Sacred Compromised

ruinedpianoNot good. I’m feeling violated. If you accept mediocrity, you deserve it.

Certain things are not meant to b e fucked with. Whatever it is for whoever it is, some things are not to be disrespected. It’s sacrilegious and it brings bad karma.

For me besides obvious moral ethics, this also includes food and music. They’re both languages I’m fluent in and both communicate what is not needed to say. In my opinion to be able to speak without using words is a type of ultimate theater and in turn, too precious to be taken lightly. Mimes excluded, as they annoy the hell out of me.

For me, a bad meal is a wasted opportunity gone forever. It causes me to pout like a little boy. The same goes for a music gig. When you know how good they can be, you hate to have it go any other way.

I say this because both meals and gigs can and do go south on occasion and when they nosedive, we’re back to my original premise of “sacred compromised”.

Recently, I had the misfortune to have a less than stellar gig foisted upon me. Usually, my gigs are the best evenings of my week. Last week though, a sub of a sub caused a train wreck that harshed my mellow considerably.

My regular bass player was out of town for the holidays so he subbed out the gig to a completely acceptable player, which in a perfect world is how it should be done. This is common and I have no problem with it. The issue was that the sub who was supposed to play the following week as well, with out telling me in advance (so I could have called someone I KNEW could cover the gig) subbed it out to a less than adequate or desirable player and in turn compromised the integrity of the evening considerably. You NEVER send a lesser player, any more than you would go to a med school when you need a dr.

Are we playing the same tune? Are you aware that there is a quarter note pulse in this ballad we’re trying to play, one that you are oblivious to and playing in the wrong key as well?

“But it’s dark” you say. I know it’s dark. You’re in a nightclub Einstein. And I’m Sorry you forgot your glasses so you can’t read the music in front of you as well. This is the type of thing that should be a non-issue, should never happen. But it did, last week, at my gig.

It was all I could do to remain civil and get through the evening. I thought of firing him on the spot when it became apparent that he was a waste of space midway through the first tune. Trane would have, Miles would have, Betty Carter would have. In afterthought, I should have and regret not doing so.

Instead, I endured and allowed my sacred art to be compromised. I wish I didn’t. I feel so dirty.