This is Lark, my guitar player in the 90’s. While no more technically perfect than he had to be, this was a musician. This town would bring a sincere tear to his eye, for he is a true rhythm player and performer. One of the most impressive things he could do was play these bagpipe songs on his Fender. He could pick it like a banjo and he hated the term “original blues”, because it had all been done. His real name was, well, nobody knew or cared. One day in 1996 his girlfriend left, so he took a job as a 7/11 manager, and disappeared.
Sure, I’ll tell you about the jam. First, another problem with Vista. There is a mode it can drop into where it displays only the top half of your window which disables the page down key and does not activate a scroll bar. This means you cannot get to the command buttons on ordinary applications, which are normally along the bottom of the display. It is getting so nobody in the shop will touch Vista. It can be repaired, but it is designed to be an uneconomical repair.Pure coincidence, when a customer had me look up cellular phone jammers (which I think are illegal) I found something else. People with cell phones have a right to bother you. He wanted a jammer for his office so his staff would not be text messaging all day on his time. During this [successful] search, I found many GPS jammers. At first I wondered who would want that, but upon reading the specs, it is designed and an anti-location device. I will look into it further, as I was unaware there was a problem with people being located and I’d also like to know how and why it is done.
The other jam. It was a qualified success, that qualification being that the crowd was larger than usual for a Saturday. I was expecting more but I should be happy since it was dead all over town. I met some new people and a lady from Georgia. Love them Georgia peaches. Everything went much as planned, although I am bewildered by how few professional musicians there are compared to out west. (Here, it seems to be around 1 person in 1500.)
Okay, you want details. Let me tell you, the spectrum of abilities was fully represented, from pretty fantastic guitar/harp duos to one guy who managed to screw up “Louie Louie”. Other things ranged from lushes who started phoning me at noon to come in early, to myself, who left stone sober at 8:30 this evening. The local view of a jam session is somewhat unusual, in that I always thought jam sessions were for people who could sing or play.
I played around ¾ of the five hours, as not one other bassist came in, which is another strange thing out here. No bass players except a small cadre of identically talented forty-somethings constantly floating around looking for the right mix.
One dude looked, acted, played and sang so much like Brian Khe Sahn I had to glance twice to be sure it wasn’t’ The older players, like myself, held back a lot of their better material and let the rookies carry most of the opening acts. Harpman Garry finally brought in that steel disk slide guitar he won’t let anybody even breath on.
During the first break, a drunk rolled in and fell right on it. Fortunately, the guitar hit the carpeted floor. I saw the whole thing. One has to wonder how a drunk who’s never been there before can stagger his way through a crowd to the far corner of the room and then fall backwards over the most expensive thing in the place. I got a whole family like that. How do they know?
My full rig was set up in case lapses occurred with no musicians. I played just three or four [of my own] tunes all evening as there were enough guitarists after 4:00 p.m. to keep everything chugging along even during the breaks. It was well noted that the gal who set the jam session up, also the vocalist, did not show up. She just lost her place in line. I discovered even with my singing method, I can only stay on key if the lead vocalist keeps perfect pitch—but I’m better than I was.
Most of the guitarists knew less than five songs but they knew riffs from hits they could not play all the way through. (It’s a guitar thing, all of them knew the beginning of “Stairway to Heaven”.) I know very few tunes I cannot play through. This created a demand for my participation and later, the vocalist with Charles, the Sax Man, handed me a phone number.
I was often asked if we could jam every week. This day was carried by Jimbo’s regulars (Reade, Garry and myself), most others being surplus non-singing guitarists. Except for another special occasion; the answer is no. Too much work. The majority of the responsibility fell upon Rocker Reade (the drummer) and myself. Since I make far more money as a solo act, I’ll point out that my hobby is reading, not jamming.
In other news, Cancer Steve, who has long since outworn his welcome, walked into the shop y’day and was met with a cold, “What do you want?” Roberto went on a bender and remembers nothing about getting so blasted he passed out on the floor of the sub shop next door. Sylvia had to pile him and his bicycle into her SUV and reports it took an hour for him to remember where he lived. I was not present for either incident.
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