Posts Tagged ‘Bar gigs’


This afternoon I was shooting the shit with a friend, swapping stories, and he related one of the better bar-gig tales I’ve ever heard:

In the early ’80s he was playing in a country band in Tucson, and they had a regular weekend job playing in a bar out in Avra Valley (west of the Tucson Mountains, and at the time still very much a part of the wild west). The clientele consisted of shitkickers and bikers, who of course didn’t mix.

As one would expect — what with the cost of a new Harley running to close to $30,000 — the bikers were a lot better off than the cowboys, and a lot of them held well paying jobs; their head honcho, for instance, owned a wrecking yard.

Anyway, there was a regular, a local who worked as a postman, who was enough of an alkie that he’d sometimes stop at the bar in his mail truck for a beer or two after completing his route before returning to the station.

That wasn’t so bad, but on weekends he’d drive his Cadillac to the bar, get tanked, and turn into all hands, harassing the waitresses.

This didn’t apparently didn’t sit well with at least some of the bikers, who didn’t like the guy anyway, but rather than resolve the situation in the normal manner (violence), they decided to teach the asshole a profitable (for them), expensive (for him) lesson.

One Saturday night, after the gig ended, my pal was packing up his drum kit, when he and the rest of the guys in the band heard a blood-curdling scream from outside. They ran out and found the drunk postman yelling his head off.

When he went out the door to weave his way home in his Cadillac, all he found was a chassis. What was left of the car was up on blocks, the wheels gone, as were the windshield, hood, doors, and rear window.

The bikers had done this with people going into and out of the bar all night. Evidently, people disliked the jerk sufficiently that they ignored the dismantling of the vehicle or were afraid of the bikers, or both. In either case, the bikers had taken a good hour or two to dismantle the car in public view — okay, in an unlit dirt parking lot — and no one reported them.

This incident likely cost the asshole a good two or three grand and likely netted the bikers at least several hundred bucks through sales of the parts at the wrecking yard.

I hope they threw a great party with the money.

 

 


An Understandable Guide to Music Theory front coverby Chaz Bufe, author of An Understandable Guide to Music Theory: The Most Useful Aspects of Theory for Rock, Jazz & Blues Musicians

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Earlier this afternoon, I was talking with my friend Mick Berry, co-author of The Drummer’s Bible: How to Play Every Drum Style from Afro-Cuban to Zydeco, and part of our discussion concerned the good and the bad aspects of being a musician. Here they are, in no particular order:

  • Front cover of The Drummer's Bible Second EditionBeing a musician means you’re never done. There’s always something else you could be doing (such as putting in another hour of practice) that would be musically useful.
  • It provides a constant source of guilt, often at not practicing enough.
  • It provides a constant source of self-doubt. Have one bad rehearsal or practice session and you’ll find yourself asking questions such as, “Who do I think I’m kidding?” and “Why do I even bother?” If, god help you, you have a bad gig, you’ll also get a heaping helping of self-inflicted humiliation (even though the audience won’t notice unless you’re really stinko).
  • Being a musician provides near-constant entertainment, usually in the form of near-constant conflict with other band members.
  • Being a musician is a financial drain, a black hole of expenditure. You’ll never have enough gear, or good enough gear, and gear obsession can easily reach Spinal Tap-like levels of collection frenzy. My pal Abe, who has the disease bad and spends money accordingly, told me recently that his wife walked in on him while he had pictures of guitars on the screen, and she asked him, “Why can’t you just look at porn like other guys?”
  • Being a musician means you’ll probably end up working for minimum wage, if that. In some major cities, there are so few places to perform, and so many musicians who want to perform, that some bars charge bands to play. It’s not that bad here  in Tucson, but pay is still depressingly low. As the old joke goes, a musician is a guy who loads $5,000 worth of gear into a $1,000 car to drive 100 miles for a $50 gig.
  • Being a musician provides you with a constant source of creative frustration if you perform original music. Audiences do not want to hear your originals, no matter how good they are. Rather, they want to hear tunes they already know, no matter how awful, no matter how moldy. This is why the highest paid bands, at least on a local level, are usually tribute bands — which are a tribute on the part of audiences to musical sloth and on the part of musicians to musical despair.
  • Finally, being a musician means that you’ve discovered, and hold in your hot little hands, the only thing that makes life worth living.

 

Mustang Sally flow chart