Boulder, CO – “Losing MORE of my Band” – February 4, 1999
Dang!…I lost another guitar player yesterday and a soundman to boot.
I met up with Greg Mcrae at “Robb’s Music,” the store I visited when I first moved to town to tare “LEAD SINGER WANTED” tags off local band fliers when I was still living in my car. Together, Greg and I ambled to “Sandy’s” for coffee. He was predictably heavy, like an overcast sky and I was anxious and overcompensating and filling silences with uninteresting antidotes.
The truth I was trying to dance around is that Greg, while a great sound engineer and a stand-up guy and, frankly, a total trouper for filling in for Jeremy since his departure, is not a great guitar player. Honestly, he’d be the first to admit it. But it didn’t lessen the blow when I asked him last week if he’d be willing to continue with us next tour as our sound man instead of guitarist. I understood his disappointment entirely and felt terrible I’d leaned so heavily on him the last couple of months only to banish him from the spotlight. I’m sure he felt the transition was a demotion and his sideway glances confirmed my suspicion.
Sandy’s was alive with busy waitresses whiping their hands on soiled aprons and taking orders with sharp pencils and pursed lips. Caffeinated teaspoons clattered like dull swards in caffeinated beverages. Claiming a booth, I showed Greg a list of shows and venues booked for our first West Coast tour starting in March. He slouched against the hard, orange, pleather seat and in a harsh, detergent-like voice said, “$350 a week?!?”
“Yeah, I mean, I’m losing money on the tour,” I chewed on my words and rolled a bit of napkin between my fingers to abate my anxiety. I didn’t mention I’d already asked around town about the going rate for a touring sound engineer and everyone reassured me my offer was a great deal).
“These venues suck,” he didn’t look up from the sheet. With a smudge for a pair of lips and a sigh of resignation, I said, “That’s what we’ve got.”
“I mean, I might be more interested if these were better-sounding rooms but these’ll just suck.” He punctuated the last word like a frog catching a fly.
“You know man,” I said, hoping I sounded more sympathetic than pathetic, “I don’t want you to do it if you’re not psyched. I mean, the last thing I want on the road is someone who doesn’t want to be there.”
“–The truth is,” he cut me off, “I’m thinking about getting out of the music business altogether. I think I might try to get a real job while I still can.” He squinted at the inked tour dates like they were tea leaves that might tell his future.
We sat in silence for a sip or two before he put the paper down.
“But maybe I’ll change my mind, who knows.”
He stood up and chucked a buck on the linoleum. My racing mind straddled two tracks. The first track had me convinced: “I’m done. I’m going to have to cancel this tour. I can’t find a guitarist AND a soundman in less than an month.” But the other track reassured me, “This is a blessing in disguise. All of this is happening for a reason.”