It was a long gig--5 hours--but the money was good, and it was coming at a good time. Not only did I want to work, but these sort of gigs are a good chance for me to play a lot of sax and flute. I get to practice, more or less the whole night, because the gig is so open--I can take an idea or a pattern or an interval and play it over and over; put in on different parts of the beat; flip it around.
Last night was a good exercise for the first three hours…the problem was that the gig went for five! It got even more difficult when the DJ stuff changed from house music to pop music--what am I supposed to play over PYT, Don't Stop Believin', Let's Groove Tonight, or You Give Love a Bad Name?
Just when I thought we were done, they extended the gig a half hour. I limped through that. Eighteen drunk people on the dance floor held us hostage. At 12:30, the lights came on and I started packing up. They extended the gig ANOTHER half hour. It was brutal. My bottom lip felt like hamburger.
By 1 AM, we were a wreck. They were drunk, we were tired. People were auditioning for the percussion part. The client was WASTED…she was talking to the DJ and the percussionist at one point, and she said, "I like that long thing with the ridges that you pull the stick across…hey look he's got a cowbell…have you ever seen that SNL skit with the cowbell?" Ugh.
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