In Outlaw Lynn’s band, some changes are going down. Our guitarist, Wailin’ Dave, pulled his patented vanishing act and left us high & dry. Again. I liked Dave, as a guy in general and as a musician, but as a co-worker or as someone to be relied upon, he was virtually useless. He was one of the best guitarists I’ve seen, but he was also the first guitarist I’ve ever seen who didn’t actually own a guitar, amp or any other gear. But this isn’t a post about Dave.
We’re now in the audition stage, trying to find a replacement for Wailin’ Dave – or, I should say, an upgrade. Now, in a band with this kind of experience, it’s almost assumed that anyone who shows up can play. Gotta have chops to rock with the pros, right? Otherwise, what’s the point of even placing the phone call? No, our auditions aren’t about whether or not you can play. Our auditions are about whether or not you can perform with the band. What we do is, we play a series of gigs with walk-on guitar players, just to see who can cut it onstage and who can’t.
The guy we played with last Friday night – can’t.
Just to avoid any issues, I’ll call him Fonzie Wannabe. He kinda had that pseudo-fifties look going on, with the hipster haircut and all that, so “Fonzie Wannabe” fits. Except, he was most definitely not cool.
The band had played with him once before, more than a year ago (before my time with the band), and from all reports, he did an excellent job that time. I guess he was sober then, but the first thing he did this time was show up drunk. That’s right, he showed up staggering drunk to his first gig with a new band. Classy, huh? With the slurred speech and everything. Then he proceeded to announce that he makes a lot of money at his day job and doesn’t need this gig. He’s only here for the fun of it, dontcha know. Aside from plugging in his own little amp and his own wireless and whatever else, he offered zero assistance in setting up the PAs, mains, monitors, amps, effects, lights, drums or anything else that the band has to set up. He stood there, drinking and chatting with his girlfriend while we set it up (as the new guy, it’s understandable that he might not know how all of our stuff gets set up – where the lights typically go, etc – but there was plenty of stuff to carry, and there were plenty of cables to run; lots that could have been done).
Then, before the show, he started doing this weird thing that I can only describe as “shout-singing” at people. When he and the regular members of the band were standing in a kind of huddle, discussing the song list and the usual pre-show stuff, he started singing “Carry On Wayward Son” out of the blue, raising his volume to drown out Lynn and whoever else was trying to talk.
Finally, we got onstage and got the show started, and he was immediately off key. He was playing a very nice Schecter PT guitar, the one with the Telecaster-style body, fed through a wireless. Now, don’t get me wrong, folks: This guy has some chops! Technically, he’s way beyond proficient – he’s a damn good guitarist. Trouble is, he had no concept of dynamics and no regard for the volume-sensitive nature of this particular club. It’s a biker roadhouse with large overhead doors at the front, which were closed because it was cold by Texas standards, which turned the room into a sound cabinet that amplified whatever we were playing. Seems to me that anyone with the 26 years experience he was claiming as a professional musician would understand these things. It happens that I’ve got exactly 26 years myself, and I could tell the first time I walked into this place that we were gonna have to watch our volume (and that was with the doors open).
Anyway, I mentioned that he was off key. At first, our keyboardist mentioned this, and Fonzie Wannabe snapped at him. Something like, “I’m in E, goddamnit!” to be fair, he was in E – but it was the wrong chord for the song, and it sounded like crap. There were several times during the first two sets that I thought he did a remarkable job, and I acknowledged him each time, the way musicians do onstage – a nod, a point, whatever.
But that volume – by the fourth and final set, he was drowning out the drums. As the bass player, I stand right next to the kick drum; If I can’t hear the kick drum over your guitar, your guitar is too goddamn loud. It’s that simple. There are no excuses for that, if you’re an experienced musician of any kind. And here’s a hint for all you budding or wannabe musicians out there: if the other guys onstage point out that you’re too loud, just turn it down! Getting belligerent and getting in people’s faces during a performance – right in the middle of a song! – isn’t going to win you any arguments (he did this to me, right in the middle of “Turn The Page”— I had to just shrug it off, as beating this little tiny drunk fucker’s ass would’ve felt too much like child abuse).
So Fonzie Wannabe is one guitarist who ain’t gonna get a callback from Outlaw Lynn. According to his girlfriend, we’re not the only ones who won’t have anything to do with him. There are other bands and clubs around our area who won’t even take his calls, “because they don’t like him”.
Now, here’s where it gets sticky. Is this mainly a guitarist thing? I know at least one guitar player who’s a great guy and displays nothing but the finest personality traits one could hope for in a bandmate (John Ly of the band Toque), but in my experience, he’s the exception that proves the rule.
I’ve also known a couple of bass players who had personality issues, but none of my bassist friends has ever wanted to fight someone because they said he was too loud before. At least, as far as I know. And don’t forget, the reason we had to use this guy in the first place was because our regular guitarist flaked out and disappeared – which we actually saw coming. Seems like lately we’ve had a run of bad luck with guitar players, and I’m wondering if there’s some trait that runs endemic to them, or what?
