Author: Carol Dutcher
Date: 2005-03-17 20:04
I think I'm the only person that things like this happen to, but maybe not. I play dixieland in the Bay Area but not with any particular band, just like to jam and go to various meetings, etc. On Tuesday a gentleman trombone player who has his own band called and asked me if I could come over to a rehearsal at his house on Wednesday night. He said, we are going to play a gig on Sunday, so be sure and wear something that is royal blue that day. He said, I'll have song sheets, and a music book for you when you get here." I said okay, as I really do like his band. Husby printed out a street map on the computer and we got there on time Wednesday night. So when I walked in the door, trombone player said, "Who are you?" I said, "I'm Carol and you called me to come to this rehearsal and play clarinet." He said, "Oh yes, that's right. My short-term memory is not good." So as the evening wore on, and I do mean it was very wearing, he had no music for me, and he had no song list. The vocalist said, "It's always like this." Thanks to a little foresight on my part, I had taken my tape recorder, and recorded the whole bizarre event. I said to him, "Should I bring a microphone on Sunday?" He said, "Why are you coming on Sunday?" I said, "Because you wanted me to take so and so's place." So he said, oh we'll figure that out later. I said "are you going to be playing songs from your CD, because I have a copy of it and I could listen to that in the meantime and figure some things out." He said, "Oh do you want me to burn a copy for you?" I said, no I have one.
This went on from 7:30 to 10 p.m. at night and when I got home I think my hair was standing straight up on end. Now his band is very well known in the Bay Area, and has been around for many years. Where we are playing does not get big crowds, but nevertheless, I want to do a good job and not make a total ass of myself on stage. So here I am sitting, worried, fretting, and digging madly through my fake book, and wondering, WHY ME? WHY ME? Shades of the polka band when the accordionist would forget gigs or even where they were.
So be thinking of me on Sunday afternoon. I see a Valium on the horizon, or possibly a vat of wine pre-playing time. I'm not too sure what the trombone player was indulging in, but it must have been pretty darn good.
Happy daze!
|
|
The Clarinet BBoard
.jpg){kind=small}
.jpg){kind=small}
.jpg){kind=small}
.jpg){kind=small}
.jpg){kind=small}
.jpg){kind=small}
