Old Writing Writing Sample

Pete checks his guitar tone and volume with a sloppy slide into a twangy lick from the opening number, a chunky shuffle in E. He stops - bends over to fiddle with the nobs on his beat-up black face Fender amplifier.

It's a loud room, shiny wood floors and over-sized glass windows, and only a handful of locals nursing pints slumped at the bar. There was a sports event glowing off the televisions hanging high behind the bar.

Pete rounds out his tone and turns to the band.

"You guys ready?"

We nod and say, "Yeah."

"Okay then - shuffle in e - and a-one-a-two-a-you-know-what-to-do."

Drums kick it in and a clomping away we go. Chunk-a-chunk-a-chunk-a-chunk-ah-chunk..

We get through the guitar solos and finish off the song, and as we let the last notes ring out,  we hear one lone whistle and a splattering of claps - and I knew right then that it was going to be a long night.

As the set grinds on, I'm looking out into the room, as more people skulk in to this corner bar - an Irish-themed haven on the edge of Southie, and I wonder why I'm here, clunking along through tired swings and funky-based grooves.  It's not like these patrons even like our music, which is mostly a bunch of old blues songs written by people years gone by. Three middle-aged vest and blue-jeans wearing white guys and one 31 year old female bass player with a face that can't hide her buried burden.

Initially, it's the 60 bucks and the short drive down to the venue that got me in that particular bar on that particular night, performing for a bunch of townies. Paid to entertain - but you get what you pay for - so it's the blues by four timid white musicians, with little else but tepid imitations of the original artists - and slapped together as a one-and-only time event, at that.

But more than that, I questioned my control over my own fate. What was I doing here? At ten - o'clock on a Tuesday evening, in an Irish Southie bar?

I wasn't really friends with the guys in the band, though they were all friendly. We hadn't practiced like a real band does - just one session where we went over the songs once or twice. Was it the 60 bucks? What else was in it for me?

I had already played most of those same songs in much better ensembles with better guitarists, vocalists and drummers. I had a boyfriend and was not interested in getting drunk and partying, hooking up with some dude.

What, indeed, was I doing there, after all?

Somehow, taking gigs as a free-lance bass player had become second nature to me, as much as the habit as going to and participating at local blues jams. I was drawn to the blue jam community because of my love of the blues and a desire to play with other musicians who were also inspired by the blues. Eventually, my performances at these blues jams widened my network of music playing friends, and led me to being asked to play paying gigs with more seasoned professional musicians. At first, I was just thrilled and honored to be asked, and that first year of gigging was more a learning experience than much else.