I was in between things, our well established original fusion-ish band having collapsed due to the usual interference of Peruvian marching powder. Late 70's & the Atlanta scene was trendy in a sort of braindead way. The Urban Cowboy craze hit like a bomb, suddenly dozens of discos were cowboy bars and there was work galore for anyone who had a stomach for country music. Fortunately country, while sometimes deadly boring for a young bass player, can be plenty fun for a lead / pedal steel guy (which I was back then), and if one was single and on the prowl it was even better.
I joined a steady working country band but once in a blue moon of course a gig went south or had something hinky like a crazy load-in...and our keyboard guy would invariably mutter "Monkey sh**!" Finally we asked him what that was about. Said he:
"Ten years ago I formed a band with some guys in Miami, and after a bunch of terrible gigs we were about to give up. This agent begged us to go to LA (lower Alabama) to play at a club for a couple weeks and we said OK. Got there, set up and asked where the 'band house' we were told about was. He said it was out back, the trailer. Ok, we go there and...the trailer had all busted out windows, no lock on the door, and when we opened it up we saw little turds all over the place, it smelled like hell. Went back to the club owner, ***?? He says 'Oh, that's where I used to keep my monkeys. It's fine, I'll give y'all some Lysol and paper towels, and cardboard and duct tape fer the windows.' We packed up our gear, went back to Miami, broke up the band. Monkey ****."
Because: you know, they're just musicians. Monkeys, musicians, whatever...
Re keyboard guy: he had a) a Hammond C3 (not a B, no percussion) with NO DOLLY, and an old time upright piano with a crap Barcus-Berry pickup. We carried that Hammond, by our fingertips, up 2 flights of stairs, everywhere. The piano weighed maybe twice as much, what fun. Sometimes had to slide it sideways under wooden rails around the stage, the Hammond wouldn't fit even sideways so we'd recruit a couple bartenders to help us hump it up and over. Crazy we was, but no hernias ensued.
I joined a steady working country band but once in a blue moon of course a gig went south or had something hinky like a crazy load-in...and our keyboard guy would invariably mutter "Monkey sh**!" Finally we asked him what that was about. Said he:
"Ten years ago I formed a band with some guys in Miami, and after a bunch of terrible gigs we were about to give up. This agent begged us to go to LA (lower Alabama) to play at a club for a couple weeks and we said OK. Got there, set up and asked where the 'band house' we were told about was. He said it was out back, the trailer. Ok, we go there and...the trailer had all busted out windows, no lock on the door, and when we opened it up we saw little turds all over the place, it smelled like hell. Went back to the club owner, ***?? He says 'Oh, that's where I used to keep my monkeys. It's fine, I'll give y'all some Lysol and paper towels, and cardboard and duct tape fer the windows.' We packed up our gear, went back to Miami, broke up the band. Monkey ****."
Because: you know, they're just musicians. Monkeys, musicians, whatever...
Re keyboard guy: he had a) a Hammond C3 (not a B, no percussion) with NO DOLLY, and an old time upright piano with a crap Barcus-Berry pickup. We carried that Hammond, by our fingertips, up 2 flights of stairs, everywhere. The piano weighed maybe twice as much, what fun. Sometimes had to slide it sideways under wooden rails around the stage, the Hammond wouldn't fit even sideways so we'd recruit a couple bartenders to help us hump it up and over. Crazy we was, but no hernias ensued.
