I haven't written a "gig review" in a long time, but this season in Dana Point seems to warrant one. I actually played 25 nights (over 40 days), only breaking for rain, the Mission Viejo Santa's Workshop, a couple of private parties, the Boat Parade where I'm blocked out, and of course, Thanksgiving and Christmas.
The city (or somebody?) puts up a *big* holiday spectacle -- lights on every tree and bush, two "walk-in" lightup whales, a giant "surfing Santa" bobblehead, and the main attraction: a "movie marquee" style sign that says "Merry Kiss Me" down in the promenade by the water.
It's also 50 feet from where I play on weekends at the bagel/coffee/ice cream shops; all owned by one guy, who likes me. The sign is a huge draw -- it seems like everybody in the county has to come down and get a photo under it -- so I set up to play for the people waiting their turn. Lots of couples young and old, foreign tourists, and families come down to see the lights, and they all seem pleased to find a guy in a big hat there playing holiday music.
I bring out a box of "jingle sticks", and the little ones love to shake them, rhythmically or randomly, while I play "Jingle Bells", "Frosty", "Rudolph" and the rest. If you want to see what pure joy look like, give a child a jingle toy and start playing "Jingle Bells".
With some kids I'd say, "Hey, if you want to play along, there are some jingle bells in the box here" and they'd look at me blankly. Until their mom would translate into whatever their native language was. Then they'd grab a stick and light up like 100-watt bulbs when the music started. Is "Jingle Bells" well-known in Poland? China? Iceland???
But the cutest thing all month was a 2-year-old girl who somehow knew that the best way to say "Thank you" is a high-five. After every song, she dutifully marched up to me to gently slap her tiny hand on mine, only to immediately about-face and go back to her position, ready for the next song. And she got her parents to bring her back to give me a cuteness overdose a second night.
As it turns out, though, there aren't really very many kids' songs for Christmas. You'd think there are, but it's really about seven. And most of them are pretty short. Most families stick around for about one loop through them, so it works out, but sometimes the kids will insist on staying longer. So I have to drag out the more obscure stuff like "Mele Kalikimaka", which seemed pretty famous in my time, but not a lot of kids know it anymore.
One night after the kids were all gone, I was playing it just for the variety, and a lady started doing the hula. *Real* hula, too. Her three friends got all excited and started to video her, and when the song was over (it's *really* short), I happily played it again. That was fun.
It's not all roses, of course. For one thing, it's cold. Hard to stand there, harder still to play guitar with frozen fingers. And this year, I got some "competition". Two teenage girls set up down the way with a big loud sound system, and a few nights later, a full-on rock band started up, prompting a visit from Security that shut them, and the girls, down. Fortunately, my "blessing" from the ice cream shop owner proved to be my Get Out Of Jail Free card, so I got to play the rest of the season solo.
Except the night that a guy showed up with a guitar strapped to his back, and some bystander thought I should let him join in, so I did. He was reasonably competent, somewhat messily keeping up with the songs I was doing -- faking the chords and playing lead whenever I could figure out how to inset an instrumental verse. He eventually dragged out a cable and I let him plug into my amp -- and he got immediately busted by the Security Guy for not having a permit. Which, actually, thanks -- it was kinda fun, but was mostly messing me up...
Anyway, I stood there night after night watching people take pictures with the "Merry Kiss Me" sign. Unfortunately, the inclination was to have the kissing couple stand directly under the sign, with the cameraman standing back far enough to get the whole sign in. This had the effect of making the people *very* small in the picture.
So I tried to help by putting markers on the sidewalk to get the kissers to stand well forward of the sign. People only "got it" about half the time, though, so I spent a lot of time walking out between songs to point out the suggestion. Most people were initially confused as to why I was interfering, but ended up grateful once they realized that it really was a better shot.
Overall, for me, it really *is* "the most wonderful time of the year". Lots of happy families, excited kids, generous dads. I was literally there every single night I could be. And I'll be back next year, for sure.
