One year ago today: April 29, 2017, bumbling half-wits?
Five years ago today: April 29, 2013, distinctly un-Sicilian . . .
Nine years ago today: April 29, 2009, her favorite toy.
Random years ago today: April 29, 2008, I still have this machine . . .
The day in three minutes. Here’s what happened.
I drove all the way to North Lakeland and up and down every road I could remember until I found the place where Samm lives. No answer at the door, so I left a note. Then I drove to Winter Haven to buy a new circular saw, my trusty old one gave out. $149. This was obviously not going to be my day.
It being mid-afternoon and I’m in the dumps, I continued on to the Fubar for a cold one. Then it hit me. Nu-nu-nu-nu-nuh . . . since when did I ever allow some lousy, two-bit guitar player to start dictating what I do? I can’t cancel a gig. My people need me.
To cheer up, I talked to Trent for five minutes (see below). I turned right around and went back and put on the entire three hour show as a bass solo. I sang 28 songs, making this the longest such performance I’ve done since 2013, back in Denver. And that was maybe ten minutes.
There is a video of the first half of this afternoon’s show, but you don’t get a peek. Face it, this was a spontaneous live recording of a show that was never rehearsed as a solo, nor intended to be a solo. The audience was my regulars and there was even a dollar in the tip jar. But the show went on.
Some guys just don’t know the meaning of the word quit.
It’s not only the above, this was such an awful day. Let me tell you more. There I am, cruising east on 540, when this squad car lights flashing pops up from the overpass a mile to my left. I’m well past the intersection when I see him do a four-wheel slider around the corner toward me. I slow down to pull over and so does he. What the? Then I pull right off onto the shoulder and he’s right behind me. How could he be coming from miles away to stop me? Well, I’ve done nothing wrong, but here we go.
Not so fast. He pulled right up behind me and then cranked into the driveway of the trailer court I’d just passed. Still it was 200 over 120 for a moment there. I was enough in the dumps that I gave Trent a call, he’s the only other guitarist who ever made it to stage time. (Other than Jag, but that was an isolated case of sheer luck.) It’s heartening to talk to somebody who is solid and doesn’t have that told-you-so attitude. Some people might call this the old boy network in operation, but they say it like it’s a bad thing. Like sour grapes, anyway.
ADDENDUM
Then I get to thinking some more. They say there’s no such thing as a bad day if you learn something from it. So maybe today provided little to be jolly over, but there must be something positive. Yeah, [just you] try to find it. Hold on, that might contain some logic. If there is no positive, eliminate a negative. Okay, that’s easy. There is probably not a guitarist in the place that, upon hearing Lady Nik mess up every tune week after week who didn’t think he could do a better job of it. Well, this is true.
There were just some such people in the audience a few hours ago. Only this time, they got to hear my entire set list without the guitar—which confirms how easy it would be to just hang onto the framework of what’s already happening. I passed around copies of my set list until one guy said, “There’s not a song on there I haven’t played at some point.”
I collected his contact information. Check back soon.
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