A telling of my journeys through the uncharted frontiers of life as a professional musician. Shows, travel, expenses, tips, songs, lyrics, taxes and all the work and play that comes with it. Want to come?
The goofy Verizon song rings on my phone. The robotic female voice monotonously repeats "Call from Sean Postanowicz". I pick up. "Hey whats up man?" he says. "Nothing, I'm just doing some practicing" "Playing guitar?" "Actually bass" "Hey what would you think about teaching bass" "What, like...teach it to someone? "Yeah" "Um, I mean yeah I guess, I have only played it for like a couple weeks" "Okay well I have this dilemma I was supposed to teach at this place......but..then I accidentally got another job somewhere else. Do you think you could write a pretty good bass lesson?" "What kind of bass lesson, this is for a beginner, right?" "Yeah, of course, cool, write it up, you have to give a bass lesson to one of the head instructors at this music school at 4" "WHAT!?" "I'll text you the address and meet you at 4, see ya" "But wait, I.." click.
And this is how began my career as a bass instructor. Believe it or not, this intro lesson actually went pretty well. I actually have one more introductory lesson to give and then I'm official. I love the unpredictability of music life, but I'm rushing to learn like mad because in as short as time possible, I need to go from this:
To this:
Since the moment this phone call ended, I have been in a Rocky montage but instead of punching meat I've been slappin' da bass (or at least trying to). Im trying to learn how to slap, walk, groove, shimmy, etc....so if any of you blokes out there play a mean bass, I would love for any tips, tricks, shortcuts to help speed the process of becoming a bass badass.
Hey remember that time when I was going up post a recording of "Looking Up", that original song I wrote? I know it's been so long everyone has probably almost lost interest. I went through a while of going back and forth between what lyrics I wanted so I just said screw it and put something up last night, I hope you like it. Let me know what you think.
So, like many Americans, I have made a few resolutions this year. One is to run a half marathon (I might to for a full one, but it just seems a little boring to run for about 4 hours). Another is to finally get my rock/blues/funk/fusion chops together and apply all that stuff I learned at Berklee and never used (for my music friends; using Mmaj7th arpeggios in solos, harmonic minor runs, melodic minor chord scales, etc.). I would like to start trying to really learn Japanese as my next language. I messed around with it in Community College, but only remember random phrases like "I am the Pokemon Master". I realize Spanish is much more practical and probably easier, but I've wanted to learn it for a while. Oh yes, and how could I forget the last and not least of the resolutions: One year, no beer (and all other alcohol included). I am attempting to stay clear from all alcohol for a year. This may be very challenging, especially on St. Patrick's day and the weddings coming up, but I figure if you can't enjoy the fun parts of life without a buzz, thats a problem. So please, respond to this with your New Year's resolutions and tell me how they're holding out so far. Hopefully still going strong, as we haven;t even rounded the first month yet! Lets make this year one to proud of.
This blog is part of a little paper Im writing. It's not particularly aimed toward music, but I thought it would be an interesting read for some of you. It's a little phenomenon I've noticed over the years, I tried to take it out of the abstract and throw in some simple analogies so it doesn't sound like the rantings of a sleep-deprived Scientologist. I hope you enjoy. Give me your two cents or even ten cents if you got it.
Staying in the same exact place physically, emotionally or mentally, or an extended period of time will hault all of your “momentum” through time and thus increases your entropy, or chaos. Think of yourself like water: if you move you stay fresh, like a clean fast flowing river, if you don’t move you become stale, stagnant and unhealthy, like a dirty black swamp. Studies are showing (medical journals, websites, private studies, etc.) increasing evidence that this “stagnation” actually is detrimental to your overall health, which would seem to be the universe’s way of letting us know not do it. Sitting for hours on end in the same spot (physical stagnation) increases risk of death according to the New American Cancer Society. Dwelling on thoughts or past events (emotional stagnation) can lead to depression, anxiety, according to a researcher at the University of Missouri-Columbia. Simply not thinking or challenging the mind (mental stagnation) can lead to Alzheimer’s, Attention Deficit Disorder and overall lack of cognition and/or concentration. The observable detriments of not moving should be obvious indicators that human beings are not made to move or behave in such a way.
