Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Best. Road. Story. Evar.
Back when I was basically still traveling and playing music full-time, I joined a pseudo-punky, "new-wave" band led by a guitarist named Danny who I had worked with previously in another rock band. His brother played drums and the vocalist was like a very skinny Bon Scott (from AC/DC). We did a bunch of the latter's stuff, other similar stuff, as well as some originals, one of which had made it to Q-107's "Homegrown Contest" disc. (This was the reason for him leaving and going back to his previous band.)
I liken my time with them to being a reliever baseball pitcher: we never seemed to be good enough to be in the regular rotation; we just got called out of the bullpen when the starter got yanked. We always got calls early Tuesday morning, told to warm up (the truck) and get over to some club (50 miles away, 500 miles away). The band that had been booked originally was too loud, or drank too much, or trashed a room or something and had gotten themselves fired.
So one week we get a call to head for the Eastern Townships just outside Montreal, PQ. We get there, we set up, we play. Turns out, they don't like us or the music, either. Take your pick. I would have settled for just lukewarm applause. The owner/manager is not happy and she tells us that several times. We try to be accommodating and attempt to please them on any and all levels. Nothing seems to work and by the week-end, the few people who do show up are not shy about making nasty comments in our direction. We muddle through....
It's Sunday night (bars are open Sunday in Quebec) and we are finally done. We begin the not-so-revered and (but in this case) welcomed process of tearing down and loading out. The owner walks over and hands Danny the week's pay. In the form of a cheque (aka check). My Spidey senses tingle immediately. I tell Danny to ask for cash, but the owner protests and says that since business was so bad, she has to pay with this method, and walks away. My message to Danny is, "I've got a bad feeling about this!"
So we are loaded up and ready to go. All the while, I've been telling D. to hold off on returning home. I argue that it's late (it's almost 4:30am), and we can still stay in the rooms and catch a few hours of sleep, and hit the bank first thing in the morning and cash the cheque. He is adamant about leaving as soon as we are ready. (I think he mumbled something about missing his girlfriend.) I tell him that once we leave, we will, in all likelihood, be out of luck if the cheque doesn't go through. I tell him that all the while I was the leader in previous bands, we always got cash, and, if not, otherwise waited out the delay until we could turn it into cash. He won't hear of it and I have this terrible feeling that we are doomed.
Since I was really only a "hired-pair-of-hands" and not a partner, I got paid a regular weekly salary; the rest split the profit. I call Danny over and tell that we have a problem. There are two vehicles; there are two licensed drivers; I am one of them. They also have a slush fund for gas and other expenses. Unless I get paid from that fund right here, right now, I am not getting behind the wheel of the truck. I argue my point just as hard as he has argued his about leaving. I'm not budging an inch until then. This goes on for several minutes, until finally he grudgingly gives in and fills my hand with $20's. (I really hated to do that, but I wanted to get paid - and also make a point.)
"OK, then!" I say, and we are off.
Next week, I get another call for yet another relief job. Just before he hangs up, Danny admits that this cheque did indeed turn to rubber on the trip back. Bounce at the Bank!!. The partners never got paid, and the sound gear, lighting equipment and truck payments will all be late. I told him, I was sorry that this fell on him, but I had warned him. A tough lesson to learn.
The moral? A smart person learns from their mistakes; the really smart ones learn from others' mistakes. Or it might be: In God We Trust; everybody else gotta pay cash!!!
I liken my time with them to being a reliever baseball pitcher: we never seemed to be good enough to be in the regular rotation; we just got called out of the bullpen when the starter got yanked. We always got calls early Tuesday morning, told to warm up (the truck) and get over to some club (50 miles away, 500 miles away). The band that had been booked originally was too loud, or drank too much, or trashed a room or something and had gotten themselves fired.
So one week we get a call to head for the Eastern Townships just outside Montreal, PQ. We get there, we set up, we play. Turns out, they don't like us or the music, either. Take your pick. I would have settled for just lukewarm applause. The owner/manager is not happy and she tells us that several times. We try to be accommodating and attempt to please them on any and all levels. Nothing seems to work and by the week-end, the few people who do show up are not shy about making nasty comments in our direction. We muddle through....
It's Sunday night (bars are open Sunday in Quebec) and we are finally done. We begin the not-so-revered and (but in this case) welcomed process of tearing down and loading out. The owner walks over and hands Danny the week's pay. In the form of a cheque (aka check). My Spidey senses tingle immediately. I tell Danny to ask for cash, but the owner protests and says that since business was so bad, she has to pay with this method, and walks away. My message to Danny is, "I've got a bad feeling about this!"
So we are loaded up and ready to go. All the while, I've been telling D. to hold off on returning home. I argue that it's late (it's almost 4:30am), and we can still stay in the rooms and catch a few hours of sleep, and hit the bank first thing in the morning and cash the cheque. He is adamant about leaving as soon as we are ready. (I think he mumbled something about missing his girlfriend.) I tell him that once we leave, we will, in all likelihood, be out of luck if the cheque doesn't go through. I tell him that all the while I was the leader in previous bands, we always got cash, and, if not, otherwise waited out the delay until we could turn it into cash. He won't hear of it and I have this terrible feeling that we are doomed.
Since I was really only a "hired-pair-of-hands" and not a partner, I got paid a regular weekly salary; the rest split the profit. I call Danny over and tell that we have a problem. There are two vehicles; there are two licensed drivers; I am one of them. They also have a slush fund for gas and other expenses. Unless I get paid from that fund right here, right now, I am not getting behind the wheel of the truck. I argue my point just as hard as he has argued his about leaving. I'm not budging an inch until then. This goes on for several minutes, until finally he grudgingly gives in and fills my hand with $20's. (I really hated to do that, but I wanted to get paid - and also make a point.)
"OK, then!" I say, and we are off.
Next week, I get another call for yet another relief job. Just before he hangs up, Danny admits that this cheque did indeed turn to rubber on the trip back. Bounce at the Bank!!. The partners never got paid, and the sound gear, lighting equipment and truck payments will all be late. I told him, I was sorry that this fell on him, but I had warned him. A tough lesson to learn.
The moral? A smart person learns from their mistakes; the really smart ones learn from others' mistakes. Or it might be: In God We Trust; everybody else gotta pay cash!!!
