The new saber saw proved its value instantly. I got a Ryobi to match my growing arsenal of home-owner tools. In the end, I felt it could do most of what I wanted just as well as a chain saw, which I believe are inherently dangerous. I also priced out various materials. It will be expensive to insulate that utility room to the tune of almost $400. Yet it has to be made comfortable because the logical time to work (make noise) is during the day when everybody else is at work or the beach.Certainly, today was not comfortable. It was the hottest of hot (96F) and I was reduced to wearing a face mask and hard hat for safety gear. Of course, that is the type of weather that comes along the very stretch I have to work in it. The utility room is on the ground, not up on the concrete foundation. I’m having second thoughts about raising the floor entirely up to the same level. I don’t know how to do that, which would not stop me if I decided to go ahead. It would mean a set of exterior steps, but would eliminate the interior stairs and simplify other things.
First the matter at hand, the new door. I’ve decided not to skimp and to install a full size exterior door, 36” wide. I sure could use a sledge hammer and a real framing hammer. Ever tried pounding forty nails with a 12 oz toy? And dern those manufacturers, they still can’t create a nail that won’t bend. And too, half the heads are on the wrong end.
The gig. I told you the truth would emerge. It wasn’t really a gig, it was another open mic. The Hippie, while maintaining he made this clear, had precalculated that I probably would not have shown up for anything but a full-fledged gig. When I arrived, a Peruvian band right out of the 70s was setting up major road gear although they had no PA system. The impression was one of confusion and the Hippie wanted me there as his backup plan. Nothing is ever honest and straightforward with that man.
After an hour of instrumentals, I set up my PA head through the house speakers, which were a little rinky-dink and sure enough, they nearly fried. The Hippie is also not big on matching impedances. Don’t think the Peruvians were are bunch of Incas beating on a hollow log, these were evidently upper-middle class trained studio musicians with plenty of hobby money. They had a chick singer that was my kind of lady. A smooth tightie. The other musicians present were your typical male guitarists by the dozen, some of whom brought malfunctioning gear along.
My peeve with open mics is that when you are not performing, you are doing nothing or drinking, which is worse than doing nothing. It is not like Florida bars have options, hell, even the Internet is still something far off in their distant futures. In nearly four hours I played maybe eight songs. Some of them were extended versions you’ve never quite heard before. There is also a clash of motives, in that I see open mics only as an opportunity to get hired to play, not as the Hippie sees them, which is to create more open mics. Most of the other bands played the same standard tunes all heavily centered on guitar licks.
The good news, even though I had been played for my PA, is I got paid. I also got a concession to have the Hippie show up at Jimbo’s this Friday, not too early and not too late. I don’t know about anything enduring, since he has not learned any new material in years. Rather than focus on the kind of music best presented by a duo we could form, he is still off in the clouds trying to be the front man for a five piece orchestra and still largely has the non-functional “follow me” style; still mesmerized by that boring “Last Dance with Mary Jane” song.
He is also convinced he is reading the audience correctly, but has contorted it exactly backwards. I pointed out to him that while the other musicians (in the crowd) were watching the stage, the paying patrons, that is, the people who will get us hired or fired, all had their backs to us. Even when he saw I was right, it had no effect. And that, folks, is why he will turn 60 hosting open mics in working class neighborhoods. That is another reason why I doubt he has ever had a house gig for a year, like I just did.
Cowboy Mike was also in for an hour. He didn’t bring a song list and I only remembered the more complicated tunes we had practiced last year. So we wound up doing some marathon jamming to standards which is the point we spiked the house PA speakers. The Peruvian drummer backed everything we played, which the Hippie revels in but I feel does not portray a realistic sound for a club manager to base a hiring decision. These cross-purposes doom any joint venture and confine the Hippie and I to small scale operations and thirty mile round trips.
A good country based duo (35% mix) would be a refreshing addition to the music scene around here. I met a guitarist named Nick, who sings, but he lives all the way in Miami Beach and has no equipment. Well, none that works. Thus, I am still searching for a vocalist guitarist who can understand something of the external world, who can face up to the realities of changing times.
Meanwhile, that back room is truly a tricky proposition. The former owner built toward it from two directions and now everything gets in another’s way. He avoided all complication and wound up in a bind. Maybe if I plan in one complication, a curved stairway, I can just shoehorn in everything needed. There will sltill be massive overhead storage left, up some eight feet off the floor.
