That all changed one
day when my brother Marc Geraci called me up to "sit in" with the
band he was in called Carrie Dell and the Time Piece. I think Marc had even agreed to split half of
his pay with me. He had told the other
musicians in the band that he had a brother who had recently started playing
the congas. They were like, "Sure,
man, call him over." I had never
even sat in with this band, didn't know what songs they would be playing - all
I really knew - Marc was a rock solid
time keeper and I could follow him on the drums.
What's it like being
on a "professional" stage, playing a "gig?"
The feelings I had
were both of terror and of having finally, so-to-speak, arrived musically, even
though, I had just only recently embarked on this whole hand drum pursuit. I think at that time, Marc and I had practiced
together only a few times ourselves, mostly just me showing him rhythms I had
learned from my drum lessons, probably
demonstrating them on a tabletop during family get-togethers.
Prior to all this, a
co-worker of mine, Dan Archer, had heard about my new conga interests and had
encouraged me to pick-up "What's Going On" by Marvin Gaye an
ultimate, conga-centric work of music.
He wasn't kidding! So I asked my
drum teacher to write out the dominant conga rhythm in "What's GoingOn" and I saw that I could apply this same rhythm to just about any
rock-n-roll piece with a 4/4 time signature.
Having a band
himself, Dan called me out to some musician's practice hall where his band
regularly met. I agreed, secretly with
reluctance, and when I got out there, to my horror, I learned there was no trap
drummer in sight! I would have to keep
time for the band! Imagine that, a
drummer being asked to keep time (and I hadn't even thought to bring along my
metronome.) "Exposed as a fake!" was my dominant line of self talk but, despite all this, I got through it, come to find we were all
"struggling" musicians that day.
But now, there we
were, Marc and I, playing together in Jonestown, Texas, my first "paid
gig," my first "professional" stage, just letting it flow song
to song, set to set. The band must have
liked my contribution, imperfect as it was, because they asked me out to
several more shows and we played until Marc decided to disband, looking for a
new project.
What's it like being
on a "professional" stage, playing a "gig?"
It's a thrill, an
exhilarating, tiring, experience. One
literally drains oneself to play the correct parts at the correct times yet, at
the same time, one is fueled to the limit in concert with the crowds reaction and
enthusiasm to what is being performed.
Taken the wrong way,
it's a head inflating experience, a high, an addiction borne from perhaps a
misguided perception of the audience's adoration. Leaving the stage between sets one is even
conscience of the eyes following you, perhaps clouded eyes, resulting from
copious consumption of alcoholic beverages.
The attention elevates the psyche, boosts the self worth, at least
temporarily.
Following the long tear-down and late night arrival to home one asks why would anyone in their right mind want to make their living this way?
Following the long tear-down and late night arrival to home one asks why would anyone in their right mind want to make their living this way?
But the next day,
ears still ringing from proximity to the cymbals the night before, all is
forgotten and one can’t wait to repeat it all over again and play the next
gig.
Granted one knows
that most won't make a living with music alone and so one finds just enough
work to keep one immersed in one's music.
For the next
thirteen plus years this is exactly what I lived for, elevating and idolizing
this experience above any other ideal or object.
"Denying
oneself means refusing to be the centre of one's own attention. The true disciple must be centred on Christ,
to whom must be directed all thoughts and cares, so that our entire day truly
becomes an offering to Christ." writes Fr. Francis Fernandez, In
Conversation with God
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