[Author's note 2021: allow me to overexplain what was just written. Sure, I'm bragging so my recourse is to give you the reason. By this late date, the Hippie's song list had not changed in seven years. This gave me plenty of time to "improve" the bass lines and this was one of the first gigs where I got bigger applause during the introductions. That set the pace for how I still behave on stage. Remember, overplaying is not what I do, that is a serious mistake and would not produce these results. I recall my thinking, it went like so.
The Hippie would not quit trying to play "studio" lead breaks to the bass lines. It makes the sound thin, which is why many quitar players keep wanting to expand the band. Since he would not change, I took to playing "melodic" bass riffs to punch up the lead breaks, which quickly led to a question-answer presentation. This keeps going, for then I learned I could play certain lead breaks and get a better audience response because it was a first. Within a year, I was playing full lead breaks and fills and could easily upstage most guitarists who tried to show off. The rest of the tale, you already know.]
For no particular reason, today will be unusually well documented. I slept in until 7:30 A.M. in the Florida room and it was comfortable. By 8:30 A.M. I needed new triple A batteries so I combined that with a rare weekday breakfast trip to Senor Café, now by far one of the most popular spots in this town. Low prices, huge portions, high quality. I left all the doors wide open with the security bars locked and took a leisurely bicycle trip.
The one thing Pudding-Tat knows is when food time rolls around. Enjoy it, lady, because today you may be meeting Milli. Don’t ever count on it in the summer, but today had just enough cloud cover to make it pleasant bike weather, so I continued on to the shop. No word from Wallace and I was just leaving as the Hippie called with directions to the condo party. It is called “The New Generation Club”. Phase II. (New generation of what?) They have my name at the gate and I also stopped in at Jimbo’s to assure them even if a little late, I’ll be there this evening.
At 11:00 A.M. I was in the “Just 99” store, again marveling at the complete lack of traffic in the streets, even for a holiday. Something is wrong with the wiring on my bicycle but today I passed 3,280 miles. I popped new batteries into my sphygmanomometer (sphygmanometer is a misspelling) and if you want proof about bicycling and staying healthy, read and weep. I’ve had high blood pressure since I was 29. Despite heavy pedaling against the wind in boiling weather, my pressure was 100/69 with a pulse of 77. That’s after a 58 minute-continuous aerobic grade huff and puff. Match with ratings for Olympic athletes. My heart condition is not caused by lack of exercise and never was.
Around 11:30 A.M. I stopped at Boston’s to get this month’s music list. Arnel is there on Wednesdays and Johnny D is 5 to 9 on Sunday. I don’t know if either is allowed to have stand-ins. My plan for next week includes dropping in both times to check it out.
At noon, there was a street celebration going on at the Broward Outreach center, I stopped to watch a lot of Christian choral and dance groups. Too bad I had such a grand breakfast for they had home-cooking and it looked splendid to me. Do you know the word “gotny”? I’ll use it in a sentence. “Ah like scrambled eggs. Y’all gotny?”
Waiting for Wallace. They must be still on the road, so I waited until 2:30 P.M. and left for the afternoon party, leaving the key with Eric. I was further late because I forgot how lousy the Hippie was at giving directions. Essentially, he got me to the security gate of a huge complex and of course, the security guard had no idea about anything inside the gate. I drove around for nearly a half-hour, and found it. This put me in a great mood, in fact, I called and left a message that the Hippie was “semi-retarded” and was just about to leave when I saw a confusing sign that led me in at the last moment.
Analysis of gig, ending at 6:00 P.M. Well, the Hippie is on his own again, I quit. What he said about turning over a new leaf and learning his lesson was nonsense, he is up to his old tricks. Forcing the music he wants to play down everybody’s throats, musicians and audience alike. In 151 minutes, we played just 11 songs, took two twenty-five minute breaks and one twenty minute break. He is oblivious to his own failure to read a room. As long as one person likes every other song, he disregards the majority, a flaw which has now obtained monstrous proportions. Even a moron knows you don’t play “Stormy Monday” to a crowd of 67-year-old Jewish grandmothers.
People immediately told him to turn down. They don’t do that when they are enjoying your choice of music. The crowd icily ignored everything we did for the first two hours, talking between themselves at the tables. I suggested a country tune and they opened right up, all turned toward us and getting into the music with enthusiastic applause. A second country tune did likewise. There it was right in his face, absolute confirmation. His reaction was he walked off the stage and stood in the pathway for ten minutes until finally some lady requested a Beatles song the band didn’t play. I don’t know what he was trying to prove but he got back on stage and started a solo. I began packing up.
I asked him why, in the light of such obvious facts, he didn’t pursue the country music theme. He said it was because he had “other themes to pursue”. Like what, the “$8 in the tip jar” theme? The “tune your guitar after the gig has started” theme? The “let’s practice on stage” theme? But they were his themes, he made no mention of the rest of the band. We are support staff, got it? During the last four weeks, we have played some twenty tunes often enough to say we rehearsed. Instead of playing these, the Hippie pointedly avoids them and wants to improvise 1-4-5 junk, a process which can go on forever. Just ask Elvis.
Clearing out of there, I arrived in the rain at Jimbo’s to a nearly empty house at 7:00 P.M. There were a few new faces. The tip jar does not lie and I folded up at 11:00 P.M. considerably better off than when I got there. (Another week of Jimbo’s and that steak dinner at the Diplomat might not seem so unreasonable after all.) I am going to add a complete two hours of lounge music to my set list, that is, material suitable for dining and dancing. No more wasting my time with people who will never form a real band. I need people who understands equality and the concept that a band plays together or they don’t play. I also need people who have at least a modicum of ability to adapt to the times.
And times have indeed changed. Can you name the most successful music concert of all time? A single concert that eclipsed every record set by Michael Jackson? A concert that would easily outsell Eric Clapton any day? A concert so wildly triumphant that tickets scalped for $3,000? Have no idea? That’s okay, neither do any of my professional musician buddies. It was Hannah Montana. She’s what, fifteen? Read my lips, “times” “have” “changed”.