After three years of being left out, I finally got back into the Sawdust Festival this year for two gigs, the second of which was on the annual "Beatles Day". For the occasion, I built a special Request List with 26 Beatles songs front and center. It turned out that people were mostly more intrigued by my non-Beatles songs, but that's OK with me -- I'd rather play one of my Really Good songs than a Pretty Good Beatles song anyway.
It really is the perfect venue for me -- it's got the same 70's-era vibe that me and my material do. The people who show up are my perfect "target audience". Even (especially?) the artist/vendors from the surrounding booths come around to listen, when you'd think they'd be jaded by having heard all the bands that play there every day. The lady in the next booth over brought her husband by and asked me to play "Hey, Jude" again for him, she'd liked it so much.
The worst part is the schedule, where I'm required to play for a half hour, and take a half hour break -- off and on for five hours (i.e., five half hours playing, four half hours waiting). The opposite half hours are filled by the very loud band that plays on the main stage.
It's difficult because the "cold start" first song is always the hardest, and by the end of the half hour, I've got an audience assembled who are invariably wanting more, and loudly complain that I'm quitting on them. It's also tough because I can only fit about seven songs in a half hour, so I don't want to waste any time on "B-list" songs, or songs that, even if requested by one person, are "niche" and won't be interesting to the rest of the crowd.
But the rules are the rules, and I didn't want to break them and risk getting left out next year. Flatteringly, I ended up with several groups of people who came back set after set, taking the stopping of the main stage band as their cue to come back to my little stage.
I guess the five cold starts gave me a chance to sprinkle in more Beatles songs (to appease the Festival people, if not the audience) because I get to choose that one, before the Requesting starts. I told the audience that we ought to prioritize Beatles songs, but people kept saying that they'd already heard enough Beatles for one day, and wanted something different.
I sold lots of CDs, including one to one of the ladies who works behind the counter of the restaurant that the stage is next to, and four (!) to a guy who wanted to give them out to his friends. First time for that, I'm pretty sure.
So overall, despite the annoying schedule, it's the best gig ever, for me. I hope they have me back next year, for even more dates, please.
After three months of effort, I finished building my Martin 000-28 guitar on Saturday. One should be able to presume that the time-honored design and direct-from-Martin materials would tend to result in a "good" finished guitar, but there are infinite variables in the building process that can affect the outcome, so although I was a careful and meticulous as I could muster, there were no guarantees.
Of course, what a guitar should sound like is entirely subjective, but my initial impression is that it's pretty good. Maybe even pretty darn good.
First issue is playability. It needs to be built *extremely* precisely to play in tune. I seem to have cleared that hurdle. It neck also needs to be at a precise angle to make the action playable, and I seem OK there, too.
Inexplicably though, it seems "stiff" to play, as though it's strung with medium instead of light strings. That's confusing, since the scale length is a half inch *shorter* than the Taylor, so the tension should be less. It could be the action being a little too high still, since I adjusted it conservatively for the first go around, but it seems to be more than that. My only guess is the Martin strings that they included are somehow stiffer than the ones I'm used to, so I'm going to restring it and see what happens.
As far as the sound, the highs are crystalline and sustain forever. It immediately brings to mind a music box, and the high-capoed tinkly songs sound great. The bass is strong, and less brassy than what I'm used to on my Taylor.
Unexpectedly, we got cleared to go play on the street corner in Laguna, although it was cold and gloomy. That suited my fine, as I expected there to be nobody around and a shirt outing, in case the guitar was unsuitable in some way. Turned out, the weather in Laguna was way nicer than at home, and we ended up playing for lots of people for five and a half hours. That gave me the chance to try every kind of song I know -- soft quiet fingerpicked ones, hard strummed fast ones, and everything in between. And, I have to say, they all sounded good.
Now, obviously, the sound through the pickup and an amplifier is different than the sound acoustically. And the biggest surprise (though in retrospect it shouldn't have been) is that, since this pickup doesn't feed back on the bass notes like my Taylor notoriously does, I was able to play with a lot more bass included, making the biggest difference between the two. Now, in most cases, the extra bass was terrific, but sometimes it would obscure treble riffs that I'm used to hearing -- though clearly those riffs were only so obvious on the Taylor because of the lack of bass.
