What Not To Say to The Band

Actual comments from strangers following a gig:

You mean they let just anybody get up there and sing? My girlfriend wants to try.

Don't you know any good songs, like Titanic?

You have another job, right?

Actual comments from friends following a gig:

It was okay. Yeah, it was, uh, good.

Well, now I've seen you sing.

It was okay but you've ruined Avalon for me.

I can't believe you just get up there.

You know you're fat, right?

And my favorite: during a staff meeting, about 36 hours after a gig,  someone who had heard me sing turned to me and snapped, "Too much vibrato! Can't you try to control that?"

A few friends (musicians) have said the following and I think it's just about right:

Well done!

I enjoyed that!

Well sung!

They left it at that. That's fine by me. I don't want to discuss the line-up with everyone I meet: much of the artistic arrangement is a collaboration and I have more and more confidence in how we put things together. We have a new set and I think it's a killer, very diverse musically and with an interesting house-party approach to how the songs flow together. I haven't heard any other groups take this approach to music and I like the fact we're putting our own spin on things. We're not a cover band and I'm dead lucky to be working with such a talented guitarist who can play jazz, blues, lead guitar and straight out rockabilly--not to mention pick--with such ease. It takes a lot of rehearsal to build that sort of musical intimacy, where you can glance at each other and shoot off an improvisation that works, and we're finally there. My thanks to the audiences we dragged out there during the first few months--many moments were NOT pleasant to witness, I'm sure, but then again, birth isn't an easy thing to watch.  We're almost there. We've started getting paid gigs, and we're getting better all the time. I'm sure the weird comments will continue to flourish as I attract the crazies, but that's part of the deal. 

Putting Down the Doggy, Thrifty Chinese Style

Yes, it has been some time since last I blogged: I still have two jobs, I sing with two bands (one is over I think but I'm not sure) I've spent two weekends filming a pilot, still have two guinea pigs the size of overweight chihuahuas, but I have only one doggie, my beloved original model. The other doggy started having seizures--a hell of a thing to watch--and given his advanced age and the growth on his junk (his favorite toy) I took the horrible step of having him put down. 

The walk to the vet was a nightmare--my ayi disapproved of spending any money on putting him down, and offered to poison him for free, with a quick chuck of the body into the rubbish bin. Then, a stay of execution occurred when my Chinese granny's Peke passed away and she asked me to let Bobby live for another week or so as she couldn't bear to have two Pekinese doggies go to heaven in the same week. Finally, I knew it was time, asked Ayi to come with me, and set off in the rain with Bobby on a leash, trusting us and trotting along with his wide Peke smile. First, for some reason known only to Ayi, we began to trot in the wrong direction. "You'll see where we're going," she promised. We ended up at a dog grooming place where, on the doorstep, she asked the dog groomer (and I swear to God I am not kidding) if the groomer had anything to kill the dog with as (again, no kidding) "The vet costs 500 kuai and we're looking for a thrifty way to get rid of it." A thought ran through my head--this is not the woman you should run to with an unplanned pregnancy for sure--and even the groomer was appalled. After receiving a firm "No" ("Are you sure there's not a heavy brick or something lying around that you're not using?") we headed off in the cold and rain to the vet's office.

 I was furious and even Bobby lost his customary good humor and seemed to slink unhappily towards his fate. Once at the vet's office, Ayi explained what we wanted. I spoke to the vet, described the symptoms, and had the vet's approval --even approbation--for what we were about to do. They allowed us to stay with him while it happened, so we were holding him during the first injection which knocked him out, his head lolling like a sleepy teddy bear, and when the final injection was added and he passed immediately, without pain, Ayi reared her head back and howled, adding a heart broken wail of "Booobeeeeeeee!" I couldn't believe it--this is a woman who offered to cure his testicular cancer with two bricks and wanted to off him with rat poison, but there she was howling like a Klingon performing a ritual for a comrade killed in action. It was only fitting. There was some stir in the outside office (Look, a foreigner crying over her dog!) but to my surprise it wasn't like that,  it was more of a feeling of sympathy for us, and a wave of fear for the time when their own beloved doggies would pass. 

Princess doggie number one has felt a little lost since that day and we are not planning on replacing Bobby. I figure another rescue dog will turn up one day and I'm not in a hurry to replace my lovely smiling companion. He was a darling little thing and I am glad he's out of pain now. I sleep better without his grunts and snores under the bed, or the constant barking ("Someone's on the stairs! The stairs! The stairs! Now they're gone!") and I can walk around barefoot without someone trying to lick my feet. Still, a work to my friends: if I have seizures, don't let Ayi take me to the hairdressers, and check her hand bag for bricks. There is a thing known as being TOO thrifty and I am not taking any more chances.