ThinkSong

Last Night's Gig and a Mean Old Man

Last night's gig in Sacramento got better as the night progressed. Restaurant gigs are always tricky because you're playing background music. While the owners were asking me to turn down my vocals, various listeners were asking me to turn up, or turn down the piano, etc. One person even wrote me this morning to complain the drummer was too loud, although I find that hard to believe, having stood out in the audience to gauge the balance and finding the drummer to be the quietest of the trio! What can I say? When I make it big, I can have a sound engineer travel with me and we can play only listening rooms.

The good: Various audience members came up to say they'd heard me on NPR on Wednesday (not entirely accurate--I was on an NPR station but the interview show was local as far as I know)! I had requests to sing I Think of You, which I had done on the air, and Les Moulins de Mon Coeur, which I had sung a capella. I didn't do the latter as I couldn't find the lyrics.

The bad: I got there at about 4:30 pm to set up, having timed the long Friday afternoon drive to avoid traffic. I backed my car up and parked in front of the restaurant. As I was walking to the restaurant a cigar-smoking 70-year-old man in a fedora and snazzy suit said something to me about having lunch with Hillary Clinton. "Why are you telling me that?" I asked. "I saw the sticker on your car. I'm going to tell Hillary how to be a real girl." He claimed to have consulted for Bush. For some stupid reason I stood there and started talking vaguely about politics with him, although I avoided any detail and just engaged in friendly banter (his solutions to the world's problems, immigration, health, parenting etc. all involved atomic bombs and hanging). Why? Because horrible people like that sometimes draw you in with their duplicitous smile and you think perhaps they're joking. And I like to practice diplomacy in such situations, both to see what the other side thinks and to see if I can score some minor points. It's like a challenge--can I come out of a conversation with an offensive person like this unscathed? The answer is no. I finally told him I had to go because I was performing that night at the restaurant. "Oh? Did you bring your pole? Are you going to strip for us?" I was so disgusted. I said I was a mother of two children and walked off.

Later, as I was loading my gear in, I told the hostess what had happened and said I didn't want this jerk hanging around after I finished the gig. "Oh, he's harmless, but he's very offensive. We all have to deal with him every day. I'm so sorry he said that to you." "What, does he own the place?" "No, but he's very rich and he thinks everyone should know who he is. The women especially, they flock to him, because, well, you know." "What, because he's rich?" "Yeah." I shivered.

I made the mistake of telling my brother and husband and now they plan to go teach this guy a lesson. Of course, they can't hit a 70-year-old ...

Labels: gigs