So, despite hoping that it would "sound like the Taylor", it doesn't, though maybe that's a good thing. Or maybe I'm subliminally obliged to like it more than it deserves because of all the effort I put into it. On the other hand, can you imagine going into a guitar store that only had one guitar hanging on the wall? What are the odds that that guitar is The One For You? I played dozens of guitars before choosing the Taylor model I got.
Of course, I can fall back on the Taylor, and this can make a pretty wall hanging, but time (and different strings) will tell. When the novelty wears off, I'm sure it'll be apparent which one I'd rather reach for.
Ever since my first solar eclipse in 1979, when my buddy John and I drove (and rolled) my old van up to Washington state in the bitter February cold to see it, I've been addicted to them. John and I saw our second in Guadalajara Mexico in 1991, and in 1998 I dragged my wife to see my third in Antigua in the Caribbean.
When news came of another one running across the US from Oregon to Carolina, I knew I had to go again. Wife and friends all wimped out, but I was determined, and started making plans to get under it, solo if need be.
There were two options: up the 5 to Oregon, or out through the desert on the 15 to Idaho. But I've seen how the shadow of the moon itself causes even clear skies to go cloudy from the sudden drop in temperature, so I wasn't going to take the chance in damp Oregon. The plan became: drive out to Vegas; then to Park City (where my sister-in-law Dianne could put me up for free); up into the eclipse path to see it and back to Park City in a day; back to Vegas; and home. Two nights in a hotel in Vegas, two free nights in Park City, gas and food -- I'd get off relatively cheaply, compared to the other three trips. Five days driving for two minutes of totality? Fair trade!
The drive to Vegas was uneventful, if toasty. I stayed at the same Comfort Inn that we'd stayed at on our cross-country trip last year. At first I'd thought that I could find a cheaper alternative, but the online reviews of cheaper places spoke of bed bugs and junkie hookers hanging around out front, so I decided to go with the known quantity...
But the closer to the eclipse, the more dire the predictions of terrible traffic became. 34 million people lived along the same route I was taking, so I decided not to chance it, and I got up and 3am (foregoing the hotel's free breakfast -- even the little fridge was locked: No yogurt for *you*, early riser!), to drive as far north as I could get while still conscious.
But as reward, around 5am, somewhere near the Arizona/Utah border, the sliver of a moon came up ahead of sunrise and perched in the gap between the canyon mountains horizon and the glowering prairie rainclouds, on its way to its appointment with the sun a day and a half later. It was an incredible sight that my cellphone picture does no justice to.
To add to my anxiety that I'd miss the whole thing, as I drove through Utah, even the programmable freeway signs were trying to scare me off, saying "SOLAR ECLIPSE MONDAY, HEAVY PM TRAFFIC", and such. 300 miles south of the path of totality, and they're already panicking about the traffic. Other messages warned that "OVERSIZE LOADS RESTRICTED" in Idaho and Wyoming, and that there was "NO PARKING ON HIGHWAY DURING ECLIPSE".
But all the warnings apparently worked on the non-addicts so no nasty traffic ever materialized, and somehow I never really got sleepy, so I drove straight through to the eclipse path in ten hours, with short stops for breakfast and lunch. Now I was at least assured of seeing the eclipse, but one problem remained: Where to sleep? All the hotels and campgrounds in the path were sold out at outrageous prices, months or years ago. That's why the original plan was to stay with Dianne in Park City.
Fortunately, I had looked into this, just in case. The rumor that you can park an RV in a Walmart parking lot overnight turns out to be true, according to their website, but there were no Walmarts out in rural Idaho where I wanted to be. But there is "Federal Land" that you're allowed to camp anywhere on, if you can find it. I had ended up on a highway that ran up the valley between two fingers of foothills, and the way it works is that all the flat, farmable, land on either side of the highway is Private, and the useless mountainous areas are Federal. But how do you get across one to the other?
