DOG is playing a private birthday party at Java Cafe at Madison and Sunrise tomorrow night. It's a social event - people want to talk, whether the band is playing or not. It's their party, not ours. We're getting paid to make sure everybody has a good time. No problem, right? After all, The band's unofficial mission statement is "Everywhere we go, there's a party."
We violated this sacred oath at the last private party we played - the 40th surprise birthday bash for Kenton's fiancee, Melissa, at Momo's on J Street.
Kenton paid a fortune to rent the place out and fill it with friends, family, business associates and a bunch of our chums from St. John's Lutheran Church.
We were too loud from the first note. Two minutes into the opening song, "Bad Little Doggie," The Long Suffering Mrs. Chance ran up to me and screamed in my ear: "Can you turn it down? It's TOO LOUD!"
The guests who had been standing in front of the band waiting for the music to start were stunned - and not in a good way. They fled to the farthest reaches of the Momo. People had to shout their drink orders to the bartenders, who looked grumpy. The job is stressful enough without people yelling at you. I guiltily slipped a $20 bill into the tip kitty later to apologize for the racket.
If I had any leadership ability, I would have stopped the show after the first song and huddled with the band and Philip, our sound man. "We're blowing out the room," I'd have said. "What can we do to fix this right now?"
Instead, we blasted our way through the first set. Nobody danced, or even came close to the band. On the first break, a woman came up to me.
"I'm an artist and a musician," she told me. "You've got to keep on eye on the crowd and watch their reactions. Did you notice how everybody moved away when you started? That means it's too loud."
"Don't tell me - tell that asshole over there," I said, waving a hand toward Kenton, who was fiddling with his drums. That's typical for me: rude, refusing to take responsibility. Would it have killed me to just listen and say thanks? Or actually address the problem, instead of luxuriating in righteous anger?
I had been quite grumpy since Kenton, Philip and I had visited Momo the day before to plan the load-in and set up. The manager seemed unhappy at the prospect of a fully equipped rock and roll band invading her fancy club. "People are going to be eating downstairs," she said. "Is this going to be real loud? You have to be OUT before 10 when we open up."
Kenton and I immediately got into a fight about set length. Kenton wanted to play one hour sets.
"That's too long," I said. "Forty-five minute sets! Thirty-five would be even better. We don't need a break, the audience does. They want to talk. They want to order drinks. You need to entertain your guests. You need to pay attention to Melissa."
"It's my party," Kenton said.
I nearly bit my tongue in half to avoid saying, "Oh? I thought it was Melissa's party!" I didn't see any point in going nuclear.
Kenton called me that night and apologized for being so irascible. I counter-apologized for losing my temper instead of talking about the issue constructively.
Kenton only sin is was trying to damn hard. I could understand this. As I self-absorbed show-off, I've made plenty of messes while trying to impress beyond my abilities. This merciful and diplomatic attitude didn't survive the irritations of the Momo gig, however.
• We had to haul all the gear up the steep, narrow wooden stairs leading the Momo's back entrance. I couldn't imagine this complies with city codes.
• Kenton arrived with one of his super-sized drum sets - gleaming forest of cymbals, stands, two snare drums, roto toms, a cowbell and God knows what else. This required a two-hour set-up before we could sound-check. Nick and I killed time talking to Drew about his birthday present to himself: a tattoo done in L.A. by the lady from the TV show, LA Ink. It was still freshly bloody and scabbed, which I thought made it look ever more dangerous.
• Kenton displayed the "KDOG Finest Jamm In Town!" more prominently than the "Happy Birthday Melissa" banner - directly over the drum set.
• Kenton had a long-standing rule going back to the days of The Bittermen Blues Band that Nick was not allowed to stand in front of him. At Momo's, he extended this prohibition, positioning Drew and I off to the sides and out of the spotlight.
• If you have to beg people to dance, you know the gig isn't going well. Kenton hectored people to dance at the start of "Crossroads," which features his big drum solo. A bunch of people finally came up, danced for two minutes, then found themselves with nothing to do when the drum solo started. This killed dancing for the rest of the night. I really went berserk over this gaffe
The whole show was as unintentionally hilarious as the great scene in Spinal Tap in which the band plays for a cocktail party at the military base. The problem was I lost my sense of humor. Taking any of this too seriously is fatal. I endured several cracks at the band's expense about this gig. My tender ego wouldn't tolerate this ribbing. This led to a rather hostile conversation with the Long-Suffering Mrs. Chance:
"It was just too loud. People couldn't talk."
"We're a rock band! Rock is loud! People should just deal with it!"
"I'm sorry, but our dearest friends in the world were telling me that it was just too loud to be enjoyable."
I thought, "Why work so hard to just make a fool of myself?" My playing at the Momo was hardly a model of musical excellence.
I thought about quitting - for about five minutes. I didn't really want to return to civilian life or start a new band.
Philip the sound guy seems to be the only person who can deal with problems constructively. He autopsied the Momo gig with Kenton, deftly explaining the Kenton didn't have the mojo to front a band from the drum chair. The show drum kit created an expectation that he couldn't match. The less Kenton tried to grab the spotlight, the more he would impress people as a drummer. A drummer, like a hockey goalie, has to hang back and play his position. Kenton sent me an e-mail explaining all this. I wished I could discuss this stuff so sensibly. Philip focuses on fixing the problem, rather than fixing the blame. Philip is Swiss. Hunting for the guilty is a very American trait, and one of the most annoying facets of my personality.
My black mood and the crisis passed. Within two weeks, the band's summer calendar was suddenly booked up with gigs from May through October. Most went well.
Now, we're getting ready to confront the Momo problem tomorrow night: a private party, a small room and plenty of opportunities to make fools out of ourselves one more time. I wonder if we've learned anything?
