Anadagig

Tiffany Shea called yesterday.

I'll be playing with her again tonight (friday).

We'll be playing at Fat Ted's bar and grill in Deep Ellum from 10pm to 1am. I think it's just going to be an accoustic night, me and her. I don't think there's a cover.

Should be fun.

Barroom BRAWL!!!

Last night I went to the Black Dog Tavern in Fort Worth (right at Throckmorton and 8th).

Thursday nights it's Confusatron.

What a great show! The sound wasn't quite as good as at the Wreck Room, but the crowd and ambiance at the Black Dog make up the difference, easy.

After they got going, the place filled up and there wasn't a head that wasn't a bobbin'. (The music is a great sort of... jazz-funk-fusion). It wasn't too long before the front was full of people dancing--and not that obnoxious bump-and-grind and "freakin'" style dancing. No, it was just a bunch of people who couldn't help but move with the groove.

I saw a friend of mine there who I hadn't seen in a while and it was good to catch up, she needed to leave a little early and asked me to walk her to her car... which wasn't a problem, because--no cover charge, I could walk in and out all day and not think twice about it.

When I got back the groove was just too much for just sitting there with a little head bob and foot tap, so I decide to make my way up to the front where I saw someone I wanted to talk to. And right as I'm two steps from my destination--BAMM!!!

Intense pain in my left eye!

The girl I was just walking past, was way into the music, she may have even been doing interpretive dance considering how much she was using her arms... and in one of those arms was a beer bottle... the very beer bottle that had just collided with my eyeball.

And it wasn't like, near my eye, or around my eye, it struck nothing but cornea and white, spongy flesh.

And it wasn't like she tapped me with her bottle, and was like "oops". No, the bottle was knocked out of her hand... by my eyeball. With sufficient force to disrupt its contents enough to give us both a pretty good beer bath.

It was apparently not her first... or even sixth... drink because she seemed to watch the entire event with a certain level of confused awe.

I quickly scooped up her much reduced bottle from the floor and handed it to her while apologizing for the clumsiness of my eyeball.

I had to put the bottle in her hand (I'm not sure about the ethics there) as she continued to just stand there looking dumbstruck. [The following is not true.] Right then a guy wandered over who looked himself like he'd had six or twenty to drink, and said, "Hey! I think you owe the lady a beer!"

So I looked at "the lady" and said "Are you okay? Do you need another drink?"

I may have been shaking my head as I asked this, because she seemed to be following and copying every movement of my head, with particular interest, and she was shaking her head as I asked the question."

Confident that she did not need anything else to drink I said, "She's fine. But thanks." And turned to go back to my seat (I'd had enough of the dance floor). As I was turning I felt a hand on my shoulder and knew what was coming so I ducked... but it was at that moment I realized I no longer had any depth-perception. So, though I successfully dodged the flying fist, when ducking I head-butted this small woman who couldn't have been taller than five-foot-nothin'.

"Oh no, sorry."

"Whouch! What happened?"

"My fault, this guy was trying to hit me and"--SMACK!! Right on the side of the face. It wasn't that hard of a punch, but it was enough to knock me off balance... I knew before I hit the ground that I wasn't the only one going down.

Poor five-foot-nothin' broke my fall.

"Sorry, again. This is really embarrassing."

"That's okay. Could you get off?"

Conveniently, I was being hoisted to my feet right at that moment by the offender.

I quickly rotated to the left to face him... and swung my fist right into that spot below his solar-plexus. Yep, right into a stomach that was much harder than I was hoping he'd possess.

I quickly changed tactics and rotated my shoulder and arm so that I could bring my elbow right into the side of his jaw.

It worked.

He went down like no man has since a certain David slung his sling.

That's about when I noticed that the dance floor was still moving, but it wasn't to the rhythm of the music.

The brawl had begun.

Matt Skates was looking at me laughing and acting like his bass was a machine gun and he was mowing me down... all while playing (like I said, he's very talented).

There were a few unfortunates who thought it had just turned into a mosh-pit. They jumped in for fun and had to claw their way out for their lives. I took that opportunity to slug, push and hurdle my way out of the mayhem. [The following is true.]

When I got back to my seat I realized my left eye was not only in pain, but wasn't focusing. I went to the bathroom to see if my contact lens had shifted off center. But there isn't a mirror in the bathroom, so I have to grab one of my friends and ask them to look into my eye for the contact. They see that my eye has looked better... but no contact lens.

