Why We Play

I played at the Imperial last night. My god that was fun. It’s a 500+ seat venue in the heart of the downtown eastside although I’m sure the figure reflects capacity because few seats were to be had and I needed seats for the peeps that brought out their support and bucked up $50 for this charity event; Battle of the Insurance Bands. It’s sponsored by the Insurance Institute and is an opportunity for people in that industry to hobnob, swap cards and buy a drink for that client you want to keep. The only requirement to be in the battle is to have one band member actually work in the industry and that’s where my niece came in.

“Hey uncle John”

“Hey Jess”

“So there’s this thing…”

Seems she’d always wanted to sing in a band and this was an amazing opportunity and wouldn’t we love to play in a great venue to a sold out crowd? Uh, yeah. Every musician’s goal is to play in front of people, the more the better, right? No. For many excellent musicians the thought of exposing themselves in front of anyone who’s paying attention makes them sweat. Playing in their room or with a few close friends can be transcendent but performing is an anxiety-provoking event on par with public masturbation. And it’s not a bad analogy. To do something that gives you such insane pleasure, in public with optimal results, isn’t easy. You’d either have to work their presence into the process in order to heighten the experience or work really hard at pretending they’re not there.

Me, I dig it. So I said “That sounds great” and we jumped into the river that took us to last night. This was the tenth anniversary so was moved to the larger venue from last year’s Blarney Stone. That too was a great venue for about 300 people and with more actual seats. We competed there against 3 other bands (the winner gets to choose which charity gets the proceeds) and we didn’t win but were so well-received that we were asked to return this year – but not to compete. The format for the 10^th anniversary was to invite the winners of the past 4 years to compete for the bragging rights for best in a decade. But they also wanted a band they liked to open the show…us.

‘Us last year’ no longer existed. The fabulous lead guitar had found greener pastures while I ignored my Vancouver life on an extended European tour. The keys guy was deemed replaceable but if I could just get the lead singer to return my calls I thought we could rekindle this. She finally did and we started to fill in the blanks.

Steve’s friend had seen us play, liked what he heard and was willing to grab his keys and climb on board. Gene’s mostly a rhythm guitar kind of guy (he doesn’t want to make it cry or sing) who also provides some lead vocals. Jessica took the lead on a song to showcase her addition to the band and added backup vocals to support Natasha’s powerhouse vocal range.

And then there’s the rhythm section. I’ve known Steve longer than he’s known himself. I watched him make his appearance in the world and held him moments after he started breathing. While his mom and I split up when he was only 9 years old we’ve managed to stay close. Living nearby means frequent contact, jams and grandkid visits. His bass and amp are in my studio so our rhythmic licks get a regular polish. He’s also an accomplished guitarist and songwriter and when we chose songs it was funtastic to be able to do original material.

Singing someone else’s songs is like repeating a joke you heard; you may still get a chuckle but real laughter comes from original material. But we didn’t have enough of our own so the process of selecting the perfect songs began.

You know on American Idol where they say “Oh Dude, you got a great voice but that song choice…”  We wanted to do what we could do well and then added other criteria. Getting the dance floor filled with danceable tunes was the first. We wanted songs that would be recognizable so people who listen to lyrics could sing along but preferably not tunes that had been overplayed. A little uniqueness would go a long way.

Ten days before “The Gig” we’re informed that they also want us to close the show with a 45-minute set. Until then they were musing other ideas like a jam session with members from all the bands joining in but finally realized the logistics were beyond anyone’s organizing ability. Our first set, like all the other bands was arranged for 30 minutes, 7 songs. Closing meant another 11 songs. Another original? I voted for Joan Jett and the Blackhearts but it didn’t get any traction. Emails and ideas bounced around. We knew the opening crowd would be thin and sober so our bigger set should be number two. The smaller, early crowd meant we could re-play some numbers from the 1^st set in the 2^nd and two were chosen. Nine to go. Other songs were moved from the 1^st set to the second and replaced with songs we’d done at some point in the past. We dug a little deeper and revived songs we’d done long before the current iteration of the band. Two more off the radio were needed and added and we were ready to practice.

Ten days meant we only had one more practice planned after the session where we shared the need for 11 more songs. Fortunately, most were able to squeeze in one more day and decisions about what to play when, where and how were made. Arrangements for every song had to be created and rehearsed; remembering starts, breaks and finishes has long been my Achilles’ heel and I needed to play them over and over again to drive them home, so they happened without me thinking about it.

Everyone in the group did exactly as I hoped, they took their part and practiced the bejesus out of it so when we got together we just had to stitch together the parts. How well those parts are stitched together defines the tightness of a band and two practices wasn’t going to get us super tight. But it could get us loose enough to ride it out.

The day came. Jess and I unloaded the gear left at the studio and we stood in the empty hall. I stared at the ceiling soaring overhead. I peered into the depths of the two-layered balcony and into the faces of the 575 people that weren’t there yet. Hands stuffed deep into my rear pockets, I walked, looked and nodded at what I imagined. This was going to be the biggest gig I’d ever played but my mind returned to the first. An elementary school gymnasium rented by a group of CB radio lovers, the folks that brought us “Breaker 19”, was my first step onto a stage. Those four wooden steps behind the curtain felt like a springboard onto the stage at the Coliseum. Head down, soft sweat all over and two sticks in my right hand tapping against my leg. I’ve been skydiving, scuba diving, bungee jumping and remember the first time I had sex; none of that beat that night but in trying to outdo it I tried a lot of things I might not have tried.

Doors open at 5:00, show starts at 5:10. I figure I’ll get back there by 4, give me lots of time to set up the drums to my liking and stake out some territory for my peeps. At 4:00 I’m still looking for a parking spot and get a call from Jess,

“Apparently we were supposed to be ready for a sound-check at 3”.

 F#*k! But they were lovely guys, patient and used to working with amateurs. With an undertaker’s dispassionate disposition, they gently got us ready for our big night.

And it was pleasant let down. You can’t do something for the first time twice. But like a junkie trying to recreate that first high I kept trying; bigger bands, bigger venues, bigger songs but no. My cherry’s gone and nothing is going to beat that first time. But in writing this piece,  I've discovered that I've kept on playing not because I wanted it bigger and better but because it’s just fun to play.