Of Colons, Ankles and Guitar Shows: The Big Pig Gig

I am currently recovering from my band's latest venture: the 2012 Pig Roast.  This is a huge neighborhood venture that runs for blocks and features three (alleged) musical acts (we headline).

Last year there were about 350 people.  A preliminary count has this year at about 500-600 people!  This year featured popcorn, cotton candy and slushie machines in addition to the usual fire engine, arcade, and enough food to choke an entire county.  The only thing missing was a rabbi to bless the pig.

I got there early to check things out and was met by interesting news: one of my band members had a painful intestinal flareup and another broke his ankle.  Yes indeed, this was going to be a typical show. We were thinking of changing our (highly variable) name to The Infirmary.   Further, we're going to purchase our singer a wheelchair, helmet, and training wheels, in case he has to walk anywhere else.

The sight of our singer was truly a sad one.  A grown man, sitting onstage on a stool, with his casted leg on pillows on another stool.  But the show must go on, right?  Trying to get this fellow onstage was a full band effort.  We had to set up his guitar and amp too.  There was rampant speculation that he broke his ankle just to get out of setting up and tearing down but I prefer to believe he's made of marshmallow and simply broke it stepping off a curb, as he explained it to me.

The stage was bigger (unlike our pay), which was good, as we were bigger (and older).  We got everything set up in good time, with help from good friends and relatives.  It looked almost professional.  My absolute favorite was the forgotten cymbal stand.  Someone brought a lamp out of their house and they attached a cymbal to it.  Brilliance in action.

The grill items were the first up and a wonderful breakfast.  Entertainment started with the burgers and dogs, via the perennial opener, a very entertaining fellow who was actually plucked from a train depot somewhere.  Next up was the actual pig, along with a 17-year-old acoustic guitarist with his own songs.  He would have gone well had we not noticed him putting his water on our keyboardist's Very Expensive Synthesizer.  "If I see a ring, I will shove that water bottle....(etc)".  For some reason there was a small gaggle of small children dancing onstage.  They had no business being there but no one seemed to care, least of all the kid with the guitar.  I thought they would have made excellent footballs but they weren't onstage during my set.

It was a personal best day for me in that I forgot almost nothing.
Except for sunblock - OUCH.  It still hurts.  Serves me right for leaving my house.

There was a pie-eating contest for little children, much to my wife's dismay.  She wanted to join in.

Shortly thereafter it was time for the Old Fellas to take the stage.  And take the stage we did.  As we were just about to start the first song, the singer's guitar failed to make sound.  I figured we were off to a great start and we were.  Seconds later my amp refused to make sound, for no apparent reason.  After much cursing, screaming and redface, we were into the first song.

[Mental note:  Don't rush out of the gate and use every ounce of energy on the first song, lest there be no energy left for the rest of the set.]  So naturally I ran out the gate like I was on fire, leaving little for the rest of the songs.

In spite of the occasional equipment malfunctions and human malfunctions, we were very well-received.  Also well-received was the nuclear green construction tshirt that I located for the event.  My wife said people kept walking by and commenting on it.  You'd think they had never seen a shirt that glows before.

Young kids were applauding old rock and roll.  People were happy to hear Hendrix!  A few coworkers showed up and were amused/amazed to discover they have a rather animated guitar player in their midst.

All in all it was a great feeling and two great sets.

Philly weather sucks in general.  Most pig roasts have temps in the high eighties with humidity in the high nineties.  We got very lucky in that the temps were in the low eighties with humidity in the high nineties.  Since I'm highly mobile onstage, I sweat like a faucet.  Between songs it was a rush to wipe the sweat out of my eyes and suck down cold water.  Later on I discovered the slushie machine, which made being onstage more wonderful.

A totally unbiased observer (my wife) said I was on.  I'll take that.

After we finished, it was dark.  Takedown was painful, as we have no roadies (or groupies).  My equipment put on at least fifty additional pounds while it was onstage.  The definition of depressing is a car in the driveway full of equipment to be unloaded after midnight.


FOR GUITARISTS ONLY

Since this was a huge outdoor gig, I brought my monster, the Marshall half stack.  Guitars were the pukeburst Strat, the Historic Les Paul, and my first Strat.  For the first time I got through two long sets with one guitar.  No strings or other breakages.

Effects were Voodoo Vibe --> Dano Compressor --> Dano CTO1 Overdrive --> Boost --> Rocktron powered talkbox.  The boost was new - can't remember the brand but it had the cutest Japanese graphics.  It worked out well for solos as the amp was set slightly dirty.

For once I got no complaints about band members being able to hear me.  I'm the only guitar player in the entire East who isn't too loud.  Perhaps the entire US.  It is said that volume is inversely proportional to talent (but I make no such claim).


And hey - how was the Philly Guitar Show this time?
Well, since you asked... some idiot forgot to write down the date and managed to miss it.

