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Brian Krashpad
July 16th, 2012, 04:01 PM
High drama, appropriately enough, at the Friday the 13th show last week. We were set to go on second, with our former bassist sitting in.
Got our amps backlined behind the openers, a hardcorish quintet from Cali called Twitch Angry (sample song title: "On The Rag"). I'm there, then rhythm guitarist, then bassist, then finally the drummer shows.
Only trouble is, bassist has yet to say anything to me, or help with "his" bass rig (I lent him mine, which I do for our regular bassist), or even bring his bass itself into the club (it made it in because the rhythm guitarist brought it). In fact come to think about it, he hasn't even come inside.
I see him outside, leaning on an old white Camaro, with a skinny country-looking chick in Daisy Dukes kinda in his grill.
About 10 minutes later my rhythm guitarist says "We need to talk."
Shoot. That can't be good.
"Ronnie's too drunk to play. He can hardly stand. He stayed with us since practice two nights ago and got in at like 5 in the morning drunk also, when Siri [guitarist's baby mama] had to be at work at seven."
Shoot. Not good. Our drummer gets all hyper and prima donna before a performance, and this is not gonna sit well.
Nevertheless, gotta be done.
So I told him.
"I'm not playing without a bassist. I'll pack up and leave right now. If I had known he was gonna pull this I wouldn't have bothered to bring all this gear."
No kiddin', Sherlock? Guess the feck what? Me neither, and I brought not only my rig (3 guitars, 7-stand, go-box, 4x12 cab, 50W guitar head, wireless unit, volume pedal, etc.) but the bass rig (monster 8x10 Ampeg SVT cab and 200W head) too.
So, unless we get a bassist we're effed. I have NEVER, in 30 years of gigging, showed at a venue and then scratched. In fact the total number of times I've had to scratch even with plenty of notice is probably once or twice.
We do all originals, so there's no way one of the other band's bassists could fill in. It'd be a clusterfrak.
This leaves our actual bassist. He couldn't make the show because he was downtown playing keys in front of several hundred (at least) people with his cover/show band. So, our record label guy drives me downtown, drops me off, and circles (due to all the people on the plaza, where our bassist's show band is playing, it's impossible to find parking downtown, without going into a paid garage), while I try to get the message to our bassist about our dire straits. (Both I and our record company guy have texted him, but of course he's not going to get those until after the set, if then.)
As I arrive, he's singing lead on a song, so I don't even make eye contact. I wander around the edges of the stage and to the board, looking if there's a visible set list, so I can figure where they are in their set.
No luck.
I run into a mutual acquaintance. "I didn't expect to see you here! I thought you had a show tonight?"
"Well, I'm not sure if I do or not."
She agrees to tell Joel, our bassist, about the sitch as soon as he finishes the set.
I wander back to the front of the stage. As the song ends, Joel looks up from his keyboard and sees me, with a surprised, befuddled look.
I make the universal hand sign for "crazy" (circling hand near head), then the gesture (pinky and thumb extended to resemble a telephone held to one's ear) for "call me." He nods, but I'm still not sure he's fully understood. And then their next song begins.
My work being done, I go back to the crowd's periphery at our agreed-upon pick-up point, and our label guy circles round, picks me up, and we drive back to the club.
Now we wait.
About 20 minutes later, a couple minutes past ten, I get a text "I can be there in about 30 minutes, have to break down."
OK, this might actually work. The opener has not gone on yet, but the stage manager has just said he needs to start at ten. I go outside and hang with the guys from the headliner, the Pinkerton Thugs. I am not sure if their bassist is merely friendly or is hitting on me. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Just before 10:30 our bassist rolls up. His show band had all been wearing black slacks and white dress shirts, but he'd worn a black T under the shirt. So all black will be "close enough for gub'mint work," as my dad would put it.
Within 5 we're on. Because I'd gone on the premise of the show being a 3-band bill, as of our previous practice (the second touring band having gone off the tour when it's van exploded), our setlists were for a full 45, rather than the 30 we ended up with, so we have to excise numbers as we go. Fortunately this surprisingly works well and does not cause any undue delays between songs.
In fact, I hafta say, despite (or maybe because?) of all the drama, we kicked ass and took names.
The other local band, that followed us, was quite good. And the Pinkerton Thugs were really fantastic. I wish they could've played to a bigger crowd. They closed with a sublime cover of the Clash's "Straight To Hell."
Krash happy.
Finis.
https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/s720x720/396064_10151037959533746_1489191662_n.jpg
The usual superfun photobomb ridicu-pix follow. All questions gladly answered, and your ruminations on my poseritrude actively invited.
