Oh, God...Who Are These Bozos?

I feared going on AFTER the DJ (who's skills were spot-on) would not shed kind light on this impromptu band of mostly AARP members. I thought I could hear groaning and curt remarks from the evening's revelers such as, "Oh God, who's this bozo outfit?" or "Oh no, whattaya wanna bet this will be a night of shitty CCR coming our way."
But alas, this was not the case. Sure, I don't gig as much as I'd like to these days, and when I do, you never know what your going to get but, but this night, I don't think I let these old duffers down.
Mitch and I grooved well I thought. And I didn't get any disparaging glances from the likes of Stone Town. Jack rolls pretty easy anyway so the few times I did fluff, well, we always just laugh it off...for the most part...to my face anyway.
I rehearsed one night earlier in the week and thank God. Colin had put together a list of requests from he and his bride such as Sister Golden Hair (that went okay), Never My Love-pretty good actually, helped put us on the map, Eight Days A Week-not bad, The Letter-not bad,
Have You Seen Her Face-I think we did that one, I think it went well, It Won't be Wrong- It was, Sunshine Superman-fun, If Not For You-I think we played that,
You Didn't Have To Be So Nice-good fun, C'mon Lets Go-good. You get the gist.
Anyhoo, nice to see Sir Charles, Mitch and Mark Schrock...and Jack and Linda and StoneTown. The sound guy was very good, Colin, he's a keeper. And of course congrats to you and your bride.
Oh, and very good to see Kathy and Roger and Eric Dahlstrom and of course...Mr. Leaver

Moosified

Since the last time I bellowed, the arsses had changed somewhat and so did the vibe ( aging musician-speak). No offense Dave, Jack or Dennie, but this last bass player and myself locked in pretty dang nicely. But then we should, we had played together for like 6-8 years or somethin. Some fellers and some fellers with their dames appeared from way back. So that added to the merryment. Always helps a little to play like you need to show 'em you still got "it"...or at least you're trying to get "it" back. Or maybe sorta had "it" maybe at one time, some time ago.
Grooves were good and we swang. Its tough to mawk when it rawks. Its really more fun, at least from a writing standpoint, to rag about it when it sucks...this didn't suck.

Pre Mother's Day Moose

I didn't have the fore-thought to take my own pictures so, like I do, I "borrowed" this photo from Google. I'll give em credit, I always do. Thanks davidstover.com. So, while I don't know anyone in this photo, the vision you see is similar to what I see. Actually, with the exception of the arsses belonging to someone else, this is exactly what I see. And most if not all drummers will tell you, its rather hum-drum, this vision.
Note worthy highlights will appear from time to time but may only be significant to players involved. Heady, sometimes dramatic (usually taking place within the mind of any one particular player), insider stuff that takes place behind the scenes.
On this night, the players: Jack - guitars/vocals/a little bass, Dave - guitar/vocals/a little bass and Denny - keyboards/vocals/ and a little bass and Todd - drums/no vocals/no bass what-so-ever, "headlined" the Moose in Fremont this past Saturday night.
In this setting, there is no rehearsal. Thats because the players are, or should be, seasoned enough to fly by the seat of their pants. If all or some have not joined in by say the 8th bar, the song could very well take on a life of its own, and usually does, as we can easily right that off as, "buzz off, it's our interpretation."
Sometimes, when ending a song incorrectly or shall I say, at the wrong time, certain players give certain other players a look of disdain as in "Boy, you really effed that up." And yes, it was effed up, but then, we didn't rehearse now did we? Only to be acknowledged in return with a "why did you pick that song in the first place you infant bastard." Hardy guffaws ensue.
Sadly, with no real bass player in the house, the rhythm section was doing its best to fall into only sporadic grooves. A little here, a little there. Cue sera, sera.
At the end of the evening, I, the drummer, was asked to take less of my fee, as I had not proved reliable when it came to ending songs at the appropriate time. And yes it's true, through the years, i've been relegated to a bench player, 3rd string even. But it's been my own doing you see, the calibre of players is no longer what it used to be and one must put up with vain, aging drival from the remaining horses left to wander the pasture. As I stood up to leave for the evening, I took the hit to the pocketbook like the professional that I am and spoke these last words: "Yeah, well your bass playing is, is, sub-par."
The level of the playing field was once again even.