rubes

Soundguy Interrupted

Sometimes, especially in LA, you just have to open your mouth and talk to complete strangers, occasionally in the most random of situations, and perhaps very intrusively. This isn't something that comes naturally to me per se, but it's fun to pretend. And as often as not it works. "Hi," say I, "I couldn't help overhearing that bla bla bla, and maybe you need this and that and/or the other thing."

"YES," says the hapless fool accosted by me, promising to return my call eventually. "I sure can use your this, that, and the other thing."

I live two short blocks from Tangier, and I thought I might be able to use a few extra bucks doing sound there. I've ably cut my teeth thusly at any number of venues over the years, and armed with such info marched through the doors and offered my services.

"Yes, by all means," said the Head Sound Dude (HSD hereafter). "Show up tomorrow for a four-band night and we'll get you started."

Fabulous!

I show up, expecting nothing really. Four bands, all acoustic-based, no problem.

Right. Me: new guy, new room, unfamiliar board/system. A certain learning curve to be expected, I was sure. When I couldn't find the right button to push on said bass-ackward board, I got, "Dude, what the fuck are you doing? I need that fucking vocal!"

YOU need?

The violin player can't be heard? All of a sudden it's my fault; "Dude, what the fuck are you doing?"

"Trying to stay out of your surly-ass way, meathead!"

"What the hell are you unplugging?"

"Not a fucking thing, asshole," I wish I had said. "And don't coil that cable like that, you uppity burned-out phony Hollywood poser." Nothing but the truth.

And HSD actually laid hands on me and shoved me out of his way when I didn't move fast enough. I don't think I've been shoved since grade school. This is Tangier, numb nuts, not Hollywood Bowl. Textbook case of battery.

HSD reminded me once again of the useless volatility between sound folks and bands. Naturally, musicians want everything just so, and right now. And sound knob twiddlers want everything just so also. Usually the competing interests reconcile before the set. And yes, it's generally a tedious thankless job.

But, as JR used to say, there's just no reason to be an asshole. Though it's a good thought to carry through life, that might be the smartest thing he ever said. Ironic, since he was the biggest asshole in life.

I digress.

So, I shan't work there again. Nyeah (the sound of thumb on nose)!

All the heavies were there

Fabulous Octomutt's Country Cousin gig at The Riptide this past weekend. Playing with Ted Savarese is like going to my favorite class captained by my favorite professor. I can't remember the last time an audience wouldn't let us stop playing. And to that dubloon-laden inebriate with the fat tip-boot fixation; sir, you're welcome anytime. When's your birthday? We'll sing loudly for you.

So thanks to my favorite professor, in cahoots with my favorite woman, a few mood-induced selections from the Mighty Avocado Street cognitive playlist right now, brought to you by our ever-faithful sponsor Bill's Idol Hut:

"Reconsider Baby," "Walkin' The Floor Over You," the timeless Billy Boom Bob McTacohead toe-tapper "I Hear Tell Boulder Smells Funny Like Ugly Sunburned Oxygen-Deprived Gun-Slappy White Folks," and "That's Entertainment" by The Jam, just to keep things light and, well, mod.

See you at the Dragonfly in Hollywood next Wednesday. See below...

Hooray for Hollywood