I spent the afternoon driving out on a rocky dirt farm road, trying to get to what would be Federal Land, but never found anything to indicate that I'd found it. But back out on the highway I spotted a tiny National-Parks-brown sign that said, "Rothwell Sportsman's Access", pointing to a small dirt road. This was exactly what I was looking for, and even better, the road itself seemed to be open for overnight parking, since there were already three or four trucks and vans parked around the edges, so I didn't have to drive out to the middle of nowhere (well, no more than this part of Idaho was *already* the middle of nowhere) to park. So here it was 6pm, and I was all set with a place that was probably safe, and probably legal, to sleep in my car. Hopefully, I would make it through the night without being arrested or Deliverance'd.
I couldn't risk leaving my spot, in case a mob of other eclipse campers descended on it, so I had a dinner of lunchmeat ham, cheese, and peaches, read my book, and played some on the "camping guitar" I'd built back in the seventies by chopping a cheap pawnshop guitar down to just the working section. Or tried to, but it was hard to hear what I was playing with the *loud* neo-country music coming from the truck down the way...
Finally it got dark enough to try to sleep, and I was certainly ready to, having gotten up at 3am. It was mid 80's in the afternoon, but it was getting cold fast, so I put on the parka I had thrown in the car at the last minute, and settled into the leaned-back passenger's seat. It was tough, but I finally fell asleep despite the thump-thump-thump from next door.
Woke up at 10, and again at 11, with the country music still blaring. And cold. Starting to get a bit *too* reminiscent of the snowy night Johnny and I spent in a rented Ford Fiesta in the parking lot of the Washington State Highway Patrol office, waiting for them to clear Snoqualmie Pass of the avalanche. But that's a different story...
Dianne called me at 6:30am, on her way up from Park City with her son and his girlfriend. Even the morning of the eclipse, the predicted disastrous traffic hadn't appeared, so they drove right up to find me.
One feature of a total eclipse that you don't hear about is the incredible sight of the actual shadow of the moon, rushing toward and engulfing you as the eclipse becomes "total". It's the most mind-blowing aspect of the eclipse for me -- it's when you get a gut-level impression of the solar system as a 3D device. Your whole life, the sky seems to be what the ancients called it, an upside-down bowl with the sun and moon painted on it. But in the moment when the shadow crosses over you, you feel/see and truly *know* that you're standing on a rock in space, with another rock passing in front of the light source. Mind blowing. Life altering.
Johnny and I saw this happen the first time, but not the second, nor did it appear the third time. I had ascribed this to the geography -- you'd need a place where you can see the ground, far out to your west, to watch the shadow scream across at 1900 mph. We'd had that the first time, just by accident, but not the other two.
This time, I was determined to see it again, so I deliberately stayed a little south of the centerline of totality (i.e., maximum duration), in order to avoid my western flank being interrupted by the foothills. Even a mile or three of visible land before the mountains will go by in a blink at 1900 mph. I dragged Dianne and co. out to the middle of the farmland so we had an unobstructed view far out to the west, and we set up on a farm road among the alfalfa.
I had brought my small but powerful telescope, and had practiced setting it up and getting it "aligned" so the motor keeps it centered on the object in question while the earth spins out from under it. I did all that while the eclipse started the boring "partial" part. I'd check it every once in a while, and the tracking was working, but not very accurately.
We waited as it got darker and colder, and at some point it got dark enough that I took my sunglasses off and put them in my pocket. Then it got darker, and darker, and we looked to the west...
And it just got darker, and at some point it was clear that it had gone total, but no rushing shadow! What happened?!?
But no time to worry about that! Look at the eclipse! But it's all blurry! Where are my (not-sun) glasses?!? In the car, in that clever glasses compartment in the ceiling! Run, open, reach, find, grab, put on! Much better! Looks cool, but far away. Where's the telescope?
Look in the telescope, and it's much closer, but not centered 'cuz the tracking isn't working right. Correct that with the four arrows on the remote, and come to realize that the telescope magnifies the sun to just about the full frame of the image, so it's mostly just the big black spot of the moon (with the very cool day-glo pink prominences), but the corona (which is what a total eclipse has that an even 99% partial doesn't) is outside the view. Screw that!
