The Wedding Not

My poor old guitar has seen the best and worst of me.
We are one in the same. We both are tired of weddings.

My first "real" gig was a wedding, but it was very unsatisfying.

More than slightly champagne buzzed, I hurled my electric guitar into the back of the car. Angry and disappointed that no one had listened, I wasn't happy. My keyboard playing friend had a good time. You see, he's free of any ego. He doesn't even see himself as a musician sometimes, so he's free of expectations. I wanted attention and compliments- at a wedding.

How foolish and naive.

To the "civilians" out there, the wedding gig is certainly one of the best paying gigs in the working musician's jobs. They come in two distinct categories: really easy and nightmarish.

Why such a dichotomy? Good question.

"What do you mean it's going to be cloudy?!"

1. Bridezillas and/or monster-in-laws make for very tense events.
The tone is set by the bride, the mother and/or the mother-in-law. Period.

The struggles of an ever-demanding bride and her struggle with her mother (or mother-in-law or both) can make the whole day TENSE for everyone. Though the bridesmaids are happy to be all dolled up and the groomsmen are setting their marks on the bridesmaids and the father is rendered perfunctory, it is the women who must muss, fuss and sputter over every mind-bending detail. All to make this day so special, so extraordinary, soooo unique and everyone miserable.

The groom is merely along for the ride. This is not his show, not matter his level of alpha male in his social group. He is essentially, for lack of a better metaphor, castrated until the big day is over.



2. Weather and other unforeseen, uncontrollable forces. God has his little moments. Oh yes indeed. Go ahead, make plans. God smirks at planners.

Here's an example: As the rain swirled around us, we nervously played under a tent. We and everyone else had just dashed from a golf course where hand-of-God lightning bolts were flashing all around. Loud thunder, wind, rain, but the guitar-flute duo played on. Good times. Wet, miserable and playing bossa novas. This is the life. The dream.

Another:  This place was remote, one of those "Where in the hell are we?" West Virginia residences. I remember driving on this dirt road and wondering when we would see a house, any house. There appeared, propped up on hill, was one of those fancy get-away-from-it-all-but-let's-have-it-all kind of homes.

The guests were seated outdoors to watch the sunset as the wedding ceremony was to unfold. Great concept, but rife with problems. Several nightmares: the evening sun was still in blinding and burning mode all the while legions of ladybugs and bees hovered and swarmed. On cue, we began the processional, but not a bridesmaid in sight. When the first bridesmaid appeared, she walked an absolute lethargic pace, taking a good ten minutes. The gap between the bridesmaids was another ten minutes and so forth.

Meanwhile the guitar-flute duo was in sheer agony as we played Pachelbel's Canon until my left hand went numb and her lip deadened. Watching the well-dressed people, already sweltering and sun blind, swatting at the massive insect cloud above them was surely not what the glorious "ah" moment the wedding planners had envisioned. It was Dali meets David Lynch on a codeine jag.

Why then thy glum face over the latest gig?

FYI: Our bride was laid-back, casual and sweet.

In a nutshell, this is what happened:

My partner, the flutist, days from hand surgery, had just taken off her cast. She was very nervous and had some worries about playing and the gig in general. She was right.

My amp had gone south about two weeks before, so we had to use her amp. Two instruments and one amp isn't ideal for clarity.
Despite my casual attire of no tie or jacket ( I hate suit jackets), sweat was pouring from my head.
Giant mosquitoes moved about, looking for victims.
Soon after we got the hardware in place, she discovered that the pickup had broken. I called for Super Glue and a Glue Stick was delivered.
I used it before realizing how ridiculous and fruitless it would be to glue metal to metal with a fucking Glue Stick.
Scotch tape was used in order to "reattach" the flute pickup to make the playing time of 5:30. This caused a terrible hum in the amp.
Of course, since we are the entertainment, most people take a glance at us (some choose to stare-they nothing better to do), but when the entertainment are obviously having problems, it feels a bit like being in a play when things are going terribly, terribly wrong.
All the while, I sense my partner is getting a little close to hitting the panic button. I was irritated, but panic was not going to come. I wouldn't allow it. This is a wedding-one of countless. No need for anxiety.

