Saturday, May 13, 2017

A Day In The (Yikes) Life, Part 2

Okay... so where was I....?  Roaring disaster fans, dippy eggs, scrambling to keep it all afloat. . . .

Now, I've got . . . well had . . . the 2 bands.  One, the best Bowie tribute band in the world ( I believe:) stuck in the middle of nowhere (high desert Utah) and the other, a little ensemble that is learning my new, original songs and trying to record a debut album.

My guitarist for the Bowie band is a fantastic guitarist.  One of the best I've ever worked with--can play anything.  Mr. Milquetoast--looks like an insurance salesman, or a school teacher, which he is/was . . . a guy I'd known for just a year since I cobbled this band of pro musicians together to play Bowie's best, most complicated tunes.  I thought, why not have him come put a solo on my originals project.  He was game, but, shockingly informed me through text that he's just lost his job.  What? He was constantly whining about playing weeknight gigs because (being the oldest member in the band) it messed with his work schedule and he needed a good night's sleep.  And his teaching job meant more than anything to him--security above all . . . and though I've never had such "security" myself, I understand and tried to accommodate.  Didn't want to lose this great player--the major linchpin--in my band.

"Broke some school policy" was all he texted and I could tell he was fairly well devastated.  But then I thought, hey maybe now we CAN do some weeknight gigs!  Whatever, we had 2 important shows coming up soon and I had just lost my also crucial keyboardist who was frustrated we weren't touring the world yet, lol.

So I had some time booked in the studio and went to pick him up.  Got to his house, noticed an unusual amount of cars on the narrow street and thought maybe he had family over consoling him about the job loss.

Heading for his door, suddenly a burly policeman marched promptly out and turned me away.  "I need you to leave the area . . . we have a situation here." he said pointing back to the house.  Wait, what?  What's going on?  Is my guitarist suicidal?  Has he gotten abusive towards his wife?  Didn't seem likely.   He was an immensely mild-mannered dude, on the obsessive-compulsive side, yes, but not the violent type.

Shocked, I forged on to the studio and ended up adding some guitar parts myself, less than stellar, but not a total waste.

Well, I got the sad, tragic tale via text from his wife the next day.  My guitarist was in jail.  Thank God he never did anything to anyone--it was all in his own little world . . . but the school had found evidence of his collection and keeping of photos of the underaged on school property.  What a nightmare.  A few days later he was the leading story on all the local t.v. stations, mug shot blazing, school teacher found with ... etc, and etc.  I'm guessing several years in the "big house" and who knows what else will result.   Such folk are not taken too kindly to within the prison walls....Just terrible, the whole thing:(

And, while not SO dire in comparison, so much for the very important, high-brow. $1,800 per table, downtown Children's Charity Benefit gig I had landed for my Bowie band!  I have had to cancel all pending shows until I can figure out where to go from here. . . .

Oy, what a shock . . . and sad situation, all 'round.  His poor wife was totally blindsided, as were we all.  And all the money, time, promo, sacrifice I/we(my family) have put into this . . . destroyed . . . by sin.  He use to bridle whenever I would proselytize about the One, True Way.  Post-modern, new-agey confusion was his conception of Truth, and although I feel sick for him and his horrifying fall . . . the effects of muddled, self-serving cosmic philosophy are what they are.  No one is an island.  We affect all around us according to our worldview and behavior, for good or bad.

I do not intend to just give up.  My originals' project forges on, though taking a fair shake more time and money than I had hoped. . . .

Still trying to get the basement back to normal . . . slowly but surely.  My mother . . . continues to deteriorate, but at least now it seems she is realizing that she must not be stubborn and in denial and will need to enter a more assisted-care facility.  I can only do so much with all else that is on my plate

Onward we go, praising God always!  His will be done!

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