Wednesday, June 12, 2002

Lets Compare and Contrast, shall we...
This is what a real acoustic bass looks like. Just imagine dropping one of these babies face down on the floor...ouch. But, notice the size. This beast can produce gorgeous sounds that could make one cry. The wood has to sing together in order for it's voice to be consistant, warm, deep, etc.,etc. This is what I'm playing on now. Lets just say it pales in comparison...

So anyway...
Instead of sitting at the bar during breaks, I find different spots to hover in to pass the time when the room is filled with working girls. This night however I see what looks like a mother introducing her daughter to jazz. How refreshing. At this point they are standing not to far from me. I look over, nod a greeting and go back to smoking and drinking. They come over. The daughter takes my hand and says 'so nice to meet you'. I say the same. She asks' where are you from?. To avoid complications in language I say ' New York'. She says 'ooooh'. Long pause.....then she says' We go to your room now'. HUH?

Hey Guys...
I'm thinking of switching the day to day exploits of a working musician episodes to a blog called George- The Bass Whore What do you think?

What is the worst possible thing for an acoustic bassist to hear at the other end of a night club?

Monday night June 10th, day after my sweety's 40th birthday. The begining of the week. Hands are rested but stiff. The club is empty except for some early week die-hard partiers and the working girls who got wind that it's the bands payday. It turns into a halfway decent night with local business people and business travelers getting into the band.We're grooving. Last song of the set.They want an encore [I've learned this much in all my years of performing; Every band in the world becomes the best band in the world after the last note is played. You can quote me on that.] We are obliging [sp?]. Encore is fulfilled. They start again with the encore stuff. Stage lights are off and carefully place the bass on it's stand the same way I have for the past few weeks. I turn my back to the audience and laughingly scream 'Go home! It's over. The canned psuedo jazz is blasted out through the mains. We say to one another' that was a quick Monday. I'm going to bed. See you tomorrow..'.

A couple of us hit the bar to greet our friends and fellow musicians that came to see us. I typically beg for a freebie to no avail. We hang at the bar bustin' each others chops and then it happens- I'm assuming some idiot decides the music isn't over and gets on the drums and randomly starts hitting the tomtoms except the tomtoms sound different. They sound exotic, hollow, wooden. Hey wait a minute!!!!? I jump to my feet and there it is: the bass is lying face down on stage, the ebony finger board is completely severed from the neck. A growing sickness inside me abounds as I hear voices of denial pleading in the backgound ['I didn't do it!' or more like 'It was dead when I got here'] I am sick!!!

Absurd Observations from My Twisted Brain PT. I
Our jazz band has audience participation with jazz standards like 'Mustang Sally'.
Have you ever heard a table of Japanese businessmen singing the chorus to Mustang Sally? ' Lide Sowry, Lide'. I thought this a cruel joke..

Monday, June 10, 2002

Hi Everybody
I leave for three days and everyone is linking to [from?] I'm at the F'n'B office and I've got 2 minutes before they throw me out of here to say Thank You to the entire Blogging Community for even considering to put links to me and including my rantings amidst the sea of real writers. I promise to go someplace else so I can write for real tonight. LATER.....