Happily Ever After
Life in The Rural Retreat with a beautiful wife, three cats, garden wildlife, a camera, a computer – and increasing amounts about running
Earlier posts can be found on Adventures of a Lone Bass Player, where this blog began life. Recent entries can be found here.
Too Old To Rock And Roll
by admin - 18:07 on 03 June 2012
My prediction of a gig “a little rough around the edges” came to pass, but not solely due to lack of rehearsal. Bess must shoulder some of the blame.
Aviemore and The Winking Owl were thronged with revellers on Saturday night, although few of them were downstairs in the venue's entertainment area at Strawdogs' scheduled 10pm start time – just as well, for Garry the singer was still to appear.
“The punters don't usually turn up until 11.30,” we were told by the management, “but it should be busy by midnight.”
This was little comfort, as that was when we were supposed to finish playing, to be followed by a DJ until 3am.
Garry arrived with his entourage at 10.10pm, breathless and still in his working clothes. Ten minutes later he'd changed and we opened with When You Were Young, to the delight of the rentacrowd amassed by Garry and Michael. By the time we ended what had been a decent first set the place had filled enough to make it look busy, especially after the compulsory hen party stormed in, its participants dressed as fairies.
The rot set in when we returned to the stage and I fluffed Mr Brightside, a song I've played perfectly dozens of times. By then I was running out of steam, my tiredness caused by another night's sleep curtailed early in the morning by a cat anxious for company. More fluffiness followed, not just on my part.
The gig ended on what was meant to be our penultimate song when Garry ran out of words and Michael had to leap to the microphone. Minutes later, Garry was on the way to Raigmore Hospital, driven by a concerned wife, where mysterious chest pains could be examined. The rest of the band had the fun task of battling back and forth through a lively dance floor to carry the gear outside and past the fug of cigarette smoke that blocked the doorway.
I got home at 2am, where I had the small revenge of rousing Bess from her sleep.
Fortunately, the song Garry was singing at the time of his collapse – DOA – was not prophetic. At the time of writing, he is still alive and due for a hospital check-up. His bandmates diagnose overwork and stress. Get well soon.
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