Got our amps backlined behind the openers, a hardcorish quintet from Cali called Twitch Angry (sample song title: "On The Rag"). I'm there, then rhythm guitarist, then bassist, then finally the drummer shows.
Only trouble is, bassist has yet to say anything to me, or help with "his" bass rig (I lent him mine, which I do for our regular bassist), or even bring his bass itself into the club (it made it in because the rhythm guitarist brought it). In fact come to think about it, he hasn't even come inside.
I see him outside, leaning on an old white Camaro, with a skinny country-looking chick in Daisy Dukes kinda in his grill.
About 10 minutes later my rhythm guitarist says "We need to talk."
Shoot. That can't be good.
"Ronnie's too drunk to play. He can hardly stand. He stayed with us since practice two nights ago and got in at like 5 in the morning drunk also, when Siri [guitarist's baby mama] had to be at work at seven."
Shoot. Not good. Our drummer gets all hyper and prima donna before a performance, and this is not gonna sit well.
Nevertheless, gotta be done.
So I told him.
"I'm not playing without a bassist. I'll pack up and leave right now. If I had known he was gonna pull this I wouldn't have bothered to bring all this gear."
No kiddin', Sherlock? Guess the feck what? Me neither, and I brought not only my rig (3 guitars, 7-stand, go-box, 4x12 cab, 50W guitar head, wireless unit, volume pedal, etc.) but the bass rig (monster 8x10 Ampeg SVT cab and 200W head) too.
So, unless we get a bassist we're effed. I have NEVER, in 30 years of gigging, showed at a venue and then scratched. In fact the total number of times I've had to scratch even with plenty of notice is probably once or twice.
We do all originals, so there's no way one of the other band's bassists could fill in. It'd be a clusterfrak.
This leaves our actual bassist. He couldn't make the show because he was downtown playing keys in front of several hundred (at least) people with his cover/show band. So, our record label guy drives me downtown, drops me off, and circles (due to all the people on the plaza, where our bassist's show band is playing, it's impossible to find parking downtown, without going into a paid garage), while I try to get the message to our bassist about our dire straits. (Both I and our record company guy have texted him, but of course he's not going to get those until after the set, if then.)
As I arrive, he's singing lead on a song, so I don't even make eye contact. I wander around the edges of the stage and to the board, looking if there's a visible set list, so I can figure where they are in their set.
No luck.
I run into a mutual acquaintance. "I didn't expect to see you here! I thought you had a show tonight?"
"Well, I'm not sure if I do or not."
She agrees to tell Joel, our bassist, about the sitch as soon as he finishes the set.
I wander back to the front of the stage. As the song ends, Joel looks up from his keyboard and sees me, with a surprised, befuddled look.
I make the universal hand sign for "crazy" (circling hand near head), then the gesture (pinky and thumb extended to resemble a telephone held to one's ear) for "call me." He nods, but I'm still not sure he's fully understood. And then their next song begins.
My work being done, I go back to the crowd's periphery at our agreed-upon pick-up point, and our label guy circles round, picks me up, and we drive back to the club.
Now we wait.
About 20 minutes later, a couple minutes past ten, I get a text "I can be there in about 30 minutes, have to break down."
OK, this might actually work. The opener has not gone on yet, but the stage manager has just said he needs to start at ten. I go outside and hang with the guys from the headliner, the Pinkerton Thugs. I am not sure if their bassist is merely friendly or is hitting on me. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Just before 10:30 our bassist rolls up. His show band had all been wearing black slacks and white dress shirts, but he'd worn a black T under the shirt. So all black will be "close enough for gub'mint work," as my dad would put it.
Within 5 we're on. Because I'd gone on the premise of the show being a 3-band bill, as of our previous practice (the second touring band having gone off the tour when it's van exploded), our setlists were for a full 45, rather than the 30 we ended up with, so we have to excise numbers as we go. Fortunately this surprisingly works well and does not cause any undue delays between songs.
In fact, I hafta say, despite (or maybe because?) of all the drama, we kicked ass and took names.
The other local band, that followed us, was quite good. And the Pinkerton Thugs were really fantastic. I wish they could've played to a bigger crowd. They closed with a sublime cover of the Clash's "Straight To Hell."
Krash happy.
Finis.
https://sphotos-b.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/s720x720/396064_10151037959533746_1489191662_n.jpg
The usual superfun photobomb ridicu-pix follow. All questions gladly answered, and your ruminations on my poseritrude actively invited.