Shinybass Journal Entry 05-21-26

 

 

 

 

Your gig vs. The gig

 

 

 

I will watch my personal stock value plummet the minute I release this entry. Or maybe go up threefold. It’s always a crap shoot. 

When I was in college, I took music classes that were ‘necessary’, but as I sat (and admittedly struggled), I also wondered what the end result was supposed to be. I looked around the classrooms, I watched the other students in the building scurrying around with armfuls of sheet music while holding instrument cases, and as I leaned an oversized ear toward the practice rooms, I came to one judgy-type of conclusion: The music program was only there to produce band directors and orchestra performers. That was it. 

Was I wrong? Half-wrong? 

I really felt that way. It WAS a music department, so that’s sort of their job, right? Create more musicians or those that can nurture (then create) more musicians. I am funny (and still sort of this way: I always, always looked elsewhere for my ‘jam’. I decided to switch to a marketing degree (one that has served me pretty well in my journey), and was a few credits shy of a minor in music. I needed 2 semesters of recital credit. Not performance, mind you, just actually showing up and listening to other people perform. I was too busy elsewhere. For 3 years. 

(Disclaimer – The music program at the University of Southern Mississippi is world class, as are the instructors and the incredible opportunities that were given (and left on the table) to a very young, cocky, balding 18-year old were not fully realized until much later in life.) 

I did stay involved in music at college, of course, playing in the jazz lab and getting my musical education on the streets of New Orleans whenever I could afford to slide down there for an evening. OK, I’m not fooling anyone. I was drinking warm ‘Big Ass Beers’ and walking the streets with the rest of the tourists. One must first crawl before he can fly? 

I had a band in college, and for me, that was my ‘job’, although I didn’t make much. We played the occasional fraternity party and small rooms around town, which were piss and beer soaked shacks, so not much cash was coming home with us. I was trying to graduate college (at some point), and having a band at the same time wasn’t the easiest. 

We had set lists to write up. We had to sneak into the music building late at night to rehearse in one of the practice rooms (FINALLY USING THE MUSIC HALLS FOR GOOD!). I had to make the calls, network, print up flyers (unforeseen out-of-pocket costs), and make sure everyone actually got to the gig. Looking back, it kinda sucked. 

But past is prologue, right? All of that mess leads to the next mess and beyond. My roommate watched me do all of these things firsthand, and about 6 months after I graduated, he gathered a couple of guys from the drumline (who were also in my old band), and formed an acoustic trio to play a one-time gig. That gig ended up becoming King Konga, which lured me back down to Mississippi a couple of years later to jump back in. 

So all of a sudden, you are in a band. What’s a band, you ask? A group of people who play music together- mostly together. That’s the textbook answer. In reality, being in a band is so much more than that. I’ll get really deep here, but how does one describe the wind? How can you explain fire? Scientific explanations aside, words to describe a band are hard to find. 

A band is a gang, a brotherhood, a business venture, and a bunch of inmates trying to escape and eventually run the asylum. We have to be half-cocked to want to get in a van and roam around the country playing for no people, making very little money, eating poorly, and getting no sleep. But have you heard our music? It’s the next big thing! At least that’s what we tell ourselves, which is probably one of the (subconscious) reasons we want to do this: The eventual notion of income. 

We certainly don’t start there. We start for the love of the game, and then we hit a stride where people pony up $5 to hear live music, and the art vs. money argument gets real. More on that in a moment. At its core, getting together to make great music with great like-minded people is really a blessing. It’s like finding the perfect teammates at the gym for a pickup basketball game. Something clicks. Something works. Sometimes, at the end of the game, you shake hands and go about your day. But what if we did this weekly? Even more often than that? All of a sudden we start to see how each player works, and each player adjusts to every other player. All of a sudden, because we’re open to it, there is now a cohesive, working unit. 

If a band is so cool, why do they break up? Money, cocaine, not sharing the cocaine, a girl, a guy, dictatorship, or all of the above. I’ve seen a lot of these reasons (firsthand), and it’s not pretty. The funny/sad thing is that we look past ALL of this if the machine is humming along and making money. Then, it seems, all bets are off. Bands don’t want to be on the same bus, let alone share the same stage (Brooks and Dunn… cough cough), but there they are, making that hay while the sun is shining. 

