Every working musician, from the Eldest Gods like Armstrong, Ellington and Goodman to the Old Gods like Jagger, Townshend, Macca and Clapton to the NKotB, to the solitary players who have spent 30 years busking in the streets, have had at least one gig that came directly from the bowels of Hell: the night the drummer forgot his cymbals; the day the bus broke down 3 miles from the venue; the crazy owner who took a couple of shots at the band for playing too loud; the biker fights, the ‘stage area’ so small, the front door smacked the guitar player in the back every time someone walked in and a horde of other curses. We’ve all dealt with rude audiences, surly bouncers, dishonest owners, poorly grounded venue wiring, PA systems that died in the middle of the first set, bandmates that were too drunk, too stoned, too horny or too stupid to sing, to play or even to stand up straight.
We’ve all had those moments when we wondered why the hell we do this and we have all asked that one single, existential question which lies within the center of every working musician’s soul:
“Did we get paid yet?”
It is from those moments when we hang between Heaven, Hell and Payday, that we all have at least one story we tell, and re-tell, to anyone who will sit still long enough to listen.
This site is for those stories.
If you’re one of the ones out there working, you’ll find tales here that will be frighteningly familiar and this is your invitation to add to the pile. If you’re someone who doesn’t know which end of a fretless bass to blow into but you’re curious about the world of the working pro, you’ll find insight here that you can’t get in a college lecture.
I’m pretty sure we’ll all find something to laugh about–and that’s the reason the site is here.