Back to naked eyes, but fortunately Dianne is thinking much better than I am and offers me the binoculars I'd brought. These are the Right Tool For The Job, it turns out. Lower magnification lets you see the whole thing: corona, prominences, and all. Very cool! That's what we came here for!
I'd checked the star charts beforehand, 'cuz in a total eclipse the stars come out. Indeed, one of the cool features is that you get to see Mercury, which is, obviously, close to the sun, and therefore usually obscured in the glare. Through the binoculars, sure enough, there it is, bottom left. And at top right where Mars should be (just a coincidence of lineup): nothing. And to the left should be Regulus, one of the brightest stars in the sky, but: nothing.
Which leads me to believe that the high haze that we started with had condensed to be thicker in the cool moon shadow, obscuring the stars and planets, and blurring the shadow's edge so it wasn't defined enough to really see as an edge coming across the landscape, as Johnny and I had seen in Washington in '79. (My new theory: see an eclipse when it's already cold outside like that, so the moon shadow doesn't make it colder enough to cause any condensation.) Oh well. Best laid plans and all that. But the eclipse itself, naked eye and through the binoculars, was spectacular.
And over. With all my bumbling, the two minutes and eleven seconds were gone in, I don't know, fifteen? Your first instinct is to chase it down. But I'm pretty sure I can't run, or even drive, 1900 miles an hour. It's over, and you get what you get, and it was amazing, but frustratingly short, but still mind boggling, and I wish I'd'a... and when's the next one?
We'd watched the eclipse as it inched towards totality by projecting the sun's image through the telescope, the binoculars, or pinholes made by lacing your fingers. I didn't have any Eclipse Glasses, nor needed any. You just need to keep track so you'll know when to look for the approaching shadow (if any). People across the country were happily watching the partiality as it came and went in their area, but lemme tell ya, once you've seen the totality, there's nothing more boring than the lame ol' crescent sun as it grows back to a circle.
So it's time to tear down the telescope and get back on the road. As I took the telescope off of its tripod, I noticed that I hadn't remembered to set it to the angle corresponding to the latitude of my location, which explained why it hadn't been tracking properly. Stupid, stupid. Next time.
Apocalyptic traffic once again failed to materialize, at least in Idaho. I was afraid that all the people who had come to Idaho at various times up to a week in advance would all leave at once, but it wasn't bad. There was some jamming where the two-lane out to the country merged into the four-lane going south, but it only added a half hour or so to the drive to Park City. (Reports said that the five-hour drive to totality from the Chicago area had turned into a 15-hour drive back, though.) I spent a nice evening with Dianne and her husband and dog, and left about noon to drive to Vegas (watching the amazing desert clouds), stayed the night at the same hotel, and drove home in the morning.
When's the next one, again?
Terrific night, seemingly custom designed to make me forget how terrible the previous outing was. I sold three CDs in the first five minutes, which led me to discover that I only had five with me, even though I distinctly remember making "a million" just a few days ago. Where do they all go?
Anyway, lots of people out on this fine summer's evening. Lots of kids to play for, and requests coming fast and deep.
And then suddenly we had a *huge* group of people that turned out to be a big family vacation group from Utah. They stayed a long time -- their kids came up to do "Let It Go" and "True Colors" singalongs, and even the adults were loudly singing along with "Country Roads" and such. They definitely made our night, if not week.
Later on, two college girls were walking by and clearly intended to just keep on going, like 95% of people do. But one of them was roped in by the song that I was doing, and then they liked the next song, and the next, and eventually they went ahead and sat down when their intended blow-by turned into a six or seven song stay. It's always enheartening when I can catch people like that and keep their interest for a while.
Tom (of the "Tommies, our rival street band) has somehow decided that Warren has slighted him in some way(s), so he's abdicated our "every other weekend" deal and is monopolizing The Corner almost every night, but especially weekends. To try to "fight back", we decided to play on the opposite corner, but I don't think it worked. His novelty act (his young daughter and him) somehow trumps our good music one, and they get all the tourist attention. It's depressing and humiliating.
To make it worse, the homeless guys have somewhat gotten the word that they're not welcome on The Real Corner so they tend to hang out opposite, which is great when we're there, but in this case, it meant that we were plagued by three of four of them all night.