In his 1962 handwritten essay, one of my personal favorite people of history, Bruce Lee, states “Water is so fine that it is impossible to grasp a handful of it; strike it, yet it does not suffer hurt; stab it, and it is not wounded; sever it, yet it is not divided. It has no shape of its own but moulds itself to the receptacle that contains it. When heated to the state of steam it is invisible but has enough power to split the earth itself. When frozen it crystallizes into a mighty rock. First it is turbulent like Niagara Falls, and then calm like a still pond, fearful like a torrent, and refreshing like a spring on a hot summer's day."
Bruce Lee's whole spiel on the system of martial arts he developed, Jeet Kun Do, was to be like water. Once you could truly understand what that meant, you would never loose a fight. Once mastered, one would have an awareness of everything going on around and could react in a way that would diffuse incoming energy to nothing. It seems like water is an even better role model than Dr. Phil. Whoop. Also, water doesn't cheat on its wife.
The theme of this story would be: move. All the time. In every way. When you stop moving, the universe begins to make you get fat, dumb and stressed. Think of every moment you are not improving something, you are slowly becoming an emotionally vulnerable, quadriplegic Pillsbury Doughboy. The battle against entropy is a never ending one. So go for a run (or a walk). Read a book. Try to experience new sights, sounds and sensations. Go somewhere you've never been. Try new flavors, hear new sounds, try new hobbies and for the terribly lazy even new TV channels will get your mental cogs turning a little bit (like a TLC documentary on the origins of our solar system instead of a rerun of "Real Housewives of Orange County") Even a new beer or wine you've never had will stimulate your brain and help you from becoming a stale soul. Change up the pace you've established in your life. You'll stay fresh and clear headed and hopefully people will stop telling you you smell like a swamp.
Once again, its been too long since my last entry. Im just dying to get me hands on a digital camera so I can stop having to pester all my camera owning friends for pictures of the blog worthy events. But let's get to the real blog.
Last weekend I ran the Tri State Tough Mudder in Englishtown, NJ. It was the first race of my life and probably not the best way to ease into racing, but once I had registered it was too late. On its homepage, the Tough Mudder is described as follows:
"Tough Mudder is not your average lame-ass mud run or spirit-crushing ‘endurance’ road race. It’s Ironman meets Burning Man, and it is coming to a city near you. Our 7-12 mile obstacle courses are designed by British Special Forces to test all around strength, stamina, mental grit, and camaraderie. Forget finish times. Simply completing a Tough Mudder is a badge of honor. All Tough Mudder sponsorship proceeds go to the Wounded Warrior Project."
I ran the Tough Mudder as a 4 man team with two high school buddies and one of their college buddies, including:
Will - The Team Captain and Navy SEAL in training. He runs Ironmans as a cool down from his real workouts. It is rumored that he once ran the entire length of the Grand Canyon in fifteen minutes.
Mike - Seen here sniping unwanted cats, Mike is a weightlifter and another man of the military that informed us race day that he didn't start running until 7 days prior.
Sean - The unbreakable Polack who trained with me to prep for the race. He also loves pain almost as much as trees.
The journey starts inside of the awkwardly silent Toyota Prius on rt 4 north, destination: Jersey, baby. Snookie was not seen, although she was smelled briefly on the turnpike. After about 300 miles and $0.16 in gas money we arrived at our friend Christy's to stuff ourselves with gluttonous amounts of whole wheat pasta and begin the pre race slumber. Unfortunately for me, I couldn't sleep. So I stared at the ceiling for about 7 hours until everyone started getting up at about 6:00 A.M. After a light breakfast we all jumped in Christy's SUV, which spent all the gas we saved in the Prius in about 10 miles, and headed for Englishtown, about 25 miles from where we were.
We get out for a stretch in the parking lot. I've already been up for 24 hours and now a little wired from the 5 Hour Energy I just drank to take the fog away. Even less to my advantage, I realize I am wearing a pair of blinding white K-Swiss tennis shoes. I will later find I am quite possibly the only person in this entire race without a bad-ass pair of running shoes. A frigid northern wind is sweeping through the lot, biting our noses and ears. I look around the parking lot to see what look like members of SEAL team 6 stretching and lacing up. I am later relieved to realize that not all the race runners will look like the Expendables. These guys were the Mudder Elites, running this race for time and trying to qualify for World's Toughest Mudder, the 50 mile version of this 12 mile race. As we approach the registration booth, a woman on a megaphone is repeating "come sign your death waver here, you cannot register until you sign the death waver".
