Tickets to see Ebu Gogo at the Milestone on a Tuesday night... $8
Enough pork, buns, bacon, potatoes, eggs, and juice to feed 3 traveling musicians... $30-$35
Sitting on my couch with Gavin Castleton, trading horror stories about our first gigs... priceless.
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See...I cut a lot of potatoes. I cook food all the time. However, on this particular morning, I'm chopping the motherload of potatoes while my piano in the next room is casually being shredded by a musician that I hold in the highest regard. I've been pretty good up till now about not being overwhelmed by the fact that the guy who has been the biggest musical influence on me over the last year and a half is just chilling at my place. I've been making a conscious effort to not be overly "fan-boyish," however, that may all go to shit if I enter the living room. I must avoid the living room at all costs.
His new single just dropped yesterday and we have finished breakfast. Unfortunately, I have been using this damned inhaler in the mornings to help me breathe...and while it certainly does that, it also renders communication on my end extremely difficult, very uncomfortable, and nearly useless. I stutter and stammer while he legitimately asks my opinion on his new tune.
In my head, I have all the answers. I can coherently explain that I think the drums sound a bit thinner than I was expecting...that there always seem to be characters in his music that make these sweeping assumptions without much real or actual communication which generally ends up being their downfall...that the intro reminds me of another one of his tunes...and on and on... But all that comes out is me pretty much nodding and agreeing with whatever he's saying. I know I sound retarded, but I'd rather be retarded and able to breathe than the other way around.
My cool is lost. I'm suddenly a fan again and I'm asking the band to sign a flier I took off the wall of the Milestone last night. They oblige and ask me if I have any of my own music for them to take with them on the road. Now I'm really freaking, which is absurd because I'm 31 and play my music to complete strangers all the time. I give them "Waltzing on Eggshells" and kick myself for not having a cd handy of my newer stuff to give, as well.
Later that day, as I'm driving to the DMV, I pop in "Waltzing" and try to listen to it through their ears. Guitar sounds kind of thin, not enough low end to carry some of the songs, a bit too pop here and there, etc... By the time I'm back home I hope they dug it, but I'm really not that concerned either way. They're regular guys, just like me. They're musicians, artists, husbands, and friends, just like me. They were gracious guests in my house, which was a pleasant surprise. I wasn't sure if they would just sleep and bolt...or drink all my beer, smoke all my pot, trash the place and bolt...or actually hang out - which they did.
The next day, I'm hanging in Jala's room and Kara comes in from the guest room with a dirty sock. She says, "Here... Now you can frame this, too. I found it in Gavin's room." I didn't really consider it...
...for too long...