We did rope in a small family and I played kids' songs and let the little girls sing along with my toy microphone. That was big fun while it lasted.
And our old friend "Silly Patty" came by for a while, and since I had no audience to service, I got to talk to her for a while.
So, all in all, a pretty awful night -- but they can't all be winners, right?
This was my second time here (of five scheduled so far), and it worked out much better. I mostly solved the feedback problem by moving the amp to my right so it's projecting half of the sound into the room and half out onto the patio (where most of the people are anyway, since it's hot). I also walked out in front of it to hear what it's really like, and the wait staff weren't jiving me -- it does sound OK out there (unlike how it sounds back where I am).
Anyway, with that solved, I feel better about it and can focus on the music instead of the sound. It was a bit less noisy, too -- I think there were just fewer people in the room.
A guy in the back read through the list and decided he wanted none of the above, and did I know any Johnny Cash? I do, and played "Folsom Prison Blues" for him, after which he came up and dropped a $20 in the jar. Nice!
Near the end, a group of college kids came in and sat at the nearest table. Pretty soon I had them singing along to "Do You Want To Build a Showman" (and they even provided Elsa's sole line, "Go away, Anna!", for me), "Hotel California", "Mrs. Robinson", and I volunteered "Don't Stop Believing", even though I keep it off the list. A splendid time was had by all.
Anyway, after the first difficult outing here, I wasn't sure this was what I wanted to do with my time, but this time was much more fun, so I guess I'll keep doing it. For a while anyway.
Started out pretty slow, except for a guy carrying an orange Bearded Dragon who told me that he'd buy my CD if I played "If I Fell". I told him I'd be happy to play it even if he didn't buy a CD, but he insisted. I played it, and he said that he figured I wouldn't be able to do the harmony 'cuz it's so clever. I didn't point out that one guy can't do the harmony on *any* song (he was unaware that I do have harmony from the box on lots of non-If I Fell, songs) by himself, easy or not.
The slowness gave me a chance to practice my two new kids songs, "How Far I'll Go" from "Moana", and "True Colors" from either the new kids' movie "Trolls" or 1986 and Cyndi Lauper, depending on how old you are. The Moana song is surprisingly popular with kids and teenage girls -- when "Frozen" was big, it was all over the place. Moana seems just as popular, but quietly, somehow.
"True Colors" turns out to be right in my wheelhouse, and a blast to play and sing, so I'm glad when someone spots it on either the Kids' or Grownup Request lists.
Early on, a group of 5 or 6 old ladies came and sat on the bench, deliberately ignoring us, refusing to look at me, and irritably declining to look at my proffered Request List. Who knew that the bicycle was the logo for the Grumpy Lady's Club?
A couple came up and were standing and embracing and waiting for a song. I played "Leaving On a Jet Plane", and apparently that was right on target 'cuz the guy got out a twenty and had her put it in the jar.
Two ladies came by later in the middle of "Wonderful Tonight", and when it was over, they insisted that I play it again. They were just so enthusiastic and effusive that I had to conclude that they weren't from around here. I asked, and one was from Venezuela, and the other was from Costa Rica. They stayed for a bunch of songs, and basically showed the Americans how being an audience is done.
At one point, I looked over and there was something non-green in the tip jar. People sometimes put weird things in there: business cards, bible tracts, origami, flowers, non-US currency, etc. I went to see what it was, and it was a change purse, full of change. When I counted it later, it came to $8.65. I guess somebody liked us, didn't have any paper money, and didn't want to dump so much loose change in the jar, so they just threw in the whole purse. Weird, but, thanks!
The Tommies let Warren know that they weren't going to be on The Corner this Sunday, but Warren had a concert to go to so I went down alone. Unfortunately, two other guys had snagged The Corner. I asked them how long they were going to be there, and went down the street to wait them out.
Much less traffic down there, but kind of pleasant, and much quieter being away from PCH. After the proscribed "couple of hours" I went back to The Corner and they finished up a few songs and politely relinquished it to me, just as Warren showed up.