I go back to the scene and find one half of my contact lens on the ground. Bummer.

I say my goodbyes and head out.

The car wouldn't start. I'd left the headlights on.

I have to go back to the bar, the bartender finds me somebody with cables and that extremely nice person acted like it made their day to get to help me. They certainly made my day.

It was an interesting and exciting time. But I'm glad I didn't have to go to work this morning.

What were y'all doing the other night? ...'cause I was playing bongos at a lesbian bar.

I had a gig last Friday night.

I actually didn't tell very many of my friends about it until after the fact.

Why?

I think I was uncomfortable inviting all of my bible-belt friends to come and hear me play bongos at one of the supposedly largest lesbian venues... in the country. (and no, I don't mean that the lesbians were large, I mean the venue was) (how big was it? See for yourself, just go to google.com, hit the "images" link and then type "lesbians"--JUST KIDDING) (Just kidding about how to see it, not the gig (as if you don't know what you'll see if you do an internet search for lesbians)) (why am I still trapped in all of these parenthesis?) (maybe it's because, subconsciously, I'm still too narrow minded to put lesbian comments anywhere other than in non-essential clauses...?)

Anyway, it was a great time.

Last Tuesday I got a call asking if I would be interested in playing percussion for the Tiffany Shea Band. I said sure, sounds like fun.

"Oh by the way, it's at a lesbian venue. Is that a problem?"

"...? ... no...?"

Later that night I talked with Tiffany Shea herself.

"So, you play percussion... Are you interested in playing this Friday?"

"Yes."

"What kind of equipment do you have?"

I told her.

"What's your experience?"

I told her.

"Cool. Okay... this is going to sound sh#**y, but... um..."

"Just say it."

"Okay, we're good. Really good."

I pull up her website, and it looks like they're good.

Really good.

She says, "Look, I don't want to have to worry about you one iota while we're playing. We're a tight front line, we've been playing together for 6 years and I don't want to find out on the night of that you can't jam."

If she's trying to intimidate me... it's working.

She continues, "We've played with new people on the night of a gig before, and I'm not worried about us being able to cope with something new. But you've got to know your stuff. If you can't hold a 2 a 4 and a 6, I just need to know now."

I take a chance and assume she doesn't mean hold a 2, 4 and 6 at the same time and I say, "Alright, I'll tell you what. I'm confident I can hang. BUT if at any time in the night what I'm playing isn't doing it for you, just give me a look and I'll fade out and we'll pretend like you just asked me to come out and play on couple of songs. That way no one's embarrassed or screwing each other up, and we can forget about paying me. Does that ease any of the pressure?"

"... Yeah, I think that works... " I can tell she's trying to decide if what I just said was a blessing or a warning/cop out that maybe I shouldn't be coming out at all (maybe "coming out" is poor word choice for this particular entry).

"Okay, yeah." Sounds like she's decided, "If what you're playing works, then we'll jam out and then I'll throw some money your way, if not, you can just sort of ease away from the rest of the night."

"Excellent. I'm looking forward to playing with you."

"Yeah, it should be fun."

We work out the details; $, transportation, when/how/where. There won't be any practicing with the band, and she'd prefer I don't learn the songs on the CDs because they may not be playing them just like that for this show.

Cool.

I meant to tell her I haven't played in about six months but that didn't seem to come up in the conversation so... oh well.

The next day I got with my cousin and set up all of my stuff and we jammed out for a little while. It became clear to me that I needed to remind my hands how to play. And right as I'm thinking I'm glad I'm just a percussionist and not the drummer my cousin says, "You know there's not going to be a drummer Friday night, right?" (He's the one who told Tiffany I play percussion.)

"Er... what? No."

"Yeah, that's why she needed a percussionist. None of her drummers were available."

"Er... what? No."

"We can call her, but I'm sure that's what she said. Why? Does that freak you out a little?"

"No, it kind of freaks me out a lot. I've never played with or even heard this group, how responsible for the rhythm am I going to be? If she needs a drummer, I know lots, I can find her one."

"I think she wants a percussionist so that it can be more improvisational rhythm. She doesn't want to have to worry about where a drummer has to take the music."

"That makes sense. But I don't know if I want to do it."

"Let's just talk to her, and find out what she wants, before you think about it anymore."

