Just Try It... You'll Get It

This was originally posted in the facebook group, "Gigs from Hell", May 22, 2018

I've played something close to 10,000 gigs in my life (yes... I'm a geezer) give or take a few hundred. Given this volume of giggage, the amazing thing is that not more were horrors. Oh... there was that night in Topeka when the drunken club owner began shooting his pistol inside the cinderblock club. Or the night a drunk climbed up on the stage screaming in my ear, "Caught in a trap... caught in a trap" (he wanted to hear "Burning Love"). I've played gigs when I was almost too sick to stand up, including bouts of stomach flu. I accepted an induction into my state's music hall of fame when I had pneumonia. But I played and enjoyed it! 

There is one night, though, that I feel like I should contribute to my blog. This is known as "My Gig with Billy Buck and His Kentucky Boys". (NOTE: I have changed to name in the event that the original "artist" is still around and still pulling this gig scam.)

I was called by a man with a pronounced "hillbilly" accent and asked if I could "fill in" for his regular guitarist. He said it would be all country standards, by which I assumed he meant Hank, Waylon, Ray, etc. I had done this type of gig hundreds of times and it seemed reasonable enough, particularaly since he said it would pay about $180. Because this circa 1980, $180 would be the equivalent of about $700 with today's inflation index. So... I said --- YES.

About 1 hour prior to downbeat, I arrived at the gig, an American Legion, or Moose Lodge, Elks Lodge... decent stage, and acceptable house PA for the time. I was the first responder.

A short time later, another musician showed up toting a Fender Twin and a telltale case on wheels -- clearly a pedal steel player. I introduced myself and asked him how long he'd been playing with "Billy Buck". He replied that he got the gig through the union local and had never met the "star". I shrugged this off... I'd played in many pick up bands. If the players were all pros, and the repertoire was truly standards, it would all go well -- in fact, these gigs can be great fun.

However, the next player to show up was a young guy who looked like he'd just come from pumping gas, grimy overalls and all, carrying an uncased Gibson EB0 with one string hanging loose. I posed the question to him about his experience playing with Billy Buck. He laughed a Gomer Pyle-ish laugh and said he'd never played with him... in fact, HE'D NEVER PLAYED BASS, or any other instrument for that matter. If I had packed up and left then, I would have missed the most truly surreal gig in my life.

A drummer and sax player completed the band. The sax player probably should have been chaperoned. He would not have been old enough to gain entrance to the club. I was so in shock that I don't recall at all who played drums.

Finally, around 10 minutes prior to downbeat, Billy Buck showed up. He looked like he'd been been reared by a wolf -- not a pack of wolves, but just one drunken, abusive, absentee wolf. Ragged cowboy hat, dirty pearl snap, shit-covered boots. At least his guitar was in a case and he did a decent job of tuning --the one thing that can totally make a gig intolerable is an out of tune rhythm guitarist.

So... we were ready to knock 'em dead. Billy Buck turns to the 16 year old sax player and said, "Kick it off with Stardust." Not a totally unreasonable start -- Willie had recorded his version back in 1977 so most country players knew this tune. I played it frequently with jazz bands that I worked with. BUT... the young sax player, looking like someone had just waved a coral snake in his face, blurted, "Stardust??? I've never head it!!!"

And Billy Buck replied with what I consider one of the most absurd lines ever uttered by a sentient mammal -- "Ahhh.... just try it -- you'll get it"

Yes... out of the blue, you're going to toot on a tenor sax that you barely know how to hold, let alone play. And you will, like the fabled monkey with a typewriter tapping out a Shakespeare play -- you will just happen to honk out one of the most timeless melodies ever rendered, Hoagy Carmichael's etherial line, "Stardust".

But of course, no, he did not by the heavenly law that protects the simple, lay down an enchantingly beautiful, note perfect rendition of "Stardust". Instead, he alternated between the three or four notes that he knew how to play, sounding like a goose with asthma, while I, sizing up the situation, turned up and began playing the melody line of the song. The steel player, also a seasoned hired gun, was up to the task... and quickly grasping that the bassist was not going to help on this -- or any song -- reached over and dialed the bassist's amp to zero.

Somehow we muddled through the remainder of the "song".... afterward, a woman in a floral print frock that might have fit her a few hundred donuts back, lumbered up to the stage, and for some reason addressing me, said, "That shore were purty... it didn't sound like 'Stardust'... but it shore were purty."

I have since that time wondered if the gig might have been fun -- and truly educational -- if Billy Buck had assembled a cast of pros instead of this downtrodden cast of "Kentucky Boys".