One year ago today: October 28, 2016, the real medical problem.
Five years ago today: October 28, 2012, a new puzzle.
Nine years ago today: October 28, 2008, the dove’s footprint.
Random years ago today: October 28, 2009, my ex-wife’s butt in 1991.
You see how nice Miami is to me. They knew I was here so they held a storm for me. It was one of those ‘near misses’, where we get the rain but not the wind. I was stuck in the coffee shop with one blonde lady. Who totally ignored me, but did notice I did all five puzzles in the paper. Two crosswords, the jumble, the Sudoku, and the cryptogram. But, you know women. Unless you are otherwise perfect, such things don’t count. She had her nose stuck in a laptop pretending to be conducting some important research that was undoubtedly above my pay grade.
This was the gig venue. A vegetarian site in Coconut Grove, the area that was developed and flipped at an immense profit by JZ’s cousins. Show here is one of the staff playing emcee for the costume contest. You can see the place is reasonably upscale or at least well parently-funded. I suspect some missing key element of the vegetarian diet causes serious personality diminishment in its adherents. They become mentally lethargic and develop severely lowered interpersonal contact skills. With that you get odd beliefs like magic, clairvoyance, ESP, and reliance on "sixth sense" in place of logical, personable, adult behavior. This broad fits that slot. Dull as dishwater. Like her figure.
I only agree to stand in with the Hippie under certain conditions, and those conditions have not changed materially in ten years plus. So if anything goes wrong, that fact provides an easy way to point at the culprit. It is best to early on refresh the reader that I do not consider it a talent to learn anything by rote memory. It doesn’t make the grade in my books to play a short select list of your favorite tunes by memorizing them note-for-note over a period of years.
For real talent, one must be able to rather easily and quickly pick up almost any music. By that definition, I don’t have much talent because I struggle with reggae, jazz walking bass, and certain galloping rock bass lines that involve too much finger-work. I use a pick. Thus, I am keen to know in advance what I will be playing. And that fact has always been a pre-condition of playing any music with the Hippie. He is not my boss, we are equal partners on stage, and I leave the minute he pulls one of his old stunts. The fact that it is normally his gig is immaterial, since the one time he played my gig, he magnificently made such a mess of it I wouldn’t ask again—leaving him to complain he “does all the work”.
One thing I am not is a failed guitarist and thus cannot be expected to even know the names of many tunes that are fundamentally show-off guitar studio riffs. I don’t care for Neil Young, Eagles, or Steely Dan. I find nothing original or fascinating about Clapton or Dire Straits. It’s okay, but for band work there are far better selections than self-obsessing guitar dramatics. If your true purpose is to show off, do not ask others to join in. And foremost, ditch the attitude that guitar is king. No guitar player is a hero to his bassist.
The other important element is audience response. Here is where we depart from musicianship and switch to showmanship. There is a happy medium, but it is not a balance. It is more important to put on a good show. This is where most guitarists fail and the Hippie, well, he barely makes the grade. Aging guitar players think the audience is into their worn out old song list, so much so that they begin to think one drunk applauding politely in the far corner is a thunderous ovation. That was the case tonight. Again.
Barmaley Fountain, 1942.
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As ever, the Hippie lied to get me on stage. Our agreement involves him sending me the list first, so I can pick the songs we know. There is no on-stage coaching allowed, that is a pure insult to the other musicians. If the band does not know it together, you do not play it. This is not negotiable. There are three causes for immediate cancellation of the gig. They are soloing, on-stage coaching, and mentioning any tune on the reject list (much less playing it).
1) Last Dance with Mary Jane
2) Last Dance with Mary Jane
3) Last Dance with Mary Jane
That song is a dog. The original moaner-droner-groaner that tunes out the audience. He tries to slide it in as a tribute, as if that's going to work on me. That song is a major reason he never amounted to a hill of beans. It alienates the crowd and we’ve been fired for playing that particular tune. Yet he has this obsessive compulsive schizoid belief that everybody loves it. Well, I didn’t say anything but he was on something when I called y’day afternoon and he was shaking like cold turkey when I showed up today. Rather than learn his equipment over the years, he seems to have learned how to compensate for not knowing how to spin the dials.
So, what went wrong? The Hippie, that's what. We have a blanket rule against coaching on-stage. And if you want me to learn your song list, you pay me. My minimum rate is $35 or you go get somebody else. I do not play unrehearsed music, I do not stand on stage while somebody is grandstanding, and the minute some asshole says I should play some unknown song because it “only has three chords”, the gig is over. Basically, the Hippie broke his word on each count. Again.