Hey lefty - how's the new band?
Great, thanks!  I have to learn four complete sets of material by July 4th with only one band practice.
The first gig should prove..... interesting.  We're playing a large swim club.  If anyone pisses me off, I'm throwing a toaster into the pool.

some old dudes

Failing Spatial Relationships [or Gig Report]

My band got to play its favorite club on Friday.  It's our favorite club because it books us and it's practically at the end of my street.  It's also across the street from The One True Pizza, which never hurts.

The band makes a point of arriving at least two hours early so we can set up.  Using New Math<tm>, that allows the six of us twenty minutes each to set things up, plus thirty seven minutes each to complain.

Unfortunately the band got its math wrong and used all fifty seven minutes (each) to complain.  Because we were setting up differently than the previous time, there erupted four different conversations about how exactly to set up.  Since the owner said something to the effect of `set up THERE', I chose to set up THERE.

This was not sufficient for my esteemed cohorts.  They got out their fung shui manuals and proceeded to argue about the right way to set up.  Another set discussed their Vision for our setup.  Yet another had a Bad Feeling about the location.

After I damn near carefully set up the p.a. system, they asked me the best place for the speakers.  I suggested exactly where I put them.  Two minutes later I watched them moving the speakers.

I had to fetch my wife after sound check because for some strange reason, she didn't want to sit there for two hours and watch us debate where to put the drums.  Aside from her choice in men, she's a very wise woman.

Unfortunately it was getting rather close to sound check time and most of us weren't set up yet.  My agitation level had passed the roof and was headed for the clouds.  It was an easier night for me because only one pedal and a guitar string was giving me trouble.  When only two things break, it's a light night.  I travel with a small army of gear because everything breaks.

By the time we achieved fung shui and the karma was exactly right, we managed to eke out a song to check our sound.  I rushed to get my wife.  She was on the step and when she saw me, she did the only thing she could: she walked back inside the house.  My wife is not a girly girl and she doesn't generally keep me waiting.  As the car clock indicated it was 8:33, the band was supposed to be three minutes into its first set (had we discussed a starting time).  I made this point rather loudly to the wife when she reappeared.

Things looked no different when I returned.  While it is not advertised, we specialize in Milling About, and we were doing our best.  Shortly thereafter, we launched into our first set.

In retrospect, nobody is entirely sure what happened during the first set.  What didn't happen was a good band playing together.  Much speculation has gone into this.  I think our percussion department was actually playing with the band at the bar down the street.  Others were playing to their own internal drummer.  I'm not sure, but I might have been onstage with Hendrix at Woodstock, messing things up.

After the set, I chose to make my one positive statement for the year: good thing we brought the crowd or we'd be TOAST.  The optimists agreed.  But I hate optimists.  They're the kind of people who say `we had some problems but it could have been worse'.

My wife was under the weather so I had to take her home.  This was complicated by my arch enemy: seatbelts.  I maintain that seatbelts are only good for three things:

1. holding your dead body inside the car after a crash
2. preventing you from reaching your cell phone
3. stopping the car door from closing

Suffice it to say the neighbors must have thought there was a satanic entity loose in the neighborhood from all the noise.  And in the three seconds that I turned around, Marshall the Cocker got into the kettle corn.  Again.  This was his third bag.  Between that and the tissues, the dog loves his fiber.

The second set went better, but only in the sense that there were no overt train wrecks.  It's kinda sad when something is better because it wasn't as bad as the previous try.  At least we all seemed to be playing with the same group in the same location.

Speaking of playing with, we seemed to have forgotten our stage manners.  Between songs, we appeared to be playing with ourselves and adjusting our trusses.  In other words, it took rather long to get to the next song on the list.

We were partially saved by our youthful exuberance.... we manage to appear to be having a great time no matter what happens.  We were also partially saved by the singer's daughter, with the voice of an angel (and the body of something further south).  Once we convinced her boyfriend to remove his hands from under her shirt, she joined us for some serious rocking.  I told her not to come to class unless she brings enough for all of us.  I spent the next hour running from her father, the singer :)

My outlets somehow managed to situate themselves in a place convenient to the bassist's feet.  He was bumping and grinding to the music, simultaneously turning my amp and effects off and on.  It took me a while to catch on to this effect, which seems much funnier now.

I have some sort of back issue that gets really bad with standing.  This makes being in a band a rather painful experience.  My wife, the genius, recommended that I carry aspirin and take it before the pain sets in.  She reminded me of this all week, which will indicate to any of my loyal readers that I forgot the aspirin.  By the end of the second set, I thought I might have to be carried onstage and sit in a chair (I'm normally very active onstage).  Fortunately the adrenaline overcame the pain and we made it through the third set.

What continues to surprise me is the reaction to Jeff Beck and Jimi Hendrix songs.  People seriously liked them.  I never would have thought so....

I somehow managed to get my stuff into the car (it had put on serious weight since I brought it in) and limped on home.  Two ibuprofen and an hour later, I was erect (so to speak) and off to sleep.

Next up is a huge block party and pig roast in June.   I often say I have two bands: one that comes to practice and doesn't play well or know its songs, and one that shows up to gigs and plays wonderfully.  I sure hope the good one comes to the block party.