Joe texted out of the blue
on Tuesday and asked if I wanted to go to the John Prine's Birthday open mic at
the Wild Goose. Hell yes says I, and we agreed to meet at his place.
I know how much Sequoia
misses playing music and hey, John Prine, so I told him about it and he said
he wanted to come. I suggested we play Oughta Name a Drink After You and Chain
of Sorrow. We've been playing those songs for decades and I figured we couldn’t
fuck up too bad. Plus, I was sure someone else would play Fish & Whistle
before we got a chance.
I dropped in at Joe's and we
chatted for a bit then went to the Goose. The place was packed. There was no place to sit and the opening
act played for more than an hour so Joe bailed. I might
have bailed too but Sequoia wanted to play, so we waited it out.
As we were
standing by the back door waiting to go on, a guy walked in who looked vaguely familiar, but I didn't give it much thought.
Finally we went up. I played
the accordion and sang harmony which always charms people. It wasn’t our
best outing ever, but it was at the Goose on a Tuesday night, people were
drunk, who cares?
I do, but that's
another story.
We got a big ovation and people
told us we were great, etc. I perform often enough now to take those kinds
of compliments with a grain of salt. Mostly people are charmed by the
accordion, not the music. By then it was past Sequoia’s bedtime and he left
right after we played, but I decided to hang out.
The guy who looked vaguely
familiar started chatting with me, told me we were terrific, we should do a few
more songs, etc. I was gracious but skeptical. He said he loves accordions and
mentioned he plays banjo. We both told banjo player jokes and talked shop a
bit. I thought he must be a local musician and finally said, "You look so
familiar to me, are you in a band?" He said, "Yeah, I play in a band
called Devil Makes Three. We played here once many years ago."
I was standing in the
fucking Wild Goose on a Tuesday night chatting up Pete Bernhardt.
I kept my cool, told him I'd
missed them at Wild Goose but had seen them at Stillwater
At that point I got inside
my head, like I do. I was too intimidated to insert myself into their group and
was overwhelmed by the whole scene. I looked in my car for a Bathtub Gin
Serenaders CD to give him, but didn't have one so, coward that I am, I
left. I know, I know, golden opportunity squandered; story of my life.
It was like something out of
a fantasy, or maybe a nightmare. If it had been a fantasy, I would
have scripted a different ending. The moral of the story is, I care far too much about what
people think. It is my tragic flaw.