We all sign our lives away, get our paperwork, get our race numbers and I meet a couple of in line behind us that tell me they were up all night drinking and bar hopping and their friend flying in from Nevada might not even be registered. I suddenly feel less tired and less worried. We start our warm up run.
The air temp is about 38*F with the wind chill, but the cold air will soon be the least of our worries.
November 20, 2010. 9:40 A.M. We are tightly pakced at the starting line, which lies in the middle of an empty football stadium. We are in a mob of fellow runners, some with war paint, some in costume, all gritting teeth and clenched hands. A very enthusiastic man is guiding us through the Tough Mudder creed on a megaphone,
"As a Tough Mudder I pledge that…
* I understand that Tough Mudder is not a race but a challenge.
* I put teamwork and camaraderie before my course time.
* I do not whine – kids whine.
* I help my fellow Mudders complete the course.
* I overcome all fears."
Sounds great. My heart it pounding, my legs are coiled springs ready to run the length of the earth. Silence.
Then an air horn goes off, they throw a smoke bomb into the middle of the crowd and everyone madly sprints towards a monster truck that floors it though the first stretch of track. As we leave the obnoxiously sticky rubber track in the stadium we see several friendly reminders:
So we were off, establishing pace at mile one, and seeing fellow racers who had left earlier coming the opposite way on the track next to us yelling "It's not too late to turn back! Quit now while you still can! You WILL die!". Quite encouraging. After a good 1.5 miles we cross a pair of ropes tied taught over a river. No problem. We all get through easily and then come to a tall wooden platform with a rope. We climb up to see that there's nothing but a drop. And water. Dozens of other racers are jumping in, so without too much thought I plunge in, right next to a guy dressed as Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.
When I hit the water, my body instinctively panics. Instant loss of breath, my skin is burning and my mind screams repeatedly "GET THE F#&^ OUT OF THIS WATER!! Im sure this is what most people were going through. To say it was cold is laughable. This water felt like absolute zero. People are being pulled out left and right by life guards and medical personal. Some people hit the water and instantly panic. One man, upon impact, goes into shock and is rushed to a nearby hospital. Water temp at the time is about 35* fahrenheit. About 10 minutes until hypothermia begins in this kind of water. This was no longer a nice jog in a cold morning New Jersey. The real race had begun. Move forward or die. Everyone, including myself, is scrambling as fast as our quickly numbing bodies allow only to find an obstacle in the water itself. Pairs of barrels blocking the way out. Can't climb over. Are you kidding? I take in a deep breath and go under. All the noises and screams of racers are muted by the water. Complete darkness. The water is so murky not even the slightest hint of light shines through to help guide the way around. The ice cold water is a piercing every inch of my face and body. Im frantically trying to feel my way to the opening and my breath is almost out after only a few seconds. I blindly take a guess and attempt to surface. My God, breathing air never felt so good. I have to do this twice more before Im out of the water.
I can hear Sean and a dozen other random Mudders screaming profanities over my own for a moment. He soon comes running out of the water, steaming and shivering with the rest of the team. Laughing at how absurdly cold the water was, we are off again. We have to trek through the water again before the water obstacles are over. Getting out the second time feels like my skin is coming off of my bones with each step. The 38 degree air felt like a warm afternoon on a California beach after getting out of the water. The course had many spots that almost overlapped itself, so we could see people who were earlier on and further ahead in the race at certain times.
It was easy to tell who had and hadn't gone in the water yet, not even by seeing who was soaked and who wasn't,
but by who was laughing and cheerful and excited
and who looked like they just left a concentration camp.
After that water, every Mudder's game faces were on. We climbed over and under cargo nets,
Ran at least three miles through waist high mud, hills, and turns
Slammed ourselves up and over walls
Climbed through cramped wooden piping lined with jagged rocks
Had to carry a car tire a half mile and then immediately run through field's worth of kerosene-soaked hay, flaming and smoking as much as the inside of a burning building.
