*this blog was original published on musician wages.com
Whoosh.
With one fluid motion he pulled off his shirt and threw it down behind him. This act in and of itself impressed me, because it was a snug fitting, button up (plaid) T-shirt, and all but the top button were fastened.
“You wanna fight?!” he demanded, fists quaking eager to remove my teeth.
Why he thought being bare-chested would lead to anything more than pointy nipples was beyond me. It was the end of October and damn cold.
As the adrenaline coursed through my system I had several thoughts:
1. He was bigger than me.
2. He was drunk.
3. He was much angrier than I was.
No, I don’t want to fight.
“You wanna fight?!” The half-naked drunk screamed at my friend.
“Nobody wants to fight. We heard a woman screaming and wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
“That’s my F*cking girlfriend, and this is my F*cking country, so F*ck Off!”
There was about 10 of us and 10 of them (not including the screaming girlfriend). This would not end well.
Ahhh, the joys of being awake at 4am.
——
The band had been rehearsing for the Cork Jazz Festival for the past 6 weeks. The SHAPE band would play six gigs in total. Three for the Nato Jazz Orchestra (the flagship band of this organization) and one each for the Jazz Combo (run by yours truly) the Rock Band, and the Piano Trio.
It was our 1st major jazz festival in over a year and everybody wanted to make a good showing. The bands were running like well-oiled machines. Squeezing in extra rehearsals where they could find time. Hand picking songs that we hoped would go over with an Irish audience. I threw a U2 cover into my set. Everybody worked up their 70 minute sets and got ready to rock.
And rock we did.
The crowd loved every show. The smaller groups were an excellent contrast to the big band jazz of the Nato Jazz Orchestra. People followed the band from gig to gig. By the last couple shows, it was standing room only. Just getting to the bar took 20 minutes. I fulfilled one of my personal goals of playing original music at a major European Jazz-fest.
And when we weren’t playing, we were cruising around Cork. Ireland deserves its title “Emerald Isle” I have never seen a greener place. It looks like a postcard. Against my better judgement I kissed (no tongue) the Blarney Stone at Blarney Castle. Saw some great musicians playing around town. Cork is a refuge for live music. That city has a stage in every bar!
And the people were warm and friendly. Always willing to share a story and a pint. And as long as they didn’t use too much slang we could understand each other just fine. Wonderful, wonderful folks.
Myself and the other members of the band expected to drink much Guinness, but instead fell in love with Murphy’s Irish Stout. A delicious beer brewed in Cork. Not to mention eating like kings. All of our meals were provided by the hotel, and they were spectacular.
So, you may be wondering what’s the point of this blog? Maybe I’m just sharing a story of a cool gig over a couple of pints with some friends. This is true, But it’s also true that I wouldn’t have had this story to share if I hadn’t enlisted in the Army band.
Oh, I imagine I could have found a belligerent, half-naked drunk or two without too much trouble. But an all-expenses-paid (and still getting a regular paycheck on top of that!) trip to Ireland, may have been harder to come by.
And what of the fateful night in question? That took such a sour turn following a great gig, bar hopping, fish and chips out of butcher paper and the long walk back to our hotel?
Somehow we diffused the situation. Which still amazes me, since that guy REALLY wanted to fight. After a little while the police showed up, and saved that girl from what was shaping up to be some serious domestic violence. And all of us (the band) retired to our respective hotel rooms to settle our stomachs, reflect on the evening, and prepare to do it all again the next day.