For the Guv…
Actually, Dagmar’s not a dragon at all. She’s a dragling. If you get time, check out Randal Spangler’s artwork — he has a whole series of Dagmar and Dewey Dragling art. Fun stuff!
Unexpected Gig
Got called last night to go play at the Farmers’ Market again. It’s 8:45 a.m. and raining. They want us to play from 9:30 to noon… I hope it quits raining. Of course, rain goes well with folk rock and blues, I guess. Especially while people are wandering past fondling their melons…
If you’re reading this on Facebook, you can see the original blog at www.radloffs.net, click on “Blog.”
I have seen a woman scratching under her melons right here at my desk. That was plenty for me. thankyouverymuch.
“Are you ready for some rock, Farmer’s Market? Neither are we, it’s early. Here’s some mellow, smooooooth jazz.”
Boy, did THAT suck. The first hour we played it was a misty, gray sort of day. We all huddled under the tent and did the best we could… This is NOT my band, mind you, I was just filling in for a friend, so I’m not all that familiar with the songs.
“For our next selection, we’ll play a Bob Dylan number…” I don’t know any Dylan. I tried to get the bassline to Clapton’s “Cocaine” to fit as it seemed to be in the same key, but that didn’t work. Neither did “Cat Scratch Fever.” Oh well. Turns out folk musicians don’t have much of a sense of humor. (To be honest, I kinda liked the song — I’m gonna have to track it down and download it. I hope Dylan didn’t sing it himself, though.)
After an hour of such antics, it started raining in earnest (and also in Sioux City), so we pulled the plug and got our drippy equipment stowed away fast as we could.
I made six dollars.
And what did you spend your windfall on, praytell?
Gas to get home…
It’s amazing what musicians will tolerate in order to play in public.
Thank you for the kindly looking dragon art! Now at least I won’t have nightmares about some drooling, halitosis ridden, fire breather (unless it’s our last receptionist, urgh!). Hee. Dagmar the dragon.
Being in a band is just not the glamour wagon people seem to think, is it?
Once we played in a skinhead club in Portsmouth, England. Who booked us there is either an axe murderer or very, very delusional. I believe it was so scary I actually sat on the drummer’s lap.
“I believe it was so scary I actually sat on the drummer’s lap.” Now we may be able to deduce just who set up that gig.
So, gas money instead of a six-pack of cheap beer. That must have really sucked.