Oh and lets not forget the 'suprise obstacle' that wasn't revealed until we were at the starting line. This last little gem was a roughly 20 square foot wooden frame with electrified wire dangling from the top, effectively named "The Jellyfish". What did it feel like? This gives you a little bit of an idea.
Then we see it. The home stretch. Right back where we started. My water-logged K-Swiss felt like Looney Tunes prison shackles with the cannonball attached. We joined arms and took one last sprint through the finish, to a massive and welcoming crowd.
After a brutal 12.09 miles, covered in mud, legs heavy, body shaking from the stress of the race and the extreme temperatures we all rushed to the post-race concessions where we ravenously ate the free energy bars, bananas and muscle-milks.
Immediately after finishing, Will went to the information booth to talk to the registrar. He had already paid for two days and since we weren't going to be in Jersey the next day like we had initially planned, he decided he was just going to get his money's worth by running the entire race over again the same day. But to raise the stakes, he grabs a 25lb kettle bell and begins the entire run over again!
Thats pretty damn tough. My hat goes off to you Will and all you other guys and gals who were carrying 30lb chains, rucksacks filled with weights and you crazy mofo's who dressed in full on suit and ties, briefcases included. The best part of the race was the overall sense of camaraderie. I saw people sacrificing race time to help strangers, groups forming human chains to pull competitors up huge mud covered hills and people pulling down the cargo net so everyone else could just jump over. Thats teamwork.
You don't see that much on the streets, but if there is a place to help that "every man is my brother" mentality, the Tough Mudder is the place where it starts.
We all were rewarded with orange Tough Mudder headbands, shirts and free Dogfish Head Beer. It was one hell of a race and I have nothing but respect for each and every one of you fellow Tough Mudders. Good racing, and I'm looking forward to seeing some of you in either PA or VT.
Ok, ok, long overdue for a blog entry. It's been a bit of a crazy month. One of my best friends finally landed a winning blow on the job market and got hired as a surgeon's assistant in Kentucky. Crazy how someone with a Biochemistry major has touble finding a job. Damn economy. This month I have also been frantically trying to locate the last few pieces of my authentic Sweeney Todd costume (for Halloween, of course). There was a court date I had to worry about (suspended registration for not doing a VEIP emissions test) but I decided to fight to $140.00 fine. The MVA screwed up and reported that I lived in a county I did not at my old address. In St. Marys (my current county) you aren't required by law to take VEIP tests. I explained my dilemma to the judge, despite the state attorney's best efforts to tell me I was guilty because I failed to present a specific document. Long story short,"Not Guilty". Booya. Hit a few local open mics as well. Not to mention a decent amount of gigs this month. So with all that paired with my uncanny propensity for procrastination, I must say I am sorry for such a long delay.
Anyways.
Last week, I was playing at Obrien's again, up in Annapolis MD. It was a wednesday night, not that many people at the bar at first. Sometimes its really hard to give your set all of your energy when you have to play 4 hours 2-5 nights a week, sometimes for only 4 or 5 people. Its hard to always want to play your best because when you play for a living, the job aspect of it really pushes you down at times. Thankfully, a few of my friends showed up, which always makes me feel like the last 3 men of a losing battalion watching 100 reinforcements come rushing over the hill to help them. One of the reinforcements being Ben Bays, a badass percussionist who had played with the Naptown band "The Higher Hands", an infectious groove oriented band with Funk, Go-Go and R & B roots. He just so happened to have his Conga on him. I figured the crowd wouldn't mind a little extra power to the rhythm for the last set. So we jammed out on "Sunday Morning", "Beg, Steal, or Borrow", "Hey Jealousy", and the place started dancing. Everyone was raising their beers, laughing bobbing heads; pretty much every sign you hope to see as a performer. One of them came up to us, introducing himself as Teddy and asked it he could play on a song, informing us that he was in a band. Good enough for us. So Teddy scooted up to Bens Conga and started throwing a cow-skin beatdown. I came in with the the chord progression from "Hotel California". And we rocked out in a fiery unison for the happy patrons. After finishing up the set Ben and I sat down at the bar with Teddy. Turns out Teddy was Teddy Mulet. As in the trumpet player for "Blood Sweat and Tears" and "Gloria Estefan".
