Over Easy:Play Something You Know

Since releasing a record recently, many people have asked if I’m going to tour, or at the very least do some shows, of course pending our release from the grip of the pandemic. It’s as if they picture me with my gear at the door, awaiting the go ahead like a patio diner jostling for position outside a plastic shrouded cafe on Yonge street.

Not so fast. When I recall my relatively short career as a performing musician, it’s a bittersweet mélange of laughs with fellow players, cases of bone butt if you were assigned the spot in the van between driver and shotgun, audiences who were indifferent at best, and the rich variety of the species

club-owner-nasticulus.

My memory of doing solo gigs is not rosy. Most of the audiences were hostile and my night inevitably was coloured by the unholy triumvirate of insults:

“Play some rock n’ roll”, as I strummed a tender Jackson Browne cover.

“Zeppelin!” or perhaps “Johnny B Goode” during my Joni offering.

Capped, during an Eagles favourite, by that most Zen of all insults, “Play something you know”.

At least that’s what I recall. To be sure I contacted my old friend Kit Johnson (bottom right in the band photo), who shared many a stage with me once I’d graduated to having a band. We recalled fondly the pipeline tour from Hearst to Nipigon, and the undisguised malice that greeted us night after night. And we may have chortled, from a safe, bemused distance, about the many varieties of bar-owner-reptilius that we interacted with. Some were innocent, like the one in Nipigon when our gig fell during the hockey playoffs. His directions were simple, “Do your regular show (a 40-minute set) … just don’t play during the game.” “So, to be clear, you mean play between periods only, which is about 20 minutes?” “No no, do your usual show.” “Ok, got it.” “Just don’t play during the game.” This went on for a while with no real resolution. If this was followed by a visit to our swanky band house for a reefer recess, can you blame us?

Our opening night in Hearst was to a sparse gathering, so it was easy to spot the club owner at his table in the back, and when his note was handed to me partway into our first set, I was confused.

“Play Under the Double Eagle. The owner.” ‘Or else’ was implied.

I knew it wasn't a location he was proposing. “Under the Double Eagle”, Opus 159, is a nineteenth century Austrian march. I was informed by a band mate that it had been adapted by Chet Atkins into a country instrumental that required stunning virtuosity to pull off. In other words, we had a better chance of playing Side 1 of “Tommy” than this little nugget. I think we staved off disaster with an impromptu rendering of “Johnny B Goode”.

Not so innocent was an Okanagan Valley impresario who during our week of entertaining the Kelowna faithful, found that the take didn’t match his calculations one night, so he locked his entire staff in a room, hoping to flush out the guilty party. He seemed remarkably blasé about the discovery that his wife had popped by and scooped a small advance on the household budget before heading out for the night. This was the same mean-spirited maestro who informed me that he was relocating a comedy & striptease act from his other venue to ours and that they would be opening for us. It all fell into place, as I recalled meeting a fellow in the hall outside my room earlier that day. As his kids battled noisily in the room behind him, he stuck out his hand.

“Hi, I’m Billy Baker, I do standup, my wife Jody does exotic.”

Back in the club owner’s office, when I objected to this new arrangement, citing some aspect of our contract , he shoved his chin into my face and said,

“Listen, I’ve got a million dollars in my back pocket and I can shut your show down!”

If you suspect fiction at work here, I’ll cite the great truism, “Ya can’t make this stuff up.”

Or you can ask Kit, who has a prodigious memory. Speaking of which, he offered an important amendment to the unholy triumvirate of insults. Step 2, after “Play some rock n’ roll.” was “Play something good.” Of course, giving way naturally to the insult satori of “Play Something You Know.” Which I highly recommend if you’re planning any kind of career as an entertainer. Just don’t play during the game.