We go and I meet her face to face for the first time.

She says, "Hi Shad, nice to meet you."

"It's good to meet you too."

My cousin says, "Shad was actually with me last week when we went to hear that band play." (This is where my cousin met Tiffany, she was in the crowd with us... but somehow I didn't meet her.)

Tiffany looks at me surprised, "Holy Sh#*! You're the third guy!"

My cousin and I, in unison, "Huh?"

"Want to hear a funny story?"

"Uh huh."

And so she tells, "That night I was there with a friend and she'd been kind of depressed and doesn't get out much and I'd been trying to get her to go out with us for a while and I was excited when she finally did. That night. And we were talking and... I'll try to keep this G-rated... and I was so irritated that there were NO good looking guys there. And I was just asking my friend what the deal was; why there weren't any guys there that looked old enough to be out of high-school or who weren't totally sleazy looking.

And right when I said that... as if God had heard my prayer and thought, 'This'll be funny.'... right then, the door opened and enter three guys. Ding Ding Ding. One with long hair [my cousin], one with short hair [our friend, Mark], and one with a shaved head [me]. I was like, take your pick! It was hilarious. You were the third guy! ...But I picked the one with the long hair."

That was okay, still made my day. My cousin and I agreed that it was, in fact, a funny story.

We discussed my concerns, but this time she wasn't intimidating and I wasn't over-confident. She said she wasn't expecting anything from me but to add some color and that she thought it would be fun. And that it would be silly of her to expect someone to play with them who'd never heard them or practiced with them to carry any of the responsibility of the rhythm.

Whew.

I went home, set up my stuff, put my ipod on shuffle and just drummed... for a loooong time.

The night of the gig.

We meet up with Tiffany at her place in Dallas and go on out to the venue. As I'm unloading my stuff to the stage Tiffany introduces me to the bass player, Miguel.

"This is Shad, he'll be playing percussion with us tonight."

Miguel looked at me and raised his eyebrows, "...oh."

So, she didn't tell the band I'd be playing with them... great.

Miguel interrogates me for a little bit about my experience, but is very cool and friendly about it (although I think he also looks a little worried-- it's at that moment, I realize I'm on stage with a bunch of rockers... what are these bongos doing up here? seems to be the unspoken question).

Jace, the guitar player, was soon there as well.

Again introductions. Again surprise.

Jace asks, "So Shad, have you ever played..." I take a breath to go into my experience shpeel again--only to be surprised with the completion of his question, "...at a gay bar before?"

"Oh... uh. ... no."

He laughs.

Tiffany says we need to jam a little bit for a quick soundcheck.

She points to me and Miguel to start it.

I nod to Miguel to start it.

Miguel starts it. I find his groove and jump in.

And nothing else matters.

There was a phase in my life when the only time I felt like I wasn't a bumbling fool was when I was on stage behind some drums. And at that moment, I suddenly remembered why that was.

Miguel looks over at me and smiles. I was already smiling but I point it in his direction. Jace begins to play and gives me the rocker-nod-and-smile.

We're jamming.

Tiffany starts to play and wail. Man, she's got a voice. She turns around to look at me and says, "This... is going to be fun!"

She was right.

After we'd played a few songs we went into another jam and Miguel and I rocked out for a little bit. Miguel is a fantastic bass player. After that song Tiffany asked me, "Hey, what's your last name?"

I tell her.

"Hey everybody, behind me here, rocking the percussion, is Shad T...."

A lot of cheers. Then Jace leans over to a mike and says, "This is his first gig at a gay bar!"

The place exploded!

Apparently that was the coolest thing they'd heard all night.

The whole night was a blast. Only one guy hit on me. And on two occasions girls came up to me and felt they needed to make it clear that they were just there with a friend.

Afterwards everyone was very complimentary and encouraging. Tiffany said, "You kicked @$$!" and gave me more money than we'd agreed on.

I thought they were all great musicians, and I'm so glad I didn't chicken out a couple of days before.

Jace complimented me as I was leaving and I told him I thought he was great and I'd love to hear them play with a drummer sometime.

It was a great night.

I thought this blog entry would be more about lesbians and funny stories about being a fish out of water but, oh well. It was a fantastic crowd. Very cool, very nice. It was a very nice part of Dallas I haven't seen before. And yeah, I'd do it again.

People are awesome. Love 'em all.