So a short night (8-10:15), but a nice one. The sound seemed unusually good, and my voice was strong with a good range. We did have some issues with homeless guys -- Way-Gone Gordon was parked in the middle of the bench, gesturing and arguing with the voices in his head. Fortunately, he does it quietly, so he's not too scary. Later on a guy was across the street yelling "Why you?!?" at, his shoes, I think, over and over in a loop until it sounded more like a European ambulance than actual words.
A teenage girl ("Frankie") came by looked at my list, and asked if she could sing "Part of Your World" from "The Little Mermaid" with me. I said sure, and gave her the toy kids' "microphone". But after a few verses, I could hear that she knew what she was doing, so I stopped the song and put my head mic on her. She did great.
Other than that, we had plenty of nice people to play for, and the usual stream of not-interested bar-hoppers, beach people, and those girls who are so tall and willowy that they clearly grew up on a planet with lesser gravity than ours...
A couple of weeks ago, some ladies came up to me while I was playing at Dana Point harbor, and asked if I ever played at "Taco Surf". I said no, 'cuz I've never even heard of it. They said that they love that place and I'd be perfect there, etc.
So I looked it up, and it looked like a fun place to be and/or play, so I gathered up my nerve and walked in and asked about playing there. They referred me to the owner, and he took one look at my list of songs and asked if I could play Fridays. I told him I could play any night, and he went in the back to consult his calendar. While I was still wondering what the audition process was going to be, he came back with a list confirming me as playing the next five Fridays!
He hadn't even heard me! But I've subsequently gathered that his wife, who runs the joint on Fridays, has been nagging at him that they should have music on Fridays, so he just jumped on a chance to fill them all, sight unseen (well, sound unheard). So here I was expecting to (a) audition in some fashion, and (b) maybe play one night as a trial, possibly even without pay, but instead I had to frantically check my calendar to see if my next five Fridays were free!
So it's a kind of "Mexican Cantina", with the walls covered with surf and beer posters, fake thatching here and there, and crazy rustic architecture. There's a long skinny room as you enter, with the two-sided bar on the left that also serves the outside patio. In between is the main dining room, with eight tables, and a little stage at one end.
I set up and started playing, but maybe because the room is so small, I was having terrible feedback problems with my guitar. It was a struggle to be loud enough to fill the room (and the patio outside) over the load ambient noise of the restaurant without causing feedback.
But, even though I thought it was sounding terrible ('cuz I had to turn the bass on the guitar down to zero) and that nobody could hear me ('cuz I couldn't), the waitresses, bartender, and owner's wife kept telling me that it sounded great, perfect volume, and great music. OK, I guess I'll just have to take that on faith.
Of course, at a restaurant, people are there to have fun with their friends, not listen to a "concert", so it was noisy in there, and people generally had other things on their agenda than paying attention to me. I passed out my songlists to every table, and that kept them a little more involved, but the cleanup lady kept taking them and stacking them on the bar (after the first one she didn't recognize as Important and threw away), and I kept having to go out and fetch them and put them back on the tables. Maybe we can come to an agreement on those, next time...
One guy from out on the patio must have really liked my stuff, 'cuz he kept coming in and asking for a song, listening from outside, then coming back in to clap and ask for another one, and for me to turn it up (which I couldn't do).
Later on, some old ladies came in, and when I walked over to ask if they had any requests from the list, one lady said that she was just still deciding which one she wanted to sing with me. *With* me? I told her that I only had one mic, and she said that was OK, and just stood up there next to me and we sang "Fire and Rain" together. She said that she was sure that the other ladies in the "Ukulele Club" would get a kick out of it, as her friend took pictures (and video?).
Anyway, it was generally fun, if sound/musically disastrous. I guess I'll go back, at least one more time. Hopefully I'll figure something out to fix that feedback problem.
Warren and his other friend Jim usually play on Wednesday nights, but Jim couldn't make it so I went down instead. It was a pretty nice night with lots of people out.
For some reason, it was "Buy a CD night" and I sold nine of them. A little old lady came by and sat on the bench listening for a while, and then dug into her purse and was scribbling something in a little book. It turned out to be a check book, and she dropped a check to "the name on the sign" for two CDs, "one for me and one for a friend".
