There are certain elements of twenty-somethinghood that are key staples. Graduating college. Getting a real job. But chief among them is hanging out with friends at the bar. Drinking, dancing and determined to make this the greatest decade. I have spent my time in plenty of drinking establishments. Proper pubs, hole-in-the-walls and large dance clubs. In all these places, I have noticed exactly how life is lived within bars.

During my life within bars, I develop super hero powers. Well technically, three skills become more developed. So, I’m less of a super hero and more like a blind or dumb person. If I had taken the ACT’s at a bar, I am sure that I would have gotten a full ride to Harvard.

Being at a bar is one of the few places I can do division with any real confidence or real speed. I can quickly look at the drink specials, add a tip and divide that into the amount of money I brought in about five seconds. Something about the bar makes my mind work like Rainman’s. Of course the drinks at the bar make me act like him.

At the bar I also develop the amazing ability to stick my foot in my mouth. The last time I was out, I was talking to this guy and was saying how one of his elderly costumers looked like his grandmother except the costumer was a bitch. I quickly said, “which we can assume you grandmother isn’t.” His response: “No, she’s dead” and continued his story. My friend Jacob was there and sot of looked at me and whispered “Awkward.”

But the bar is full of awkward moments. I’ve had to introduce myself three times to someone before I could remember his name and when I put his number in my phone it was still the wrong name. I only knew this because the next day my friend asked me if I got Ryan’s number and I asked “who?” Recently, I entered someone’s name as “Byrice,” which is more like a grocery list than his name.

The greatest thing about the bars, are the people I call Nightcons. These are people that are so outrageous you have to watch them throughout the night. In D.C., my friends and I would place bets (i.e. drinks) on Nightcons to see which one would do the most insane thing. I was out one night and my Nightcon was a heavy-set, heavily drunk lesbian. I first saw this Nightcon on the dance floor when she hiked up her pants through her open shirt without first attempting to block anybody’s view of of her actions. Innocent enough, until she then reached into her pants and readjusted her underwear. Her stomach vibrated like the archival footage of the man getting hit by a cannon ball. I had to share this with someone. When I attempted to point her out to Jacob, she had disappeared. I was at first worried that she had fallen through the dance floor because there was no one dancing where she had been standing. However, it was not her obscene readjustment that gave her Nightcon status. What made her a Nightcon was later that night I saw her cuddling with this other girl and while the other girl had her head in the nape in my Nightcon’s neck, the Nightcon had her head tilted back draining a long neck bottle into her mouth. That my friends, is Nightcon behavior.

In the end, the bars represent all the aspects of our twenty-somethinghood. We go out. We have fun with friends. And occasionally there is a man dividing drinks into $60, avoiding awkward moments, attempting to remember names and trying not to become a Nightcon.

And if you don’t like this entry: Odprejskni!

Long but there’s a point………

Episode IV: A new hope
8 years ago, when I first came across Whitney (my first 5 string), I made a decision to follow the music I had loved since way back: Reggae and funky, jazzy, danceable, soul.  These days the names have changed, and they get grouped together as “urban”, but you get the picture.  It meant turning away bands to concentrate on what I wanted.  I tried the RnB originals thing.  Then I worked on a reggae band, and formed an 80s soul covers band.  Each fell apart without fulfilling their potential:- reasons various.

….Not
This year I found myself without a project (and bass players aren’t known for their solo work!).  Despite offering myself up for various bits and pieces, there hasn’t been enough to keep me busy.  I do need relevant things to be working on, otherwise I loose the motivation to practise.

Brinnnnnng!
Over the last couple of weeks I’ve had a couple of phone calls from covers bands.  One is an hour’s drive away and more pop/rock (Chilli peppers, Maroon 5 etc) than funky.  The other is 70s funk based but they’ve been together for 5 years and never gigged!  Not much momentum there.  The other thing:- and feel free to call me a racist here – (I’m worried too)….  It’s the first time for many years that I’ve been in sessions with ALL white guys, and, frankly, I’m uncomfortable……

…. The dating game
I’ve always likened bands to be like dating or being engaged.  You find one, check it out and fall in love or not.  Recently a good friend of mine met a guy (A musician too.) and briefly dated him. She’s a level headed girl not given to cheapness, but his words and actions had her thinking the he was not just a possible boyfriend, but that he was THE future, and she …. Succumbed.  Having tasted, he …… well….you know.  I can’t blame the guy.  She’s hot.  If I were single, I’d lie like Captain Jack Sparrow, if it got her into the sack.  She’s really sweet.  I’d lie twice!

