Lately, I mostly play for an older, more affluent CC crowd. As ya'll know, we sit back on the drums and observe. And it's definitely interesting to observe the mating rituals of the affluent elderly. (And man..has there ever been a facelift in history that you can't spot from a mile away?)For me it's just been the usual bar crowd who have drank too much & want to come up on stage & show you how they can play Freebird.
All of my crust punk/hobo friends talk about their life like a Siddhartha-esque journey and are, aside from pissed at the unjustices of the world, some of the freest humans I know. I've learned a lot from them just by being around them
Forgot one … Screaming Lord Sutch 😆Characters I have worked with:
Kim Fowley
Sky Saxon
Wild Man Fisher
😆😆😆
You're 100% correct!Lately, I mostly play for an older, more affluent CC crowd. As ya'll know, we sit back on the drums and observe. And it's definitely interesting to observe the mating rituals of the affluent elderly. (And man..has there ever been a facelift in history that you can't spot from a mile away?)
Yep. This is a yacht club, so you'll see 70-ish men (with face-lifts) bringing their latest 40-ish trophy wife (decked the hell OUT, and who obviously loves him for his looks. <cough>) to whirl around the dance floor to show off. I'm not saying this is necessarily a bad thing...just an observance.You're 100% correct!
The blues band I'm in are currently playing for your same demographic & they make no attempt to hide the fact that after the show, they're going to someone's house for the lovin'.
People think only teenagers are horn-dogs like that, but oh no...
lol... that will be me when I'm 70, I hope. I'm doing everything I can to preserve my looks and secure my financial future. 🤗Yep. This is a yacht club, so you'll see 70-ish men (with face-lifts) bringing their latest 40-ish trophy wife (decked the hell OUT, and who obviously loves him for his looks. <cough>) to whirl around the dance floor to show off. I'm not saying this is necessarily a bad thing...just an observance.
Welp...I'm getting there, and still ordering new drums. As long as I physically can do it, I will. Hands are getting to be an issue. Recently started wearing gloves, so that helps.lol... that will be me when I'm 70, I hope. I'm doing everything I can to preserve my looks and secure my financial future. 🤗
More importantly, I hope I'm still playing drums in my 70's. I don't see why not.
Hmm... gonna need some context in order to tackle that one. I scrolled through the thread and didn't see any references to marriage.what makes you think my sister would WANT to marry one ?
I played in two bands with a guitarist who shall remain nameless. He joined the band quickly, as his predecessor was using hard drugs and we had to replace him on short notice, as we had steady gigs booked. He turned out to be a very good player and singer, but a totally toxic and poisonous personality. He first managed to convince us to fire our longstanding bass player, Vern Miller of The Remains, and also convinced us to replace him with a women who I'd known for years, a terrible bass player, but a good singer. You can imagine how bummed I was having to play with someone so bad, after playing with Vern, one of the best bass players I've ever known. But the band worked constantly, every weekend, so I stuck it out, as my kids were little at the time, and we needed the money. Mr. Toxic Guitarist (I'll call him TG from now on) also kept feeding booze into our other guitarist/singer on breaks, who was already an alcoholic. That guitarist eventually quit the band, and several years later, committed suicide. I have to blame TG for contributing to his demise.
TG eventually became extremely hard to work with, played way too loud, grew obnoxious and difficult, and finally fired me, the guy who started the band in the first place. On top of that, he was a serial adulterer, a wife beater, and a bigtime drug abuser (blow, speedballs, crystal meth). He eventually pulled a hostile takeover of another band, threw out the guitarist, and has continued to work steadily. The name of his band was The Troublemakers, an apt name if I ever heard one.
A few years ago, he called me by accident and left a message on my voicemail, as follows: "Uh, Bob. It's________. I think I dialed your number by mistake. I'm sure you don't want to talk to me. Sorry."
He was dead right. I had long since vowed to rid my life of all troublemaking drama queens, a good rule to live by.