Royal Therapy

I was going to spend some time writing about my experience gigging this weekend, but in light of recent events, I wonder what the point would be. It breaks my heart, because I had such a great time playing with the other members of Mule Shoe, and our performance was musically tight.

Last weekend, we were playing the Royal; my stomping grounds, the place I like to drink and hang out. It was the first time I have played the Royal in over three years, and I used to gig at that bar once every six weeks for four years. I've made a lot of money in that bar, and I've spent a lot on my choice of poisons.

Walking into that bar with my gear in hand on Wednesday night felt like a homecoming. I arrived early, so I could take my time setting my drums up perfectly, relishing in the smoky ambiance, and quietly grooving to the Classic Rock tunes on the jukebox. I was loathing the next two days at work, but I didn't care at the moment, I was going to be playing in front of a few hundred drunken animals over the weekend.

Thursdays at the Royal are generally quiet, but a few friends showed up, supported us and got very drunk. One of the patrons in the bar was RQ, one of my pupils. Sadly, he was moving to Victoria the next day. I consider RQ one of my long-term investments -- he has been taking lessons from me for many years, and we had become good friends over the years. It was tough to see him go, but in the end I know there are greener pastures ahead of him.

Come to think of it, RQ's departure was a bit like a premonition for my departure from Mule Shoe.

The only other event of Thursday night was this obnoxious drunk (every bar has at least one). Wearing a neon green t-shirt that was reminiscent of the late 1980's, he approached us while we were playing, ranting about something or other, likely being overly critical about our choice of material. He was so drunk, he threw his empty glass at the bass player, luckily missing him completely. The bass player gave him a stern warning, though I'm sure it fell on deaf ears, as the drunk maintained his innocence. It wasn't five minutes later that in the middle of the song, the drunk decided to collapse on the lead singer's guitar rig, sending a rather expensive guitar to the floor. It was a good thing the bouncer got hold of the drunk before the bass player did. JY was winding his foot up to give him a swift kick to the face. We never saw the obnoxious drunk for the rest of the night, which was likely a good thing.

Friday and Saturday nights were busier. I ended up having a number of friends show up to support us, which made the long breaks seem to go by much quicker. The bar was packed full of enthusiastic hard rockers, and we played solidly for the remaining two nights.

By Saturday night, I noticed something very strange. I was smiling. I was enjoying myself, I felt good, and I was happy. I remember telling myself that this was proof that music was my calling in life, and I would do everything in my power to continue making music for the remainder of my life. Music is my therapy; my outlet for aggression. It's my reason to get up and crawl out of bed every single day.

Funny how that can be taken away from you without notice. In two weeks, my days of gigging will be put on hold indefinitely -- at least until the next gig rolls around. And this time, I think I will have to be a little more proactive in scheduling practices, gigs, etc... It's a responsibility I have taken for granted for most of my career. Perhaps it's time that I start establishing some ties and begging for work.

This change in my schedule will allow me to put an act together with MA and RH. I have a firm belief that the three of us could manage to throw something together that this city has never seen. I get excited just thinking about it.

Like I said the other night, a part of me was disappointed to no longer be a part of Mule Shoe, but another part was relieved that I could devote my attention to other matters.