(Wahumuna!? Its Teddy Mulet!?)
After looking around the room, I noticed it wasn't just Teddy, but half of band! They just so happened to be touring in Annapolis and were playing at Ram's Head the next night. They were in Obrien's to unwind after a long drive. Teddy was a really nice guy, he was telling us about lots of great spots to play in Florida, stories about the road and how about being a young man in the audience at a "Blood Sweat and Tears" concert, obviously before he himself was a member. He told me "I never could have guessed I would be up there playing with them about 20 years later." I'd say that's about as much inspiration as you can get playing a random local bar gig on a Wednesday night, wouldn't you?
I was actually happy I didn't really know who I was playing for, that would of probably made it a little nerve wracking. They are all such high caliber musicians, and its nice to see them off the stage, realizing they are just chill people who so happen to play music. So we hung out the rest of the night, talking to the rest of the band and having a couple pints. A few weeks before, an entire minor league baseball team from California walked in the door. I guess you should always be trying to play your best, you never know who will walk in the door.
So remember when I said I would write a song for Ingrid Michaelson? Well Im finally finished and I going to let you see the lyrics before I officially record it. Its called "Looking Up". It's my "shot in the dark but I'm still wishing to meet you" song. Feel free to throw your two cents in, although Im unlikely to change anything about it since I went through about 5 drafts and Im quite happy with the way it sounds, musically and lyrically, I always like to hear feedback. Think Nick Drake, Paulo Nutini, and of course Ingrid. Simple pretty, diatonic finger-picking pattern style playing with soft mid-range vocals and earnest tone.
I can’t seem to find a good beginning That plays as well as the reel my head’s been spinning But I figured I At least should try
You might think I am just a little crazy Or I’m long lost in a sea of reverie So I’ll just say Please come my way
I’ve been looking up Waiting for the chance to come
Maybe we could go out for a coffee And we could trade a few funny stories And then from there Who knows where
I’ve been looking up Waiting for the chance to come
If you are weary of my intentions And I won’t ever win your time or your affection Just tell me I’m looking in the wrong direction So I can get this crick out of my neck
Til’ then I’ll be holding onto my wishes Dreaming that the sound of all your kisses In sweet array Will gently say
I’ve been looking up Waiting for the chance to come
(painting by Jim Thalassoudis)
So there it is. Im realizing as iI look at the lyrics more and more this can pretty be used for any two people, so it will be open up to a wider range of listeners who are looking up as well. Since you dont know what the music sounds like I'm interested in how what you expect will differ from what I've written. Hope you enjoy it and again, feel free to let me know what you think. It's one of about 6-8 songs Im going to try and get recorded and put on a new, entirely acoustic album. And Ingrid Michaelson, although your probably never going to read this, Ill be looking up.
Honestly. I know Im a night owl and my job requires late hours but this is not cool.
I want to know who designed the roads and intersections in DC? Was it designed by a group of lemmings? Look closely at the time stamp on this post. Yes, 5:10 A.M. Why? Because it took me almost an hour and a half to make my way out of the intestinal track of satan that is currently known as downtown DC. Now the gig itself went pretty well (James Hoban's; an Irish pub with a really cool staff and lots o' drinks, wa woo wee wa). My Mapquest directions led me there correctly but the last tenth of a mile was absurd. Du Pont circle is pretty much the biggest shit show of city road planning you will ever see. It looks something like this:
("Welcome to Du Pont circle, please check your mental health and well being at the first stop light")
Yeah, Imagine that steaming dump of a traffic circle with fifteen side streets that all have the same name and stop lights every 12 feet that stay red for 5 minutes and green for .06 seconds. Seriously, why do pedestrians need 45 seconds to cross a 10 foot area? Is everyone in DC quadriplegic? Are they out walking their turtles? After already being late to my gig from having to circle the restaurant 5 times around figure A to find a parking spot I was a little on edge. The 3 hours of playing music to pretty girls and fellow Irish brethren helped me quell my heart attack for while. A couple of Jameson's on the rocks didn't hurt, either. However, after the gig was over and I was packed up and headed back home I pretty much had a full on aneurism within ten minutes of trying to follow the Mapquest directions backwards. On top of having to follow the directions backward and being in completely unfamiliar territory, every road sign in DC looks like this:
So you are lost in DC. It's 2:30 A.M. Everyone is drunk and seemingly a potential threat to your well being. You see a guy puking all over the road, two people are making out on corner (not romantically but sloppily and angrily), a girl gets her heel stuck in a crack and plummets into a fire hydrant. Now these sights can be amusing and/or hilarious, but not when you don't know how to get away from such an area. And just when you think you've taken every single road and you cant get any more lost you come to this little diddy:
(so do I just get out my car?)
