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01/18/2008 Entry: "Dreaming While Playing Bass"

OK, I had my dream last night, but it wasn't about Dad. (Apparently, my sister is dreaming about Dad. Do check out her blog to read her latest.) I dreamed I was playing a gig in Bangor at some new place. How do I know it was Bangor? I don't know, but in my dream, I knew it was Bangor. The place we were playing was a restaurant. The owner of the restaurant was himself a musician, and even sold some used equipment out of the restaurant. He had a little office in the back full of instruments, and even kept some on the walls of the restaurant as decorations. Thing was, these decorations were for sale! Need a steak and a new saxophone? You're covered!

Paddy, Dave, and I were playing as Three Button Deluxe. Nothing strange there really. Except Paddy was playing guitar with Dave. Since he wasn't playing bass, I took over the four string duties. Bill Faler was playing drums for us. Bill was going to be using my drums, so I got to the gig early, and set up. Dave and Paddy stayed busy setting up the PA, and Bill just sorta hung out. Once it was time to start, I asked Paddy where the bass was. He didn't bring one. He assumed I'd be bringing my own bass. Well, since I sold my bass to Paddy (which I actually did in real life), I assumed he'd realize I no longer owned a bass, and he'd have to bring one. No such luck.

I decided the thing to do would be to ask the restaurant owner to borrow one of the instruments in the shop. He hemmed and hawed, going on and on about how professional musicians don't leave their instruments at home. I agreed, and told him there was just a miscommunication between band members. I apologized, but reminded him that I couldn't drive back to Rockland, get a bass, and come back--it just wouldn't be timely. He'd lose all the patrons that had come to see us. He finally consented to allow me to play his personal bass. It looked a lot like this, but had a really short neck on it. My fingers would just barely fit between the frets. I figured, though, that as bad a bass player I am, I wouldn't be walking around too much in the high notes, so I decided I could get by.

The other three guys are itching to get going, so they decided to start playing. I don't know why they didn't wait for me to get an amp to go with the bass, but they didn't. Now I'm yelling at the owner (so he can hear me over the din), asking if I can borrow an amp too. He scowls away, but doesn't answer. I get behind the band, and just look like I'm supposed to be there. Of course, with no amp, no one can hear anything I'm doing.

As we start playing the second song, the owner pushes this great big old amp out of the back room. Unfortunately, the guitar cord to go with it is only six feet long, and the power cord isn't much longer. He doesn't want to drag this big thing out of the back room, so I move even farther away from the band, and sit in the doorway between the back room and the main dining room. I'm like 10 feet away from the band. I look like I don't belong with them.

Then I woke up.