helliott
December 9th, 2007, 03:41 PM
If you've got a few minutes you might enjoy this true story.
Last night, Saturday, Dec. 8, my son, me and two mates participated in a battle of the bands. The contestants were all from or affiliated with one media outlet or another, from Toronto and Hamilton (they're not far apart).
We decided to do this a few months ago. We recruited a friend of my son's, whose also 18, and a great drummer. To round things out I enlisted my dear friend, colleague and long-time bass playing comrade. We gave our foursome a name and picked a half dozen songs or so, then set about jamming weekly practices into already hectic schedules.
In the end, we settled on four songs, with a fifth if we were fortunate enough to be crowned. We opened with Statesboro Blues, with a nifty drum and shot segue into Because I Used to Love Her (but it's all over now). The opening twopack was followed by Sultans of Swing, and we closed with our unique version of Can't Always Get What You Want (nothing like the original, more like RHCP meets Arrowsmith covering The Stones). We had to settle for me singing the first three and our bass player doing the finale. So we toiled week after week, getting better bit by bit, and wrapped up with a short run through the Thursday before the gig.
Now, my kid's rather ecclectic. As well as being a pretty good player, he's a solid basketball player, and we didn't know originally that he had a high-level tournament that same weekend. So he started the tournament with a bruising game Friday night, and another Saturday afternoon. During the afternoon game, he took a hard knee to the thigh, resulting in a dandy charlie horse, as well as a couple of elbows to the head at various points. Earlier he'd managed to jam a string between nail and middle finger on his left hand (fretting hand), causing a nasty separation beneath the nail. You all know what that's like -- he referred to it as being rather amazingly painful. Then he had yet another tough game at 7 that night, and we rushed from the game for a quick shower and to the gig.
The venue was spectacular -- a reconditioned theatre seating 250-300 with amazing acoustics, high ceiling, top drawer mixing and lighting staff, stage manager, lovely robust bank of monitors on the stage front. The result, as we found at soundcheck during the day, was stage sound as comfortable as our living room and great sound in the theatre. It's been years since I've played a venue as nice as this one, and I'd forgotten how nice it is, as well as that weird feeling of being on a well-lit stage but only seeing the audience in sillhouette in the dark house.
There were top-notch bands on before us, and we took the stage to close the night. We felt reasonably confident, but also suitably anxious given a/Neither my buddy or me are natural singers, b/we were playing some tough stuff, especially Sultans, with my kid doing the leads and fills and me on rhythm and croaking out vocals. All during practice and on his own time, he'd been working on those solos, sometimes nailing them, sometimes messing up. He wanted to get as close to the original as possible, but lend his own feel. His only concession was to use his Tube Screamer to give a bit of cover -- not a lot.
Well, you've probably guessed by now, he nailed it. No, actually, he killed that song. Never played it better -- got the nuances, phrasing, most of the tone and added his own energy and flow. As soon as he did the second or third fill, I could tell he was rolling, busted up finger and all. As I stood by him for the final solo, and he flowed like butter into the last hyper-speed passages, the audience let out a spontaneous round of cheering that could be heard clearly on the stage. His only reaction was a little smile in one corner of his mouth as he tore through the remainder and we faded to the ending.
Fortunately, I wasn't wearing a vest, otherwise the popping buttons probably would have hurt someone in the audience.
Well, we didn't win, a sort of folk band did. But the performance was great, and we got many accolades, especially for the kid. We got home and loaded out, bedding down with that warm buzz you get after a really good show.
Of course, there was another basketball game the next morning at 10, and in the course of it, he took an errant rifle pass off the tip of guess-which finger? I remarked later, in a failed attempt at gruff father, just be thankful it happened today instead of Saturday.
The end.
Last night, Saturday, Dec. 8, my son, me and two mates participated in a battle of the bands. The contestants were all from or affiliated with one media outlet or another, from Toronto and Hamilton (they're not far apart).
We decided to do this a few months ago. We recruited a friend of my son's, whose also 18, and a great drummer. To round things out I enlisted my dear friend, colleague and long-time bass playing comrade. We gave our foursome a name and picked a half dozen songs or so, then set about jamming weekly practices into already hectic schedules.
In the end, we settled on four songs, with a fifth if we were fortunate enough to be crowned. We opened with Statesboro Blues, with a nifty drum and shot segue into Because I Used to Love Her (but it's all over now). The opening twopack was followed by Sultans of Swing, and we closed with our unique version of Can't Always Get What You Want (nothing like the original, more like RHCP meets Arrowsmith covering The Stones). We had to settle for me singing the first three and our bass player doing the finale. So we toiled week after week, getting better bit by bit, and wrapped up with a short run through the Thursday before the gig.
Now, my kid's rather ecclectic. As well as being a pretty good player, he's a solid basketball player, and we didn't know originally that he had a high-level tournament that same weekend. So he started the tournament with a bruising game Friday night, and another Saturday afternoon. During the afternoon game, he took a hard knee to the thigh, resulting in a dandy charlie horse, as well as a couple of elbows to the head at various points. Earlier he'd managed to jam a string between nail and middle finger on his left hand (fretting hand), causing a nasty separation beneath the nail. You all know what that's like -- he referred to it as being rather amazingly painful. Then he had yet another tough game at 7 that night, and we rushed from the game for a quick shower and to the gig.
The venue was spectacular -- a reconditioned theatre seating 250-300 with amazing acoustics, high ceiling, top drawer mixing and lighting staff, stage manager, lovely robust bank of monitors on the stage front. The result, as we found at soundcheck during the day, was stage sound as comfortable as our living room and great sound in the theatre. It's been years since I've played a venue as nice as this one, and I'd forgotten how nice it is, as well as that weird feeling of being on a well-lit stage but only seeing the audience in sillhouette in the dark house.
There were top-notch bands on before us, and we took the stage to close the night. We felt reasonably confident, but also suitably anxious given a/Neither my buddy or me are natural singers, b/we were playing some tough stuff, especially Sultans, with my kid doing the leads and fills and me on rhythm and croaking out vocals. All during practice and on his own time, he'd been working on those solos, sometimes nailing them, sometimes messing up. He wanted to get as close to the original as possible, but lend his own feel. His only concession was to use his Tube Screamer to give a bit of cover -- not a lot.
Well, you've probably guessed by now, he nailed it. No, actually, he killed that song. Never played it better -- got the nuances, phrasing, most of the tone and added his own energy and flow. As soon as he did the second or third fill, I could tell he was rolling, busted up finger and all. As I stood by him for the final solo, and he flowed like butter into the last hyper-speed passages, the audience let out a spontaneous round of cheering that could be heard clearly on the stage. His only reaction was a little smile in one corner of his mouth as he tore through the remainder and we faded to the ending.
Fortunately, I wasn't wearing a vest, otherwise the popping buttons probably would have hurt someone in the audience.
Well, we didn't win, a sort of folk band did. But the performance was great, and we got many accolades, especially for the kid. We got home and loaded out, bedding down with that warm buzz you get after a really good show.
Of course, there was another basketball game the next morning at 10, and in the course of it, he took an errant rifle pass off the tip of guess-which finger? I remarked later, in a failed attempt at gruff father, just be thankful it happened today instead of Saturday.
The end.