I almost lost it after my second attempted escape was foiled by a construction detour that led me right back downtown after 40 minutes of what I thought was proactive driving. Apparently the city was not ready to let me go just yet. My nerves were tingling, my eyes were bloodshot, and people in cars next to me appeared to be uncomfortable when they timidly glanced over at me talking to myself in my seat, rocking back and forth. Just before I became Michael Douglass in "Falling Down", by some miracle, I made it out onto the interstate. I have never been so happy to see the beltway. As of this moment, I never want to go to DC again. Am I being dramatic? Of course, that's half the fun. Actually thats all of the fun because nothing else about this was fun. Getting out of DC when you don't know how is about as much fun as using a cactus as toilet paper. Probably a little less bloody, though.
If you are reading this and you, either wholly or in part, are/were responsible for the designing of the roadways in the downtown area of the District of Columbia, please contact me at 1-800-jump off of a bridge with rocks tied to your feet.
My friend Sean and I were making some food at my house. His friend-girl (not girlfriend) was planning on meeting us for some Balderdash later in the evening. By some turn of events, she texts him on his new, amazing Droid that she can't make it. It's always an unfortunate time when the prospect of being in the presence of women, in all their splendor, is impeded. So rather than sulk in the corner and spend the night playing Halo and crying in a puddle of urine (foreshadowing), we decided to try and turn the events back around. He texts back "No way, you have to come, I'm making food and I even wrote a song for you I was going to play, its called peeing in your pants". "Aww, really!?" she replies hinting that there may be hope after all. I wasn't entirely sure how a song about peeing yourself would get such a response, but whatever. It's still a shot in the dark, and more likely will just make her feel guilty than actually change her mind and decide to come over. She replies "I'll be there in fifteen". Wahuh!? We look at each other. We realize a new predicament. We have no such song. Sean doesn't want to look like a huge, lying d-bag, so that means we have fifteen minutes to write a full song, lyrics and melody, about "peeing in your pants" while still maintaining a lighthearted, slightly romantic and funny tone without being too ridiculous (assuming that would be the appropriate style for this situation). I also have never met this girl, so she may hear it, be completely offended and say "You guys are dicks" and then leave. We run upstairs, abandoning the veggie burger on the stove and we get crackin'. Sean was preoccupied guiding her, via the Droid, to the house and time was of the essence, so I scrambled to crank out some lyrics as fast as I could. My degree has finally come in handy. The lyrics go as follows:
You've got the prettiest smile And I love the way you move when you dance Something about your hair falling in your face makes me a little crazy But its not as half as cute as when you pee your pants
So come a little closer I'd like to give you a little
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you Trickle trickle Tickle, tickle So I can watch you Trickle trickle
You shouldn't feel ashamed at all It's something I can definitely overlook Because the only thing that I really can be concerned about Is the heavy beating heart you recently took
So come a little closer I'd like to give you a little
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you Trickle trickle Tickle, tickle So I can watch you Trickle trickle
If it would make you feel better I don't mind clothes a little bit wetter I never told anyone, bit I do it too, we can pee together
So come a little closer I'd like to give you a little
Tickle, tickle So I can watch you Trickle trickle Tickle, tickle So I can watch you Trickle trickle
Song Form (be careful, advanced songwriter use only):
Yes, cliche lyrics everywhere, but that happens when you have to crank out a song in about ten minutes. Also I've never seen her dance, but it rhymed with pants, so leave me alone. I finish just as Sean is going back downstairs to let her in the door. He walks her up the stairs and through my bedroom door and I'm just finishing printing out the lyrics for us to read. Just as we are introducing one another, Sean goes "what's that burning smell?". Veggie burger. Fire. Death. He sprints downstairs and comes back up with something that looks like a veggie burger on one side, asphalt and charred seagulls on the other. He still ate it, though. Anyways she loved the song. Maybe we'll put up a recording of it sometime soon. In hindsight, I feel this may have been a little bit creepy to sing to a girl the first time meeting her. A very interesting way to make a first impression, but I think it was a worthwhile endeavor. I know what you're thinking. "Wow, Dylan, how much did it cost to harness such awesome skills that allowed you to write a song about peeing your pants in ten minutes!?" About $100,000 from Berklee College of Music. Dammit.
