The originals band I work with played a pretty hopping venue in a nearby city, opening for a national act that released a string of albums on the 80's but only recently started touring again. It was one of our guitarist's fave bands, and he set it up and handled the details (as far as they went). We looked forward to this gig, even recorded a 5 song CD or our originals to peddle at the venue.
First bump: after our sound check, and everything sounded fine (very good soundman running the board), the guitarist comes up to me and starts babbling about my pedalboard, how it was freaking him out because of the dynamics or something. I don't really know what he was going on about, but I think he intended me to put a mic in front of the amp cab intead of going direct from the board. Usually with this band, I plug into whatever backline is available, but tonight I was to use my own setup. He never did come right out and say what he was thinking. Finally, the drummer walked up and told him to just chill out.
Second bump: the guest list. We were told that we could put a number of people on the guest list, 6 or 10 was never very sure, since communications between the guitarist and the promoter were spotty. Anyhow, I just wanted one person to come with my, my partner, who also does our photography, so I told him that. Weeks ago. After the sound check, we decided to go outside for a smoke, so we went to get our hands stamped and -- yep, you guessed it -- not on the list. The show had been sold out weeks ago, and oversold, I suspect. "I have to be firm on this," said the little man with the clipboard. "I'm afraid she's going to have to go." I said that if that's the case, I go too, and went to find the guitarist.
Apparently this was part of a larger problem, in that the guitarist figured that people who came in with the band wouldn't be considered "guests," and he loaded our guest list slots with people he wanted to come see us play (I guess). There were names on that list I'd never seen before. The guy with the clipboad said we had 30 seconds to sort it out; after thiry seconds, I went to the green room and grabbed my bass case. The guitarist scrambled and called some of his people to tell them not to come. Maybe I acted harshly, but I've been with my partner since before this band was formed, and we'll be together after it breaks up. I'm getting too old to put up with this petty crap. Maybe that's why old people get crotchety . . .
For all this, we got $10 each and 3 drink tickets. (I don't drink.) Which is more than I expected. There may be more money for us (that was also never very clear), but that's par for this outfit.
But when that first note of the night roars off the stage and into the crowd . . . it's like a trip to another world! On the other hand, while I enjoy the performing, the ancillary BS is making this not fun. Tonight we're doing two gigs -- an acoustic show not too far from home, then an electric set later in the evening. Lots of driving. I'm running out of patience. Not good.
