I play music for a living. It’s my job and not always glamorous. This is the one thing I’m good at. I could and do play with bands, but this way I make more money with less drama. A one -man rock band. We get little respect. Most people think that the real musicians play in bands with other people while those that can’t work alone with pre recorded music, sort of like Karaoke with a guitar strapped on.
A few months ago, I was doing a Wednesday night in a biker bar on the California Coast. Pismo Beach is a tourist town that hibernates all winter, but a few valley people still wander. The summers cook with people, but he bar only books full bands then. I was there through the winter months to make a buck and give the bar an act so they could advertise LIVE MUSIC 364 DAYS A YEAR- CLOSED CHRISTMAS.
I don’t get paid to know how to play the classic-rock songs like Cocaine or Sweet Home Alabama. I get paid to play them like I love them, like it’s my first time so people will dance and then drink. I am a human jukebox
That night, as I worked my way through the set after set of cover tunes that I had been playing to mostly bored tourists for over 20 years, I did what I always do. Through half closed eyes I imagined a room full of people all dancing and drinking. One would walk up and offer me a chance to get out of this place and play some place where there were more people,who danced and tipped.
On one of my breaks while standing at the cocktail waitress station, a stranger asked
“ How much would you charge to come play at our place in Oildale?” This was something new, so I went over to find out more
Bar talk almost always starts with a question, followed by a few more and usually ends up going nowhere. I asked where Oildale was and found out its a town just South of Bakersfield. Lots of oil wells, dirt, cowboys, pickup trucks and country music. This guy was cool enough. He was on an anniversary get way with his wife. They had 5 kids- two hers, 3 his and had been married 4 years. He was the bouncer and she was a daytime bartender at the bar they wanted me to play at. This was also where they first met. The bar was called called Muggs Pub. It was time to go back on-stage so I blurted out the first figure that came into my head “$350.00 is my rate for a gig like that” I made a little more small talk, gave them my card and forgot about it.
A few months later I got a call form the guy. He wanted me to play a Sunday afternoon on July 3rd for my asking price. I said yes. Their rationale was that a lot of people went to Pismo to get away, why not bring Pismo there and save the gas money. I looked it up on the computer but there was no web site.I found it on Google Maps which I took to be a good sign. So with no deposit, based on a phone call and a promise of money, I decided to go to Oildale
So here I am, July 3rd and I’m pulling into an small mostly empty parking lot with 3 cars and a fireworks stand. It’s quiet and still very hot. Muggs pub is a metal building on one end of a really small strip mall that consisted of a liquor store, a Mexican restaurant and the bar. There are bars on blacked out windows and two doors. The first door I tried was locked.
As I stand there getting up the nerve to go in the second door, it suddenly occurred to me that this could all be a practical joke. I’d walk in and no one would be expecting me. I would have driven 3 hours in this heat for nothing. Or, I could find out that all they wanted was country and my short country set would have to be be repeated over and over again as the patrons threw bottles at the chicken-wire screen in front of me. Maybe they’d pay with a check that would bounce.
Two riders on Harley rode up, parked and dismounted. They were both over six foot six inches tall and and in leather, in spite of the heat. When they removed their helmets I saw they were both women, very attractive and a little intimidating. They didn’t say a thing and went inside. I knew I had to follow them or go back home.
Most of the time musicians travel in groups, with the band. When faced with new surroundings and people they can pull together with an us against them attitude. A one man band has no such luxury. At that moment I felt very alone but determined.
The bar was so dark after having been outside, that I couldn’t see that well. The stage and dance floor were in a small adjoining are that I could just barely make out .The smell of lit cigarettes caught my attention. This was apparently the only bar in California where smoking was still allowed inside. It took me back to the old days when you got second hand smoke with your tips and requests. I also noticed the air conditioning was working just fine.
The bar was surprisingly full considering the empty parking lot. Not unusual for a neighborhood bar. There were the guys watching TV and two hefty women sitting, talking by the juke box. There was also a large group of people watching the pool tables in the back. The bartender was a woman who smiled vaguely at me.
The bar got silent . Some one said” Pismo Dude’s here”. I smiled and nodded that yes I was.Everyone went back but their business and I went back outside to start unloading my stuff.
A one man band still has to carry about as music equipment as a full band since we are both doing essentially the same thing. It takes a lot of trips and is not one of my favorite jobs.. With every load I had to re enter that hostile place, bright light flooding in and cool air escaping. 10 sweaty loads and I was in.
I tried to get a feel for the club. The woman bartender was nice enough and thank god they were expecting me. I didn’t see the guy that hired me but was told he would be in soon. I began to fall into a familiar routine.
A lot of musicians like me are superstitious. We think that by loading the car the same, unloading in the same order, setting up in the same order etc. we can be sure that everything will work fine. There is nothing worse that going through all of the travel and work and finding the PA doesn't work or the piano won’t play. Stress comes in many shapes and sizes.
The short sound check went fine. No on showed much interest and I wasn’t much surprised. I was to play from 2 PM to 7 PM. These are unusual hours for a Sunday afternoon but I was ready to go. Just another day in the life of a professional musician.
I went into the one stall bathroom. I locked the door and put on my gig clothes, consisting of a fresh black t-shirt. I went back out to the stage and was ready to start when a big guy came walking slowly towards me. The bar fell silent.
He said “ I like your shirt”. My shirt that said something like “real men use duct tape”. I smiled and said thanks, brushing him off. It was not that easy though.
He repeated, ”I like your shirt. Wanna trade?” I knew that everyone was watching. As I thought about his request, it didn’t even occur to me to see what shirt he was wearing. The thought of trading my clean shirt for another guys sweaty shirt seem out of the question.
He said a little louder, ” I like your shirt. Wanna to trade?”
“Right here? On the dance floor?” I asked. With out another word he took off his shirt and handed it to me. What could I do?
I am not normally comfortable with stripping in front of strangers in a strange place where I m just about to perform. I took of my shirt. With my white gut glowing in the dark we traded t-shirts. His was damp with sweat and smelled of smoke, but it fit me fine.
Two guys exchanging shirts on a dark tiny dance floor of a smoke filled cowboy bar is apparently of great interest in Oildale. When we were done he turned to the bar, saying loudly ” Now he’s one of us!”. Everyone laughed and went back to whatever they’d been doing . I went up on stage to start playing.
It still hadn’t occurred to me to see what my new T-shirt looked like right away. My gig went fine. I got asked back the next two more weekends before they tired of me. I don’t play enough country after all.
I finally remembered to look at my new shirt. It was black with bold white writing on the front that said “High Class White Trash” on top and “Oildale California” on the bottom. I can’t think of a better way to sum up Muggs bar or my experience. I wear this shirt proudly every chance I get. And just in case you ask, no, I don’t want to trade.
1 comment:
Hey Jimmy it looks great. I couldn't figure out how to follow your blog. I don't even know if you can. You can see mine at www.jaredlevanway.blogspot.com
You sounded great last night jim.
JA
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