There Is A Price For Everything

Last night the LightHusband and I accompanied a friend to see his most favorite band ever. They are called The Lost Dogs. They are very good. We had fun hearing and watching them. They are excellent musicians ... even if they have been around for quite a while (Brickguy, some of the best have been around awhile). The drummer was the most interesting. He set up his drums on their cases. Then he sat on a box, and he sat back there and played and made faces. And he played the glockenspiel. I haven't seen anyone play the glockenspiel since I used to watch my Grampy N. play with the Shriners when I was little. It was pretty fabulous.

I even managed to get under my friend's skin for the first time ever! We've known him for about 15 years and done youth ministry together and he is one of the most laid back people you'll ever meet (my opposite ... I'm very high strung and high maintenance ... but I know this about myself). Anyway, he brought along about 9 million CD's that he wanted these poor band members to sign after the concert. It just so happened that I went to the Safeway beforehand and bought markers (because I like markers). I bought a pack of 8 different colors (because they spoke to me). I, in perfect humility, offered my pack of 8 ... pretty ... sparkly ... different colored markers to my good, dear friend. I offered them in deference to his great love for this band ... so that he could color coordinate his autographs to his CD's. He did not find this amusing in the least. I did. He informed me quite haughtily that he had carefully made his marker choices a day earlier and they were "in the box". And his choices were:
Silver.
And.
Black.
Oh.
Well.
So much for my color coordinated dreams.
I was not crushed.

In any case, there is a price for everything. In this case it was the opening act. Someone encouraged him one too many times. He should not be doing this ... even part-time. He needs to give it up. Most people have a "dynamic range" (for those of you who are not musicians this means the notes in between the lowest note and the highest note you can sing). This guy had two notes ... annoying and screechy. That's not a range ... it's harsh and it's headache material. The Lighthusband took a picture of him. But it seems mean-spirited to post it here ... so here is a pretty picture of flowers from Montana for you to look at while you imagine for yourself a young man who wants very much to do well, but isn't quite hitting the mark and is very full of himself. That will have to do.

Here are some observations about him ...
- Young white men should avoid singing the blues ... they don't have the life experience or the gut to carry it.
- If you left your regular guitar somewhere and are using one that is unfamiliar, you should tune it BEFORE you get on stage and then continue to tune it AND your voice throughout your show.
- Generally speaking, it's unattractive to mention the sweat dripping into your eyes ... just use a hanky, or get a hat with a better sweatband.
- Screeching like a cat with it's tail caught in a rocking chair is not spiritual or musical.
- Naming all of your songs for the key that they are written in is not clever or cute, it's lazy and unoriginal. It also must make your life difficult since they all seem to be in G. Which, of course, prompted me to wonder if he got as bored singing as I did listening?

After the third song, only my friend informs me it was the first, I wrote this: "How much LONGER?" That will give you an idea of how bad it was. But I think I ought to stop now. Finally, he stopped too. Then there was a short intermission and the real show began.

And it was quite a show. Those Lost Dogs know how to put on a show. They know how to sing a song. They know how to carry an audience. They know how to carry a broken string and bad feedback out of a monitor. They know how to play and how to play. Meaning their instruments and how to have fun in front of an audience. It was loads of fun. Even tho (as we found out later) one of the members has been fighting a bad case of pleurisy the whole trip. But then, that explained why occassionally some things felt a little too rehearsed. You're entitled to fall back on things that are well rehearsed when you're deathly ill.

And my friend was so happy. The band played his favorite song in the encore. Along with a song that would be great for our eucharist some time. He was so happy to be there hearing their music. And at the end he was so happy to meet them and get their autographs. USING MY BLACK PEN! Ha! ... at some point in the melee, his perfectly appointed pens had disappeared, so it was lucky for him that I had some. And they were permanent markers (no less). I was gracious and he was contrite and we both laughed good and hard about the whole thing, especially since I am now the owner of only 7 markers!! But ... it's the black one that is missing.