Did you ever get to that point where you just said, “I've got nothing”?
Music filled last weekend. Play through our set list on Saturday morning. Dinner at Tuli Bistro followed by fusion jazz featuring the Dave Lynch Group on Saturday night. The Sunday Surf Party the next afternoon chased by a platter of carnitas.
By the beginning of Thursday night’s band practice, the afterglow of the Capitol Bowl was nearly gone. It began to wane on Monday morning when a bit of extra stretching was needed to relieve the stiffness from spending a day on my feet. From there, the afterglow continued to dissipate.
Band practice required an early arrival to unravel cords, unpack pedal boards, and get the Doghouse back into some semblance of working order. Setting up centered on what was the minimal amount of work needed to ready the Doghouse for practice. The last plug was inserted as Sue walked in the door.
Band Practice began with a rapid fire critique of the show. But we quickly moved on to discussing songs for the upcoming KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands. What do we want to play? What songs do we play best? What songs typify us? Are they the same? How many songs can we play in 12 minutes? What songs can we play in 12 minutes? After about 15 to 20 minutes, we were ready to run through the songs.
We started with five songs. One right after another. “How long did that take?” “I think 13 minutes.” “Huh? That can’t be because each is around three minutes long!” As perpetual optimists, we played all five again. Even though we really did not keep track of the time the second time through, we knew instinctively what we had to do. “We need to drop one.”
Four songs. One right after another. “How long did that take?” “I think 12 minutes.” “Can we time it better than that?” “Hey, my iPhone has a stop watch.” “Let’s try it again. Start the timer.” Four songs. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. No patter. “How long did that take?” “Oh, I didn’t start the stop watch.”
Is this a Three Stooges routine?
“Again. But this time, start the stop watch.” One, two, three, four, and we were on the clock. Four songs. A little patter. “How long?” “12:56.” “We’re a minute over!” “Not if you round down. Maybe they won’t notice.” We agreed that we would try again next week, switched off the amps, and headed off into the night.
As I locked the door to the Doghouse, I felt that every bit of creative juice was wrung out of my body. And that that 56 seconds was going to bug me . . . and bug me . . . and . . . .
At that moment, I knew I was done for the week. Nothing was left. Zero. Zip. Nada. Bupkis.
Music filled last weekend. Play through our set list on Saturday morning. Dinner at Tuli Bistro followed by fusion jazz featuring the Dave Lynch Group on Saturday night. The Sunday Surf Party the next afternoon chased by a platter of carnitas.
By the beginning of Thursday night’s band practice, the afterglow of the Capitol Bowl was nearly gone. It began to wane on Monday morning when a bit of extra stretching was needed to relieve the stiffness from spending a day on my feet. From there, the afterglow continued to dissipate.
Band practice required an early arrival to unravel cords, unpack pedal boards, and get the Doghouse back into some semblance of working order. Setting up centered on what was the minimal amount of work needed to ready the Doghouse for practice. The last plug was inserted as Sue walked in the door.
Band Practice began with a rapid fire critique of the show. But we quickly moved on to discussing songs for the upcoming KFJC Battle of the Surf Bands. What do we want to play? What songs do we play best? What songs typify us? Are they the same? How many songs can we play in 12 minutes? What songs can we play in 12 minutes? After about 15 to 20 minutes, we were ready to run through the songs.
We started with five songs. One right after another. “How long did that take?” “I think 13 minutes.” “Huh? That can’t be because each is around three minutes long!” As perpetual optimists, we played all five again. Even though we really did not keep track of the time the second time through, we knew instinctively what we had to do. “We need to drop one.”
Four songs. One right after another. “How long did that take?” “I think 12 minutes.” “Can we time it better than that?” “Hey, my iPhone has a stop watch.” “Let’s try it again. Start the timer.” Four songs. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. No patter. “How long did that take?” “Oh, I didn’t start the stop watch.”
Is this a Three Stooges routine?
“Again. But this time, start the stop watch.” One, two, three, four, and we were on the clock. Four songs. A little patter. “How long?” “12:56.” “We’re a minute over!” “Not if you round down. Maybe they won’t notice.” We agreed that we would try again next week, switched off the amps, and headed off into the night.
As I locked the door to the Doghouse, I felt that every bit of creative juice was wrung out of my body. And that that 56 seconds was going to bug me . . . and bug me . . . and . . . .
At that moment, I knew I was done for the week. Nothing was left. Zero. Zip. Nada. Bupkis.