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| Stageview: An amateur bassist, gig day. |
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WashtubBassist writes 
"My bass case on my back, my bag stuffed with cords overflowing. I walk in quickly, hopefully unnoticed. The band is playing, i plug in immediately
and fall into the groove trance....Ahhhh, I'm home"
Chris Badynee, also known in local circles as WashtubBassist, shares the insights & experiences of a typical work day with a gig to follow. First submission in a series to follow. - Mitch
So...
Today, I awake in anger.
Goddamn post office.
I suds up in the shower and
relax for a few moments;
how I luv bubbles.
...
Dry, dressed, then enjoy a quiet cup o apple cinnamon tea.
The sight of my Government ID badge returns my state of anger
as I have NO appetite this morning.
The morning is storming, that means I can expect
"sick calls" from my employees.
The drive to work is typical; impolite assholes cutting me off,
running red lights with car phones digging into the sides of their heads.
"my god" it’s 6:30am.... Who are they talking to?????
I think most people just drive, holding the phones as a status symbol.
I never want one.
THAT means I’ll have one by the end of next week!
So...I get to work, start my timekeeping, the phone rings
And my heart stops...yep! Call number one.
"Sick"...
Carrier Route 68 isn't coming in...checking the log
She called-in last Monday
..."rain"...hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...
I say, "well, go back to bed, take care of yourself,
And I hope you feel better Monday"... then mumble,
I gotta get the mail delivered, but I can’t touch it
with MY hands. It’s a union contract thing.
I have to FORCE someone to carry it...
as I’ve explained to MY boss,
"To force" means, to me, that there is a weapon involved!
My choice would be bullets, or a club!
She's (postmaster) never amused, but I’m NOT kidding.
I force no-one.
I’ll carry it.
Then those carriers who refused to carry, file a grievance against me,
they wanna get paid for the mail I carry,
sometimes they DO get paid!
So I worked 11 hours.
get home, stare at the door for a minute,
I can sense the distress brewing after yesterdays fight,
I just dread passing thru the doorway.
I swig one last drop of cold tea
and slowly enter MY home.
Things are LOUD, playing turns into arguing,
“she” grabs her coat, runs out saying she needs to go to Target,
I express my need to leave at 8pm for tonites gig....
as I search for something to eat.
Been trying to potty train Chad, he's hates his potty.
My little grrrLs are very demanding...
the phone rings, and I enjoy a few moments talking to an old friend...
Marc Falsetti (drummer from 1975!) *smiles*
But I can’t talk, the kids become EVIL when I'm on the phone.
Sooooo, while doing the dad thing, “she” comes home... a little past 8pm.
I'm frustrated at not having time...
not for peace, not for chat, not for tea, not for a shower,
not for her, not for me, and not for reading (
I crave to read…
I miss reading, not that I ever read much...
but right now, a quiet room with a book sounds nice.)
There's nothing good to eat.
I load my car, return inside to say "bye-bye....."
and I'm back on the road.
The radio sucks, and I don’t have the patience to choose a music tape,
not realizing the possible peace i could be enjoying.
I'm not used to peace.
I don't recognize the opportunity when it's square in my face.
*sighs* not till it's too late. *sighs*.
As I write this, I realize it's too late.
I wonder if "boredom" still has that uneasy feeling.
Long ago, "sweet boredom". aaaaaaaaahhh. *smiles*
I approach the art museum.
The gig started at 7pm with an alternate bassist,
It's 8:30pm, and the place is sooooo crowded,
that people are everywhere.
They cant get in, and the building is HUGE!!!!!!!!!
3 floors high!
"This is gonna be great'! my focus changes.
I'm in the groove.
My bass case on my back, my bag stuffed with cords overflowing.
I walk in quickly, hopefully unnoticed.
The band is playing, i plug in immediately
and fall into the groove trance.
I smile at the drummers, wink at the other bassist,
and in unicen, i mimmick the sax melody...
AHHHHHHHHHHHH....... "i'm home"
+love + shivers +*sparkles* ~~peace~~
I luv my bass.
I luv her weight holding me as I hold her.
I luv how smooth she feels and the sounds she makes as
I luv her.
I luv her madly.
