Serendipitous musicians

It was almost 10 p.m. and the sushi restaurant was closing. Most of my friends had already decided to call it a night, but the small handful of us remaining decided to go somewhere else. This being Tucson, our late-night options were limited. One friend suggested Village Inn. I was tired and didn't want to drive that far. We settled on an upscale place called Kingfisher.

Maybe 15 minutes after we were seated, the band returned from a break. I didn't know who they were, but they were good. Really good. They started with a song called (I think) "Haunted," which grabbed everyone at the table. We paid much closer attention to them than people usually do for restaurant music. We weren't the only ones.

"Who's the band?" I asked the guy who came to fill our waters. He didn't know, but our waiter did: Amy Langley and Kevin Pakulis.

Wow. Really? Kevin Pakulis is a big deal in the Tucson folk scene. I'd seen him before. I hadn't heard Amy, but clearly I should have. Her voice blended so well with his.

As luck would have it, they were taking another break when we were ready to leave, and we introduced ourselves. Turns out Kevin and Amy had heard me before. They were at a songwriter open mic at Cafe Tremolo, and they really liked my sound.

Small world, Tucson is.

I'm happy we went elsewhere for dessert. I'm happy we didn't settle on Village Inn. It's amazing who and what you'll encounter when you alter your routine just a little.

Why people stay home

I'd planned to catch an hour or so of an Earthlingz gig today. Due to stuff that held me up at home, with the help of my utter lack of time management skills, I only got to see the last ten minutes. On the bright side, it was a fun ten minutes, and I got to talk to the band afterward.

In particular, I picked the brain of one of the musicians, Chet Gardner, about why it's so hard to get people to come to your gigs. He said many fans stopped going to shows twenty-five years ago, and he had a theory as to why: VCRs and drunk driving laws.

Interesting. It's obvious that people watch movies more at home than in theaters now because of VCRs/DVD players. It never occurred to me that it would keep them from going out and doing anything else. As for the drunk driving laws, it's sad to think that drinking is more of a draw for so many people than music.

If Chet is right, we have even more of a reason to get listeners to give our music a try and buy the album via Internet. I don't care how people choose to listen to us as long as they listen to us.

Retroactive justification for a rare night out

I wasn't supposed to go out Friday night. Too many things to do. So when I drove myself to Frog and Firkin to see a Nobody, et al., a band I'd found on Myspace a few weeks ago, it was with a sense of getting away with something -- playing hooky from real life for a while.

By the time I arrived, F&F's patio was packed to the gills. I parked myself on the steps to the indoor entrance and listened to the band, waiting for a seat. One by one, people at a large circular table began to vacate. I bided my time, rushed the table as the last person left, and reached it just as a party of six women came to claim it. An awkward moment lingered until one of them took pity on me and invited me to join them.

So, in addition to good music, I had fun talking with my tablemates during the break. Susan, the woman who had extended the invitation, thought she recognized me, and we came to the conclusion that she must have seen me at a Cinder Bridge gig. I ended up passing a copy of our CD around, and signed two people in the group up for our mailing list.

I also got to talk to a couple of Nobody, et al. members who, as it turns out, remembered Cinder Bridge from Acoustic Battle of the Bands. I signed one of them up for our list too.

So, yeah. I wasn't blowing off my responsibilities. I was networking and promoting our band. Yeah, that's it!

P.S. The boys in Nobody, et al. sound just as good live as they do recorded. If you live in Tucson, I highly recommend that you check them out.

Instant social life: just add music

Ron the Drummer and I decided to play hooky from rehearsal tonight so that we could go to a double-bill gig at the Casbah, a vegetarian restaurant/coffeehouse on the hippie-ish side of town. Scheduled to perform were a couple of people who had come to Old Town Artisans to see us. Ron didn't feel well by the time evening rolled around, so I ended up going by myself.

A few feet away from the entrance, I heard someone call my name. It was my friend Kevin. I used to run into him once every week or two at gigs or open mics. But he got busy, and I got busy, and the last time I'd seen him was before his now-eight-month-old son was born.

It felt like old times, and reminded me of what I liked about them. It wasn't simply being free enough to see live music when I felt like it. It was the fact that socializing at the spur of the moment could be so easy. That I could just go where the music was, and other people I knew and liked would be there for the same reason.