the
bar, and that in fact, no one
is listening to you.
When the gig you drove 200 miles for to make $100,
and had to pay for a
hotel room, is later referred
to as your "summer tour".
When your most sincere, heartfelt comments are made
by people that are
drunk and who won t
remember you in the morning.
When you are repeatedly told that the lead singer
who can t read, never
practices and has been singing
for only six months is "The strongest
part of the band", primarily because she has big
tits.
When you are pleased that the pay for the gig, when
looked at hourly
from the time you leave your
house to when you return meets minimum
wage.
When someone comes up to you to tell you how much
they love your
playing, because they didn t think anyone played those things
anymore.
You get to the gig to find out that nothing is
comped, and you re
charged $10 to park.
When someone seeks you out to complement your
playing as the "best sax
player they have ever heard", and you re the trumpet player.
When you realize that a small piece of equipment-
such as a wireless
mike you need- will take months of weekly gigs to pay
for.
When you have to add $30 or $40 out of your pocket
to find a sub, cause
no one will cover you for what you are paid.
You aren t offended
when all of the young wedding guests leave after
the second set to dance to the DJ at a club down the
street.
When you are told that you must play until the very
end of when you
were contracted for, when your
only audience is the bartender, and
you re being paid 40 or 50
bucks for the night.
When the bandleader or club owner wants to pay you
in food or drinks,
and you have $100,000 in school loans to pay off for that
music degree.
When the guy collecting money at the door for the
band s performance
makes twice over the course of
the evening what you do as one of the
band members.
When as a member of a blues band you no longer even
pretend to smile
when asked to play "Free Bird".
When you know that other musicians who routinely
claim they don t work
for less than $100 a night only work a few times a
year.
You notice that all of the musicians playing the
better functions to
young audiences are mid
40 s , and
up, and balding, because young musicians that
read don t exist
anymore.
When people who are drunk tell you that what you are
doing is
absolutely great and the best
thing thing they have ever seen or heard,
but refuse to pay more than $5 at the door.
When someone calling the cops for noise is a good
thing. You get to go
home early and you still get paid.
When you realize that asking women out that you meet
on gigs doesn t
work, for now they know you re a musician.
When you get invited to play the same gig the
following year, which
means that you don't have to
tear down after this year's gig.
When you have, for several years, been paid the same
amount for a gig,
but are afraid to say anything
about it for fear that you might lose
the gig.
When you spend more on the bar
tab than you get paid for the gig.
When you finally have to resort to playing Proud
Mary in order to get
the audience
dancing.
You realize that the cheers from the audience after
a particularly
difficult passage are for a sports play on the big
screen TV over the
bar, and that in fact, no one
is listening to you.
When the gig you drove 200 miles for to make $100,
and had to pay for a
hotel room, is later referred
to as your "summer tour".
When your most sincere, heartfelt comments are made
by people that are
drunk and who won t
remember you in the morning.
When you are repeatedly told that the lead singer
who can t read, never
practices and has been singing
for only six months is "The strongest
part of the band", primarily because she has big
tits.
When you are pleased that the pay for the gig, when
looked at hourly
from the time you leave your
house to when you return meets minimum
wage.
When someone comes up to you to tell you how much
they love your
playing, because they didn t think anyone played those things
anymore.
You get to the gig to find out that nothing is
comped, and you re
charged $10 to park.
When someone seeks you out to complement your
playing as the "best sax
player they have ever heard", and you re the trumpet player.
When you realize that a small piece of equipment-
such as a wireless
mike you need- will take months of weekly gigs to pay
for.
When you have to add $30 or $40 out of your pocket
to find a sub, cause
no one will cover you for what you are paid.
You aren t offended
when all of the young wedding guests leave after
the second set to dance to the DJ at a club down the
street.
When you are told that you must play until the very
end of when you
were contracted for, when your
only audience is the bartender, and
you re being paid 40 or 50
bucks for the night.
When the bandleader or club owner wants to pay you
in food or drinks,
and you have $100,000 in school loans to pay off for that
music degree.
When the guy collecting money at the door for the
band s performance
makes twice over the course of
the evening what you do as one of the
band members.
When as a member of a blues band you no longer even
pretend to smile
when asked to play "Free Bird".
When you know that other musicians who routinely
claim they don t work
for less than $100 a night only work a few times a
year.
You notice that all of the musicians playing the
better functions to
young audiences are mid
40 s , and
up, and balding, because young musicians that
read don t exist
anymore.
When people who are drunk tell you that what you are
doing is
absolutely great and the best
thing thing they have ever seen or heard,
but refuse to pay more than $5 at the door.
When someone calling the cops for noise is a good
thing. You get to go
home early and you still get paid.
When you realize that asking women out that you meet
on gigs doesn t
work, for now they know you re a musician.
When you get invited to play the same gig the
following year, which
means that you don't have to
tear down after this year's gig.
When you have, for several years, been paid the same
amount for a gig,
but are afraid to say anything
about it for fear that you might lose
the gig.
When you spend more on the bar
tab than you get paid for the gig.
When you finally have to resort to playing Proud
Mary in order to get
the audience
dancing.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Saturday Market Adventure 2009
Saturday Market June 27, 2009
The george Harrison tribute band that was absolutely horrible came after us
The shaker guy was dancing in pure hippie ecstasy.
The george Harrison tribute band that was absolutely horrible came after us
The shaker guy was dancing in pure hippie ecstasy.
Friday, May 29, 2009
The Santa Monica Promenade
That video of all the street musicians is awesome. It was really a trip to see the santa monica spot, because we got a permit, and performed down there exactly: one time. You really have to have some cahunas to be a part of that scene, and it wasn't something we pursued. The hardest part is figuring out power for your p.a. I bought a small power pack, and it died on me after 1/2 hour. I realized it wasn't the right thing. Other guys have these car battery setups and stuff. Very innovative. You have to also be very aggressive to get your crowds, or have an act that is really magnetic in some way. People didn't stop for us. Then this chick named Myla Poole stopped and wanted Shelley to play the blues on her guitar so she could impress the gal she was with, and sing a song. She said, "I performed at the Money Tree where Jeff Goldblum and famous actors were in the audience going crazy, and blah blah blah. We were too nice to tell her to go away, so we let her sing this song. She was terrible of course. LA has about 2million of it's population of Myla Pooles.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
From Kings to Paupers, Got the Plug Pulled
When we were in college, Edwin and I were in a Reggae/Dub band called the African Kings. We had a lead singer with no front teeth from New York, who was good, but lived a scrappy lifestyle. Benny B. was a gifted young guitar player, but lived an even more scrappy life. Tommy played keys, and left the band two days before our last gig. (We didnt know it was to be our last gig, but the ship was sinking) so John got this other guy to play guitar to fill in for Tommy. That cat thought he was the wailer's guitar player his ego was so huge.
So we got to the gig, which was for the Black Student Union end of the year party. We totally sucked, and our first song was one chord, because no one knew how the song went. I don't even remember why we didn't know the stuff, but that's how weird it all was. So we tried our second song and that was even worse. The next thing we knew the power went off. The guy who booked us said we were done, and the DJ was starting. We packed up.
So we got to the gig, which was for the Black Student Union end of the year party. We totally sucked, and our first song was one chord, because no one knew how the song went. I don't even remember why we didn't know the stuff, but that's how weird it all was. So we tried our second song and that was even worse. The next thing we knew the power went off. The guy who booked us said we were done, and the DJ was starting. We packed up.
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