Experience tempers the temptation to panic. Plus, the musical duo is so much better doing a solo act because we serve as reality check and emotional support for each other. We have to have each other's backs.

Proof positive that guitarists do show up at weddings.

Sidebar: Musicians are invisible are these functions. Li-Li has to sidestep the constant threat of having her flute smashed into her mouth. Guitar playing also involves the ability to dodge the herds, to keep the neck from being stumbled into, and keep playing. I have actually been accused (via a threatening letter by a lawyer) of not showing up at a wedding. Yes, that's how much I matter at a wedding.

Tuning was a real issue as flutes go sharp in heat and strings tend to destabilize. Luckily, my tuner  helped to keep the guitar from sounding like a watery turd. But despite this, Li'Li's flute declined to be pulled out any further and so we couldn't agree on tuning. Nice.

To conclude:

After all that hassle, I suggested, "That was enough ass kicking for one day." Two ice-cold Blue Moons were slipped out in a purse and two sweaty, beaten musicians drank them with gratitude. Hooray for cold beer. The cheap panacea for badly beaten musicians.
What comment is it when a cold beer is the best part of the day?

I confessed to L that quitting weddings altogether had crossed my mind. They are handy for some gas money or a nice meal, but they have become so soulless that it is merely a professional, robotic act. Giving a damn left me a long time ago. I mean, I would never deliberately play poorly at a job, but that's what it is-a job and nothing more.

Will I simply say "no" and stop playing them altogether? Or will I be like Rumpole of the Bailey when Rumpole declares that he's quitting the bar, due to some financial windfall, but despite all of his noble sounding words, returns to chambers the next day looking for the dreary dog-ends of a case in magistrate court?

It isn't as dramatic as all that. I am at a very different stage in my "career" now. Play for the sake of playing-that's my credo. No slogging out the hits for the sweaty loud bar crowd. No late night jam sessions at open mike nights. I leave that to the young and hungry go-getters. God love them, they deserve a chance.

 Not quite at the point of dismissing all these soul-sucking gigs, I'd rather concentrate on writing music and gigs that reward the artistic, not the commerce side.

For now, I will grumble, but will not abandon the possibility. The fee should be set at a rate where, should all chaos break loose, we can walk away with a decent bit of change for our hassle.

Time to think about a new amp.

A History of Love, Part 9

"We'll get so high and get nowhere
We'll have to change our jaded ways
But I've loved these days"

Don't put her on a pedestal, buddy.

"Ah, my friend, you do not know, you do not know
What life is, you who hold it in your hands";
(Slowly twisting the lilac stalks)
"You let it flow from you, you let it flow,
And youth is cruel, and has no remorse
And smiles at situations which it cannot see."

It's completely dishonest to say that all love was betrayal and brutal to the emotions. Sometimes love comes and we do not give it the respect it deserves. Sometimes we just want a good lay. Sometimes a mediocre one will do.

Backdrop:

In the WLSC music department, friendships came easily. Music people bond just like any other department. The bonding was enhanced by the "us versus them" mentality of the times, the roaming frat herds and the dictum held by all non-music majors on campus: music and theater majors were gay. Therefore, gays should be killed. At the very least, they should be beaten or verbally harassed. This was a universally held belief.  Hard to believe? Such were the good old days (I might add that, in some places, very little has changed.).

Certainly in the 70's, the WLSC student body seemed to be dominated by sports frat boys who looked upon the fine arts department as some type of nesting place for all homosexuals. When the "normal" students would pass our hallowed halls to attend music appreciation, they would look at us as if we were living in a leper colony. Looks of curiosity (Is this where the faggots bugger one another?) and looks of hostility (Don't try that shit on me motherfucker, I'll smash your face.) - that's what we got.