More importantly, I can’t blame her either, because in music, I do exactly the same thing.  A serial monogamist.  Find a band, Picture the future, invest in it at the exclusion of everything else.  We all know that all musicians are scoundrels, dreamers, escapists, and lazy.

Reality
Except that music has one important difference to dating.  One that sounds harsh if you are emotional.  It is not a sin to be with more than 1 group of musicians at once.  You might say that it is splitting resources and time.  You might think that it cuts across “emotional bonds invested in the soul of the music.  You might even feel threatened that a band mate might find something better and leave.  The reality (that I have actually witnessed) is that:
Your band mate might get pregnant and leave
Get a solo /better looking deal,
Just emigrate.
Have a car crash and be unable to play
Get married and reassess priorities.
Delay the project because, because, because,
Become an asshole.
or anyone of a hundred reasons that leave you holding 20 songs that no-one else wants to play. With 4 musicians you have 400 chances to break up!

Being a musical “slut” has advantages:
You become a more experienced and knowledgeable musician (everyone wins),
By playing more you practice and become physically stronger (everyone wins),
You make more contacts (everyone wins),
It makes the rest of the band mates raise their game (everyone wins),
One of your contacts might pay you.

More importantly if “life” happens to your project you have other projects to go on to.

So…..
The thing about these projects is that however “wrong” they might be for me, they are actually all excellent musicians.  I feel my fingers getting stronger.  I’ll be exposed to ….. don’t know what yet.  Play live. So the answer is:- do BOTH, and look for more.

So if you’re reading this because you were looking for an RnB bassist, still call.  I’m your guy.  It’s just that I’m DOing rather than talking, and definitely, definitely, fed up waiting.

P.S.  Sunday night after writing this:  This weekend I’ve spent 7 Hours In rehearsals and 4 more driving to and from.  My calves are tight, My vision is blurred, my back is tired, and the left hand has the ache that only “Green Onions” can give – which just goes to show it’s working.

You can find Dave at his profile on myspace… http://www.myspace.com/urbanbassics

Or his Band site: http://www.davethebass.com

He’s one of those truly gifted creative people… and writes the most amazing blogs. Really should tell him to do it on his own site, instead of just MySpace… but hey.

Anyway… I usually log in to his page just to read his latest offering. And today I found this one. Austin was Alex’s family dog, and beloved friend. I’ll let you read the rest for yourself.

Austin had problems breathing around 10:30 Wednesday night, so I rushed him to the K-State Vet emergency room.  The doctors there said he appeared to have larynx paralysis, which causes the larynx to close incorrectly and reduced the amount of oxygen he was getting.  He was over heated and dehydrated.  They put him on oxygen and an IV drip to stabilized him.  When he was finally stabilized they let us see him and then we went home.Around 5:30, I got a call saying that he had gone into cardiac arrest and he was not responding or breathing on his own.  I told them just to “make him as comfortable as possible” whatever the fuck that really means.  When we picked him up, the doctor was on the verge of tears because she thought he was going to make it and couldn’t understand why he didn’t, but that’s just the kind of dog Austin was.  Everybody loved him. She said he lost consciousness when he went into arrest and he didn’t feel anything, which gives me comfort but doesn’t make it any easier.

Last entry, I spoke of the trifecta of things that tie us together, weddings, births, and deaths.  In the past month, I have experienced two of them and this one truly hurts the most.  I actually felt my heart break, sounding like a cracking limb of a tree.  Sort of fitting, since Austin enjoyed chasing sticks by the lake.

I’m going to miss that big, lovable beast.

You can see Alex’s page by clicking HERE