Really?

No joy at all in the Woodshed last night, boys and girls.


The solid followup to last week's play I was looking forward to just didn't happen.  Oh, there was a large pool of jammers present, both old and new faces, and plenty of the happy-social schtick at the outset, but I eventually got lost in the shuffle {again}.  Sad, too - some of the cats present really, really cooked.  I got the itch early on, but for whatever reason, my contribution was stuck in the "death slot on the bill" - and there were precious few around by then to witness it.


What's worse, the short set I did manage was marred by - of all things - equipment failure {and injury}.  Bob re-teamed me with himself, Joe, and Doc Jim, and we started off with "Sunshine of Your Love," which I really didn't feel like playing by then.  The only good fortune of the evening came about because Drum-Bud Mike The Wop had a "cheater" double-bass pedal on his kit.  Good thing too, because Doc snapped a bass string about 1/3 into the song!!  Cut one of his fingers badly from it, too.  I was able to cover for him somewhat with the extra kick, but once I started filling the extra rhythm holes, I said "f*ck this mess," and let loose with some rather angry heavy-metal bombs.  Since Bob and Joe had basically shot their wads already, their playing was casual in a "throw the dog a bone, and let's get this over with quick" manner.


After we slopped SOYL to a close, Darryl swapped in for a bleeding Doc {bass strings are lethal on fingers when they snap}, and we went into the set-closing second half of "Layla."  I kept up the intensity and carpet-bombings with the kicks, but by then the rot had set in, and I too just wanted to get the damn thing over with quickly.  Like I said earlier, few were around to witness things by then, so I steamed along until the coda, and split just as soon as I caught my breath.  I'd been through this scene more than a few times in the past, and I was well pissed off with myself for letting it happen yet again.  I know it's Bob's show and all, but I feel I've earned at least the courtesy of bringing home the bacon when it can really be appreciated {and supported} properly.


My overall playing was well up to scratch, but I could've played a solo that would make Gene Krupa look like a newbie in comparison AND blown up the Gateway Arch as the finale, but it wouldn't have made a blind bit of difference last night.  At the bitter end, I felt like a cheap clich`e; the proverbial red-headed stepson at a family reunion.  It bloody well hurt, it did.  So rather than make a big fuss, I just hit the bricks in silence.  All the pleasantries and my reunion bit with good old Darryl earlier in the evening were distant memories by the end.  And it shouldn't have been like that at all.


I'm still too upset and tired to ponder the ramifications, but flux is hardly a new thing to me.  I'll get around to option-weighing and priority-reexamination later.  Y'all will be kept in the loop, rest assured.  As I write this, I'm keenly aware of my Mom's absence.  Today would have been her 85th birthday and I miss her tremendously.  She was the #1 supporter of my music, and she could have easily talked me back up out of the black pit I'm in right now.  When I first became a Regular with Bob, there was no one happier for me than her.  And as we grew our friendship, my Mom began to view Bob as an adoptive big brother of sorts.  She was always after me to play and videotape a version of "Jailhouse Rock" with him at the jams - she adored Jeff Beck's cover of it I used to play in my band many moons ago - but I sadly never got around to it before I lost her.


I honestly don't know where things will go from here, boys and girls.  I've still got plenty of non-musical stuff on my plate to deal with, so perhaps I'll shift focus a bit and let the musical end of my spectrum look after itself for a spell.  Sit tight and be patient - I'll sing out when things are resolved in due course.


More shortly.