The song ends rather quickly (was it something I said),
and as the other bassist started to leave, I plead
with him to join me.
He looks surprised?
I assured him "you play what feels natural, and I will
support you".
He looks surprised?
He said something like "you are the man, there's no
room for me".
I replyed,
"hey, F#@! you...you ain't going nowhere, shaddap and play"
((yikes...I was talking to my employees))
The drummer started an afro-groove, which just set me off...
I started to fly!!!!! Not paying attention to anything...
Then realizing what had just transpired, I laffed whole-heartedly
and brought in the "in-a-goddi-da-vida" melody.
We all laffed, and the other bassist solo'd.
He had all kinds of hi-tech gizmos, boxes with levers.
Little blinking lights with numbers and letters.
Definately a few thousand dollars invested,
I liked looking at 'em,
but me?
I'm a purist...i have one tube, that glows.
My bass sounds consistent, one sound & many flavors.
We finish that song,
and the other bassist leaves without saying goodbye.
The band say's "lets take a break"
"BREAK FROM WHAT"? ((goddam employees))
I'll do it myself...and i perform America the Beautiful.
Once, no reaction...I play it again, polite reaction
and a stranger gets behind the drum set, we do it together a third time.
I dont even know if anyone cared, we deeply related.
He was younger than I, but looked rougher.
His black hair peeked out of a winter knit cap
and had scars on his neck, that matched the scars on his knuckles.
We shook hands as he ventured to the Keyboard.
Since now we had NO drummer, I loosened my 2 lowest strings
ALL the way so they didn't produce sympathetic harmonies.
The strings now became a drum set, my hands became drum sticks
As I beat the frustrations from my heart to the surface,
he flirted with my emotions.
his style was amazing...reminicent of old school jazz...
Thelonius Monk....OMG!!!!!!!! Just who is this cat?
Do I stop and talk?
No way........we're telling our lives story right now.
I'll just participate, with eyes closed, s t r e a c h i n g
and dreaming of how life should be...
We jammmm!
As we experiment (and I giggle when it's right..),
I progress from a pounding drummm bass guitar
into a melody, within the beatings!!!!
We grooove!
At this moment, I just now remember that I'm at an Art Gallery
on Woodward Ave. in Downtown Detroit...
I open my eyes and see white shirts in suit coats...
dresses, hi-heels, and furs, holding martinis and wine glasses.
As I search the eyes in the crowd,
I see spiked hair, dog collars, lumberjack shirts,
long haireds, old biker types with gray beards, I see smoke,
I see the glow of exotic cigars smelling sweetly,
I see grrrLs hugging grrrls, guys hugging guys,
old-old ladies, too much blue eye shadow with trays of hors'doeuvers...
I see eyes looking at my eyes.
Quickly I close them, turn to my newly adopted brother
and maintain the groovus maximus!
Slowly, as the band realizes that I WONT STOP...
One by one they return, and join into the groove.
As the drummers accept the responsibility of the meter,
I re-tune as I play, and like the old salt that I am,
I play the standard position as the bassist.
Things grow, and change into a rocking moving fast thang..
and I beat my luver immensely..(she luvs the abuse)
We bring the song to a height and volume that is TOTALLY unnecessary
jammmm it for a bit, and end it as though we were playing
Grand Funk Live (1975) IT WAS HUGE!!!!!!!!
The ending went on and on
...hahahahahahaahhahahahahahahahahahhahahheheeheheahheheahehaa
We all shook hands and the keys guy dissapeared!
Just like that, he left!
OMG!!!!!! WAIT!!!!!!! I unplug my bass and carry it outside
looking for him..... laffing.
people wanting to meet me, shaking hands, trying to ask
me questions, I'm running around asking if a guy with
scars just walked by.
Damn.
Damn!
He's gone. *laffs*
The band starts another, without me,
I slowly return, politely responding to the people with questions.
As the band is playing, I'm letting grrrls try on my bass (cant resist).
I get to the stage, plug in, and properly perform my function.
I played from 8:30 and stopped at 10:45 ((the band started with another bassist)).
We were hired to play from 7pm to 10pm.
"Music is a powerful force of nature".
I can't just stop because it's 10pm.
I can't stop a morning storm either.
signed... Chris Badynee, amateur bassist
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