Buckets on the Stage

Super Bowl Sunday. Yes, I said it. I wrote it. I’m publishing it on-line. So, sue me. I’ve been a Pittsburgh Steelers fan since I was a little crumb cruncher. The first time I saw Lynn Swann catch a ball that would have been uncatchable by anyone else, I was hooked. My father was a St. Louis Cardinals fan, and my grandfather was a Dallas Cowboys fan. Needless to say, Sundays were always interesting. History shows that Pittsburgh came out on top more often than not. They were a dynasty in the 1970s, and seem of late to be regaining that glory. It’s no secret for whom I am rooting today.

But, enough of that.

16 January 2009
I had one more gig on the schedule to help out my friends in Poisoned Apples during their transition. Not only were they in the process of replacing a bass player, but their drummer Steve was leaving as well. The current gig at hand was at ThatOnePlace in Fenton, MO. I had played there a few times before with Those1Guys, but that was back in 2002. The place hadn’t changed at all. I arrived around 19:30, loaded in my minimal equipment, and was ready to go in about 10 minutes. Sweet. I ordered some food, and sat down for some conversation with the band.

As we all sat there, most of us eating, it became apparent that almost everyone was sick. I had just gotten past some manner of flu earlier in the week. I wasn’t even sure I would make it to the gig until that afternoon. Everyone else seemed to be about two days behind me. Only Eric, the guitar player, seemed well.

As we began the first set, some strategically placed beer buckets appeared on the stage – in the event that anyone had a gastronomical emergency. Nice. Brandy put hers behind her at the front corner of the drum set...right in front of me. When she told me why it was there, I informed her that if she puked in front of me, I would probably puke on the back of her head. She looked at me in somewhat disbelief, and I suggested that she really not take that chance. She left it there anyway. Steve had one next to him behind the drum set, and Eddie put one next to his guitar amp. This was looking like it might be an entertaining evening.

We made it through the first set with no spewing. That was a good start. About midway through the second set, Brandy turned around and gave me a look of desperation. She said, “I almost puked at the end of that song.” Great. Here it comes. If it happened, I knew I probably wouldn’t get past the reflex, and suspected that the others onstage wouldn’t either. That would surely start a stampede towards the door for any patrons lucky enough to witness it.

As it happens, no one spewed all night. We made it through the last set with scarcely even a belch. I must say, Brandy sounded quite good considering the situation. Kudos for the professionalism.

I know this is without a doubt the grossest blog I’ve ever written. But, hey, I’m just recounting the story as it happened. Don’t hate the messenger.

I used that little Ampeg B200R combo amp again, as the BA500 was still out of service. Eddie played bass on one of the songs in the third set, which afforded me the opportunity to get out front and listen. That little amp sounded great. It had just enough muscle to be heard on the stage, too, which is quite possibly the deadest stage on which I’ve ever played. Kudos to Carlos Bedoya for another great design.

Load out went pretty quick at the end of the night. Eddie went looking for Eric to give him his cut of the financial bonanza, but couldn’t find him. He turned up later coming out of the restroom where he had apparently been puking. That made it 100%. Everyone was officially sick.

Of course, we’re musicians – we’re sick anyway.