Usually at OBrien's on a tuesday night, there is a very, very small and quiet crowd. Sometimes an occasional bar patron will bob their head and seem to be into what Im playing. The bartenders are always great, they always give a good applause after every song. But nonetheless, its usually a quiet night for the most part, without much suprise, because its tuesday. This only one day after terrible monday, the worst day the world will ever now. The dreaded workweek is only 2/7th done, lots of pain to suffer through, so understandably, the morale of the tuesday nighters is about equivalent to the Jonas Brothers before a bare-knuckle bar fight with Jason Statham. However, last night was a little different.
A small group of my good friends came (about 10) and made OBrien's sound like a baseball game, which may or may not have been enjoyed by the manager. I'm sure he didn't mind that much when he saw the bar tab, though. I was loving every second of it. Judging by the applauses after the songs and the volume of the voices singing along, it was like playing for a family of Tazmanian devils with megaphones, every solo artists dream come true. Well, at least mine. My dear friend Danny had a few sips of a couple beers and was Gobstoppin' (Annapolis jargon meaning "dancing") and singing opera style vocal harmonies. He's a jazz vocal major from Towson with a larger than life personality. To give you an idea, this is Danny:
(The piercings are fake)
A couple of my lovely lady friends from home, Steph and Erin, all gussied up and looking fine, made the one and a half hour journey all the way up from Leonardtown to come see me. I was quite happy about that. So they walked over and sat at the bar near the table the rest of my friends were at and began whaling away to all the lyrics of the songs also while also making the view even better. Soon after they arrived, by some strange scientific anomale, almost 30 people trickled in over the next 45 minutes. Obriens was packed with a bunch of singing, dancing fiends and it couldn't have been more wonderful.
The highlight of the night, had to be when of my friend at the table began singing along with "Party in the USA". He has a God-like volume to his voice and was screaming in death metal style "YEEEEEAAHH-EEEYAA-EEYA-EEYA, ITS A PARTY IN THE U.S. A." Now I'm aware that this glass shaking, bird-exploding, baby killing screaming (which was as loud as my voice going through the P.A.)cannot be fully described in text, but imagine M. Shadows from Avenged Sevenfold wearing Darth Vaders Helmet. Also keep in mind it was enough to make almost the entire bar stop mid- conversation in awe of what they heard.
After hearing his Miley Cyrus death metal voice, I started laughing while I was trying to sing. My attempt at trying so hard not to laugh made it even harder not to laugh, and my friends, especially Danny, whose two sips of beer had him buzzing like a neon sign, absolutely lost it and almost coughed his beer all over the table. The chain reaction spread to everyone else at the table and it just snowballed between us. I began to laugh so hard I stopped mid-song, keeled over in hysterical pain and almost fell to the floor. It was the first time in my life someone had made me laugh enough mid song to make me stop during a show. I really hope it wasn't the last, either. I finally composed myself and finished my set with half the bar singing "Wonderwall". Not my favorite song of all time, but people seem to like it.
After the show, we all headed to the famous "Double T" after an overzealous douche bag of a police officer screamed at us for standing around my car, quietly discussing plans of where to go and eating a bag of organic almonds. Then he gave Danny a stare down, as if he had just sexaully assaulted a small rodent in a public place. I guess officer douche-bag doesn't like almonds. Maybe he's having family problems. Maybe he just pooped his pants. All in all, it was a great night, definitely my favorite time at Obriens so far. Thank you guys for coming and I'm looking forward to more shows like that.
(Hey, get the hell out of here! There are no almonds allowed on this street!)