I remember one flute major girl, who had a "civilian"boyfriend, who tried to explain to him why someone would stand with a flute and watch themselves in a mirror. The look of absolute bewilderment and disgust was priceless.
When we stood outside the music department for smoke breaks, we would hear the cordial and friendly cries of TKEs who called us all manner of names. TKEs began to symbolize the hostility and ignorance of the masses. When the new TKE pledges were going through the cruelty of pledge week, I never had sympathy for them. If you were going to join an organization that was filled with so much prejudice and ignorance and be humiliated while doing it, you were outright stupid. Word was, they were abused in many unsavory ways and there was an old house somewhere where this abuse took place. More on this later.
But I digress.

Amidst this obsession by the mob mindset, the music major was isolated. The art students were just thought of as weird, so they were allies. In short, you had to look close "to home," so to speak, for a "friend."

The V Conundrum

Ok kids, this is the part of the story where things get sticky. What happens when someone nice, reasonable, cute and compatible comes along?

You fuck it up like everything else in your life. "I am a nice guy," you tell yourself this lie. "I am different than those neanderthal, football bearing fratholes." Perhaps in truth, I was separated only by a thin line of curiosity about artistic and philosophical matters and a better command of the English language. Human nature abides in all, even the social outcast dope smoking musos. I was no genius, no prodigy and my wings never flew above the fray and the squalor. I just resorted to the same mind and soul numbing agents as the frat boys did. I just did it with more class. At least that's what I told myself.

But I digress.

Youth has a special brand of callousness (And youth is cruel, and has no remorse).Why? Is it the rational acknowledgment of the superior powers of life within the body? Is it the sheer arrogance of inexperience? I don't have the words to define it. I just know that the only value to outgrowing your youth is that some small mercy of understanding comes with age. With old man's eyes, I would never behave the way I did back in those chaotic college years.

V was a very sweet natured local girl who was a voice major. Voice majors generally tend to have a rather high opinion of themselves and generally being a very fussy lot, but V was different. She was earthy without a hint of diva. A sweet smile, she was cute and so easy to make conversation with her.

What was the problem then?

Perhaps her attraction to me was felt too easily. Maybe I was part of my own frat that included my music  major friends and I wanted to show off for them. Certainly, I was not willing to show an emotional vulnerability. Call it bad timing or immaturity, I'll agree to them all.

After a party, she and I found ourselves alone, listening to the soft folkie music of Michael Johnson. This was nice-no desperation of trying to impress her, just easy conversation. She was definitely a "what you see is what you get" personality. No head games.

V and I had some tender moments together (including a special one involving an unlikely discussion of the Bible), but I never pursued her as a steady girlfriend. All was undefined. I was afraid of commitment for sure. Typical young male stuff.

While I was under the impression that she wanted to be more than a causal hookup, perhaps she realized that I was not good boyfriend material. Perhaps, all the while, was she held the reins.

I did my usual: strutted, puffed out my chest and dicked around until the bridge was burned.

There's More?

Kim was a freshman percussion major. She was someone who appeared during my senior year.

Again, cute, nice disposition, not demanding. Why didn't I pursue seriously? Hell, she played marimba like a whiz. I loved (still do) marimba. Maybe that's what started us talking.

She even chose me as a person to interview for one of her classes. Out into some field we went and she listened as I prated on and on about half-baked ideas of ecology, the meaning of life and how great music is compared to blah blah blah. The conversation certainly would have a major cringe factor now. If she has a cassette tape of that, it's be a great laugh.
The teacher didn't think that I was so interesting either as Kim told me that she didn't get a very good grade. That should have been the first clue that I was clueless. While I honor the intention, clearly there was nothing but nonsense and contradiction coming out of my 9 volt mind.

The Kimster had more morals than myself and we soon were at odds about how far the physical aspect of our friend-relation-whatever should go. You can guess what my vote was.

Sad to say this, but I have no recollection of how things ended. It probably just died of attrition.