I’ll supply some details, but only because I’ve a touch of insomnia from the trip. This is old news; the Hippie is so set in his ways he can’t even come up with fresh annoyances. To start, we played one song that captivated the audience, and it was a country song. Folsom Prison. That would be enough for 99% of musicians to pursue. But to the Hippie, that is his queue to start playing his ancient half-faggot material and completely kill the momentum. Within ten minutes on stage he began departing from our agreed-in-advance song list. And I’m often no help because he will also play studio riffs that aren’t adequate to front a duo.
Next he pulls another old stunt, that whacked out version of “Jambalaya” that nobody knows. If there is any best indication of his borderline insanity, it is his fixation on the “Zydeco” version of this song. He strums it so badly I could not even guess what he was playing. That is another song specifically on the reject list. Play the popular version or don’t play it at all. Granted, he may have been subconsciously remembering the last time he played it right, I stole the show. The Walkabout. 2009.
The dismal Mary Jane song is the one that got us canned at the old lady’s home in 2006(?) which I told him long before that I would NEVER play. It is a sick song for sick-minded guitar players. You may like it, but if you know I don’t, trying to force me to play it isn’t going anywhere. That is his oldest dirty trick. He thinks once he gets you on stage, that you’ve invested too much time and money to get to the gig to walk off the stage. Wrong. That is exactly what happened when that asshole “three chords” comment came out of his pie hole. Like he was some grand music master tutoring his pupil. I’ve told you before, the guy is semi-retarded about that. He’s never put a band together that lasted and still thinks he’s some kind of leader. The man has no leadership qualities whatsoever. None.
He failed for the nth time to buffalo me into playing that song. As I was folding up my cables, I pointed out to him that not one person in the building was paying any attention to him. Music-wise, that is a total fail. Any reasonable person would have wrapped up the song right there, but as usual he persists through the whole boring song long after people had pulled out their smart phones or turned inward to the table talk. That’s how blinkered the guy has become, he cannot even see facts that are ten feet in front of his face. His megalomania has grown to grotesque proportions.
“My ceiling’s not the best
but it is definitely up there.”
~Spud.
Since I’ve done something he can’t which is move on musically, I thought to teach him a lesson. I took a couple minutes and showed him how to completely mesmerize the audience. I sang an a cappella tune that had the audience fixed in place, they stopped everything they were doing and focused on me. I thanked them, and what does the Hippie do. Does he admit I’m right and he’s wrong, does he bow to the proof that a mere bassist can do what he can’t? No, he gets on the horn saying he holds open mics so people can play together instead of solo—less than five minutes after he pulled the solo stunt with the Mary Jane song. That, folks, is the kind of warped individual that doesn’t know when he is a lying hypocrite.
Overall, the whole Halloween show was iffy. The day is no longer a kid’s candy tromp, the stores have tried to turn it into another flashy and expensive adult holiday with little bearing on its roots. Here’s another picture of the contest, with a sufficiently blurry witch walking past the panel of judges. The house lost money on the event, even though the prize was not really $50, rather fifty bucks worth of coupons. How millennial can you get? Most of the contestants had that aura of being related to the owner. All were behaving in a very vegan way except the frumpy girl behind the counter who put almond milk in my otherwise perfectly good organic single-source coffee. She was nice, in a friendly non-vegan way.
I hauled out of there is a classic Miami downpour. It was still early enough so I had to grab a real coffee. There will have to be yet another trip to Miami in December. With a commute to the doctor and back to Dadeland, the round trip is averaging 65 2 miles.
ADDENDUM
Here’s an ad from the local Craigslist, from when I got back to Lakeland. However, this band is constantly advertising for a bassist giving various reasons. No go, they have a reputation for not answering their e-mails. Then again that’s this Friday. Should I ask them for their list or introduce them to the Hippie? Why, he thinks bass is easy so maybe give him an opportunity to prove it?
Classic rock band in Lakeland needs a bass player to fill-in on a gig we have booked at the Apple Lounge on Friday December 1st from 8pm - 11pm. Pays $80 cash, all you need to bring is your bass rig.
PLEASE be a seasoned player. We play mostly classic rock, southern rock, blues, and a couple classic country tunes. We have a place in Lakeland where we rehearse, and would be more than happy to have you join us a few times to get comfortable playing the songs, and playing with us, instead of just throwing songs at you during a gig.
We usually make set lists for gigs so we know what we're playing, and when. This band consists of drummer, 2 guitarists, and bassist. Our fulltime bassist mistakenly booked a cruise over the date of the gig, and is unable to play, so that's why we're looking for someone to fill-in. Again, it's Friday December 1st from 8pm-11pm, and you'll be paid $80 cash that night. And also, if you happen to sing, and have songs you like to sing, please bring them in, and if we can do your song(s) too, we will. THANKS!
Last Laugh
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