I left the house later than I intended to, as usual. I had my two guitars, my amp, my pedal board, my merch box, my laptop bag and my stage clothes in another bag. Good times. I was just getting on the interstate when my phone buzzed. I wonder how strict they are about the 5pm load in?
I looked at my phone. “Hey can you send me those directions again?” It’s like my friends have never heard of the internet. I send a web address as a reply and put the phone down. It immediately buzzes again. “Hey can you send me that guy’s number again?” Sigh.
I roll up to Smith’s and pull up in the back. I leap out and am just about to charge up the two flight long stairway with my gear, when a lady next to a van says “I need to get out.” I am parked in front of the van.
I say nothing, but I get back in the car and start it up. Now she’s heading up the stairs. What the fuck, lady? I get out again.
“I’m going to run a load up while you’re up there.” I tell her. I throw on my two bags and grab the merch box and charge up the stairs. When I hit the top, she’s found the van’s owner and they’re headed back down. I set my crap down and zip down the stairs. Van guy and I pull out of her way and she leaves. Load in continues.
I grab a guitar case in either hand and make another charge. I am sweating pretty good now. I set my guitar cases down inside where Jon and Hank are lounging placidly about, having already loaded in their shit. I turn around, haul my amp and pedalboard up, park my car, and come inside for the last time. Now it’s the waiting game. I wonder if Jimi Hendrix ever sweated like this.
We meet the other two bands playing that night. their names are Scott Albert Johnson (who is first) and Happy Lemmy (who is last). The Happy Lemmy boys agree to let Jon play their bass rig, a vintage SVT 8×10 rig, and the SAJ boys agree to let Mike play their drumkit, which is a pretty boutique kit I’ve never heard of. We borrow gear whenever we can. It saves a lot of effort, and we like variety. It’s fairly commonplace.
We are the middle band, on purpose. I don’t know going in who is going to have the crowd that night, so I prefer the middle slot. It’s not too early and not too late, and you get the benefit of whoever the band before you can draw as well as whoever the band after you can draw. I waited to do one of these Smith’s dates until I could have the middle slot.
Sometimes you go into a gig thinking you are playing first or last or middle, and find out when you get there that there is a misunderstanding. I was prepared to go toe to toe for the middle slot, but no one else wanted it. Ha, suckers!
The sound guy dressed the stage. Eventually we got to set all of our shit up, but no sound check. I plugged my rig in. It made noise. Good times.
I jumped off the stage and the boys were waiting for me. “Let’s eat!” I said.
We all went downstairs and gobbled up some dinner as our friends began to trickle in. I had blackened chicken on a salad. It was tasty. Afterwards we went to the coffee shop across the street so I could get an iced mocha. Jon brought me a copy of the gay phonebook. I put it back.
We came back and found more of our friends had arrived. I went upstairs and changed. I started eyeballing the list.
We needed 30 people paid. The list had one checkmark on it. Yikes. I elected to have a cocktail, which Chris very kindly bought me. He counted as the second checkmark. 28 to go.
Mike came up the stairs to the live room, where the first band had already started. “There are a ton of our friends down there.” he said. “Good.” I told him. Let’s hope there are 28 of them, I thought.
Scott Albert Johnson’s band was awesome. They were sort of a blues thing. Their guitar player was ridiculously talented and he had some really nice guitars, too. I wish I could play like that guy. More of our friends started to trickle in, and I started hanging around the top of the stairs so I could directly eyeball the list and greet people as they arrived. It was 9:15. We started in 45 minutes and there were 16 on the list. Please jesus god allmighty let 30 people come in here and say my name or I’ll never get another gig in this town.
9:45. My drink is empty, and I’m about to order my stage drink. I usually go on with three down, but tonight is important, so I decide to take it easy. That means I might have more nerves than usual when I actually start, but I’m feeling confident. The first band should be stopping anytime now…
…but they don’t. What the hell? They play straight on until 10:00. I’m ready to gnaw off my own arm, but I’m cruising around shaking hands and hugging people and thanking them for coming. I guess they started late.
Finally it’s our turn. We set up our shit. I shake the SAJ boys hands and tell them how much I liked their set. They really were great!
Now it’s time for us to rip some shit up. The sound man has us pretty much ready. I’m getting that “Here I come, motherfuckers” feeling. The sound guy asks if we want to record the show for an extra $15. “Why the hell not?” I say.
“Why the hell not?” says Hank. It’s settled.
Now I’m standing in the middle of the stage with my boys around me and my guitar on and my amp buzzing and waiting for the curtain to part. I’m calm. Jon is wearing an indian headdress. Let’s get ‘em.
The curtain parts, and my friends, god love them, make some noise for me.
“What’s up fuckers?” I say. It’s on.
We had a great show. It was a lot of fun, as usual. There’s nothing I like doing better, of course, or I wouldn’t go through all I go through to do it. I forgot about the list and the 30 people and all that shit and just rocked out. It was excellent.
Everyone loved it. We did 55 paid at the door, and the recording wasn’t half bad, either. Fuck. Yes. Fifty five paid on a monday night. I could not have been more pleased if James Brown had risen from the dead to pay my tab and drive me home.
Johnny Colt rolled in at the end and hung out for a minute as I collected email addresses and handed out CDs. A girl approached him and asked if he was Johnny Walker.
Thanks so much to my friends who came out to see me and shelled out five of their hard earned dollars for the privilege. They shouted and heckled in the most incredible way and I am stoked beyond belief. Thanks guys.
Seriously. Thanks for an incredible night! You guys rock!
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