George Harrison Had a Birthday Today

Shotgun had been bugging me for weeks prior to today. Truth be told, I was really not in the mood to play.
The week had not been the best it might have been.

I went into LA to do my bi-weekly larder run and grab a book at a favorite book store.
I found some nice cheese and a book. Had a nice lunch and then headed back to Pomona. I decided to grab a nap. More than anything I figured I would just sleep though Shotguns call.  Sweet oblivion.
Like I said, I was not in the mood.

I awoke when my back could take no more. A quick shower, then sat down to stare at the computer - waste more time. The phone rings.
"You ready?"
I guess so.
I have learned that even if the night promises to be a complete waste of time, it still is better than sitting and listening to my drunken monkey - the schmuck.

So I packed my grade 'A' gear and followed Shotgun to George Harrison's.
My expectations were low. Flags from Texas and the Confederacy hung in front of the stage.
About forty to fifty guests were in attendance.
First order of business was eating. A BBQ was in full swing and we made good use of the offerings.

The first thing about musicians in general are huge egos.
So, off the bat no one likes anyone. Our first muttered line is, "I could have played that better."
A lot of polite head nodding and muttered, "Heyas."

We set up.
Lineup:
Nine Guitarists
Three Bassists
Four Drummers
Three vocalists
One lone Saxophone

Down By The River
Sweet Home Alabama
Peaches En Regalia
Prettier Girls
Hey Joe - I sang!
Jersey Girl
Black Magic Woman
Goodbye Girl - I sang again!


On and on we went.
When you are young, your thoughts are of standing out. Of showing off.
Everyone brought these HUGE amps and rigs. Hundred watt heads with cabinets that were filled with speakers.
I bought my Pro Junior - a fifteen watt amp with one ten inch speaker. A tiny little thing. No ego here. Easy to carry.
It looked as though the dick swaggering was going to be huge.

I am a damned good guitar player.
But the truth I have learned and what I love is a tight band. Airplane tight - Hot Tuna tight - Poco tight.
So, tonight I was playing to fit in and not lead.
God, I was good.
No, I mean it!
I was rocking. It's rare when you think you are playing well, after all we are our own worst critics.
I was the epitome of a good band member. I played back up for everyone...the bottom was solid.
Several times I got the nod to solo and I did. I am not shy.


But more often than not I was just sitting and appreciating what the others brought to the table.
I was dancing. I was singing.

Pete the guitarist, Frank the bass player, Mark the Sax all asked for my number.
Heaven!
To have my peers tell me I rocked.
"Hey man, you played what I wanted to hear."
"You play like John Lennon."  - One of the greatest unappreciated rhythm guitarists ever.
"You blend so well."

It wasn't so much the dancing crowd. Or applause.
It was my fellow band mates telling me that 'I done good.'

We started at about five pm and it wasn't until eleven that I was breaking down my gear.

They should bottle this high and sell it. It far surpasses any illegal smoke, snorted, or injected substance.
Cloud Nine!

"Can you come on July Fourth?"
Being asked to the dance is the greatest compliment one can receive.
Oh, I'll be there.