My band broke up, and it sucked. I was sad because we were a great band. One of the downfalls was that the talk of money took over and therefore so did our egos and attitudes (mine included). For the longest time I thought about what ‘could have been’, as did a lot of our friends and fans. We were right there on the precipice of success. I know that use of the word ‘precipice’ is usually followed by a disaster. In hindsight, a record deal would have broken us anyway. 

So what did I do next? I became a sideman. So here we are, 1000 words in and you find the real reason for this article. ‘The truth and hard lessons of being a sideman’. 

First, going from a band to being a sideman is tough. You have to learn to shut your mouth a lot, especially when it comes to creative input. You could have ALL of the creative juices in the world coursing through your veins, but I have news – if the artist doesn’t ask, 99% of the time, they don’t want to hear it. You are hired to play the ________________. You were not asked to change the show intro or suggest choreography, so don’t. You are there to do a job. 

You are also there to be a good hang. Part of living on the road is living on the road. You have a van or bus full of roommates that didn’t fill out any kind of paperwork to see if they are up on their shots or child support. Personal space, attitude, and general social graces are needed in these tight spaces. You will spend a lot of time with these people. Don’t cut your toenails in the front lounge (actual event). 

When you were in a band and it was ‘your bus’, you could cut your nails anywhere you pleased. (STILL not recommended.) You could also drink yourself silly, be mean, disappear, reappear and all would be sort of forgiven. On a bus, you don’t get much of that leeway. Even if the artist is acting a fool, you may not have the same green light. 

The hardest part of moving from a band to sideman is that you know you had a shot. You are now on a gig where you are, for all intents and purposes, interchangeable with any person that plays your instrument. The artist you are working for may be screwing up his ‘shot’ royally, but sadly, all we can do is watch the embers burn. If we (as sidemen) were so hot, why didn’t we just start another band and do it all the ‘right way’? 

Two reasons – first: a great band is like catching lightning in a bottle. It doesn’t happen all the time. Recreating the past is a tough thing. Second: We’re tired. Being in a band is hard work, and sometimes collecting a check to play someone else’s music checks boxes, even if not all of them. (and maybe 3 – we were part of the whole, so maybe we had talent, but not all the talent…) We suffer silently, and hope to have fun in soundcheck occasionally riffing on old songs that bring us joy. 

The harsh reality of being a sideman is that all of ‘it’: bus, money, notoriety, public affection is plastic. None of it is ‘ours’ like it would be in our own band. Sure, the beer and occasional meal is free, but that’s only because of your boss. It took me a little bit to realize this, as my first bus gig was like summer camp for delinquents. We drank a lot, ate pretty well, and were able to see a lot of things. I VERY quickly realized that even though it seemed the wheels were off, my place was to party just a little below the artist. The ones who went past the threshold were not on the bus anymore. (Pro tip – leave the meth at home). 

The upside of being a sideman is that you don’t have the same pressure as an artist. An artist has to strive to stay relevant, popular, and keep playing shows in a somewhat put together appearance. As a sideman, you can move to another gig if things aren’t moving forward. You can also shift professions entirely with no public fallout. Open that taco stand. No one will say ‘Hey, aren’t you_______?’ You can spin the good (or bad) any way you want.

What it all comes down to is your personal journey. What do you want to do, and how do you want to do it? I have learned from many, many pros that showing up prepared and being cool to everyone is the quickest way to get called back. I think that works in just about every aspect of life, right? 

Being smart with how you carry yourself, what you say, and what you do will prolong your sideman career exponentially. I watched players lose the biggest gigs around because they felt their opinions were the most important in the room. Just be cool. Just be cool. 

Would I join a band again? Yes. I would. Unfinished business? Maybe. It is definitely a young man’s game, so before you all start getting excited, there better be a decent catering setup and porcelain facilities. In my more ‘advanced’ years, I have shuffled my priorities. Gone are the riders with Jäegermeister. Give me a nice glass of warm milk and send me to bed. And buy our record. It’s the best thing ever.