She went back to the bench for a while, before asking if I knew any Mary McCaslin songs. I think she wanted to hear "The Bramble and the Rose", but knowing even one Mary McCaslin song is rare enough, and the one I know is "Waiting", so I did it for her. That great but obscure song pretty much chased the small crowd that I'd gathered away, but it was worth it. Nobody *ever* asks for Mary McCaslin...
Pretty early on, a policeman came by on his official bicycle. He stopped over at the side and just watched and listened for a while. That makes me nervous, of course, but it was way before the 9pm curfew, so I just kept playing -- and actually felt pretty good that he was there to observe the lots of people smiling and having fun.
Warren finally said to him, hopefully jokingly, "We thought you were here to shut us down!", and he said, "Oh, no, even if there were complaints, I'd work to keep you guys here -- I like you guys!" That was amazing to hear!
Not bad for a Monday night. I love summer in Laguna.
We had lots of kids at first, including a trio of tiny 3- or 4-year olds from Mexico who didn't speak English but were able to choose their favorite kids' songs from my picture menu. Then two ladies came by with their 6-year-old daughters all dressed in formal kimonos. I've been inexplicably learning some Japanese lately, so I went over and said "Konban wa", but only the moms spoke it, so that didn't go over as well as I'd hoped.
Later on, some oldsters came by and listened for a while, then came up and asked me if I knew any Sam Cooke. I played "Wonderful World" for them, and they immediately busted into some wild swing dancing! People cleared out of their way, and got out their phones to take videos. And now that I knew what they were up to, I did a couple of similar songs (like "Dream Lover") until it looked like the old guy was going to pass out, so I kind of stopped to give him a break. (No pictures -- they were moving too fast!)
They told us that they did swing dancing at Laguna Woods, and we ought to be playing for those dances. I said that, despite appearances tonight, we really weren't a "dance band" (lacking bass and drums), but I wonder if there's any opportunities for "concerts" there...
Our "every other Saturday" arrangement with the Tommies is fracturing, so we decided to at least try some weekend nights here in the summer. But it turned out that this particular Thursday was the "first Thursday" which makes it "Art Walk", where the galleries and shops stay open late and people come down for the free wine and cheese on offer there.
Which has usually proven to make it a terrible night for busking, 'cuz who can compete with free wine? But we actually did pretty well this time, and had fun.
Since I mostly play in Dana Point during the daytime these days, I'd completely forgotten about the fingerlights that I used to give out to the kids when it's an outdoor night gig. I brought a bag full this time and gave out a handful. It's fun to "make their night" with those.
So we started around 6:00 and by 10:30 we were down to just two people so I figured I'd do my usual Last Song, "Let It Be", but as I was singing it, a big family from Mexico City showed up and was all thrilled and singing along and dancing. And when it was over they wanted "more Beatles!", so I did "In My Life", followed by "Something".
While (and because) they were getting into it, more people showed up out of the empty night, including a young couple. The girl clearly wanted to ask me (for?) something, and finally found an opening and the nerve to march up and ask for "Hotel California" in her strange accent. I said I'd be happy to play it, but first, where was she from? She was reluctant to 'fess up, but finally with the encouragement of my new Mexican friends, said that they were from Azerbaijan. That's a first for me. Not sure why it's embarrassing, though.
When that song was over, she jumped up again and wondered if I knew a song, and she started singing pieces of "San Francisco", the "flowers in your hair" one. Warren and I were both surprised that a 20-somethig girl from Azerbaijan would want or even *know* a song like that, but she and her boyfriend assured us that it played on the radio back there. Gonna have to take their word on that.
I do happen to know it, so I happily played it. Partway through, though, two heavily armored Laguna cops came by and took up a post over to the side. I was sure they were going to call us on the 9:00pm curfew that we were almost two hours over, but it felt like, if they were being polite enough to at least wait for the end of the song, they'd probably only give us a warning.
But, instead, they clapped and told us "Sounding great, guys!", and walked on. That was a surprise and relief.
