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Friday, May 15, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
A Day in the Life
I gotta tell you guys a funny story. This past Sunday morning Simon was set to fly out to the Bay area for his sister's birthday party. It was a special day: she was turning 30, the party was a surprise, and Simon was an even bigger surprise. It was key he made this flight. Of course it left at 6:15 in the morning, which means that he and the person taking him -- uhm, that would be me -- would have to leave the house no later than 5 am to make the 20 minute drive, check baggage, and get through security.
Ordinarily this would not be too big of a deal BUT we had a gig the night before in Hood River. This typically means that we play 8 - 11 pm, hang out with the crowd for an hour, break down from midnight to 1:30 am, chat a little longer with the staff, and roll out by 2 am to get home around 3:15 am. So, let's take out our calculators, kids: if we get home around 3:15 am, and we have to leave at 5 am, at the most we are looking at a nice little nap of around 1.5 hours. Super!
Well, we do in fact get home at 3:15. I brush my teeth, climb in bed, set my alarm, and I'm out. At 4:45 my alarm rattles me awake. I hit the off button and close my eyes. About a minute later -- or what seemed like a minute later -- I opened my eyes and it was 5:23! Holy shit! I flew out of bed ran down to Simon's room. I heard his radio on but indeed Simon was still asleep -- drunk and asleep, as he had as many free beers as his belly would hold at the Double Mountain Brewery just a couple hours ago. I knock on the door and shout, "Simon! Wake up!" "Huh?" "Get UP. We gotta go!" I rush to the bathroom, pee, brush my teeth. 5:26. I walk back out and he is still NOT up. This time I crack the door, poke my head in and say firmly, "Simon, GET UP. We had to leave 20 minutes ago." At this I heard him sit up, look at his clock, and gasp. He throws on some clothes (I am guessing this was the case though I did not actually see it happen), grabs his bag and his laptop, and we head out the door. 5:30. We pile in Wes' truck and hit the road.
I happen to look down at the gas gauge, which is hovering below E. Oh no! We have to get gas!!!! We just would not make it to the airport. Oh, man. I race to the Arco along the way, roll down my window and say stiffly to the remarkably chipper attendant "$10 bucks please." He fills the tank and we roll out. 5:36. I speed to the highway entrance and once we get onto the highway I am driving 80 in a 55 all the way. Thankfully, its so darn early there is not a shred of traffic on the roads. Simon and I don't exchange many words: Simon is willing time to slow down, and I am praying to God that He extend a helping hand on this one.
After what seems like an eternity, we pull off onto the airport exit. 5:44. "What airline you got?" I ask. "Horizon Air." I motor down the long thoroughfare that leads to the terminals, pull off on departure drive, and go as fast as I can get away with through the drop-off area. The funniest thing was that I forgot I was driving a stick shift (yes, sometimes I'm a dope) and so when I come to a halt at the crosswalk, the truck bellows a gnarly grumble into a stall. (Sorry, Wes!) I totally laugh, start her up again, then pull over as fast as I can to drop Simon as close as possible to Horizon Air. As he grabs his bags, I look at my cell phone to grab the time. "Oh, Simon... It's 5:48. You're going to have to use your good looks." With no time for hugs he tosses a good-bye over his shoulder and runs through the airport doors.
I take a deep breath as I drive away, eager to recover my usual state of peace. I say one last prayer to God, then I turn up KINK FM, roll down the window, and enjoy the drive back. Upon reaching home, I climb into bed mumbling "bed... sweet, sweet, bed." I immediately fall asleep and I am pleased to discover later that no phone call ever came from the drummer boy who missed his flight.
Ordinarily this would not be too big of a deal BUT we had a gig the night before in Hood River. This typically means that we play 8 - 11 pm, hang out with the crowd for an hour, break down from midnight to 1:30 am, chat a little longer with the staff, and roll out by 2 am to get home around 3:15 am. So, let's take out our calculators, kids: if we get home around 3:15 am, and we have to leave at 5 am, at the most we are looking at a nice little nap of around 1.5 hours. Super!
Well, we do in fact get home at 3:15. I brush my teeth, climb in bed, set my alarm, and I'm out. At 4:45 my alarm rattles me awake. I hit the off button and close my eyes. About a minute later -- or what seemed like a minute later -- I opened my eyes and it was 5:23! Holy shit! I flew out of bed ran down to Simon's room. I heard his radio on but indeed Simon was still asleep -- drunk and asleep, as he had as many free beers as his belly would hold at the Double Mountain Brewery just a couple hours ago. I knock on the door and shout, "Simon! Wake up!" "Huh?" "Get UP. We gotta go!" I rush to the bathroom, pee, brush my teeth. 5:26. I walk back out and he is still NOT up. This time I crack the door, poke my head in and say firmly, "Simon, GET UP. We had to leave 20 minutes ago." At this I heard him sit up, look at his clock, and gasp. He throws on some clothes (I am guessing this was the case though I did not actually see it happen), grabs his bag and his laptop, and we head out the door. 5:30. We pile in Wes' truck and hit the road.
I happen to look down at the gas gauge, which is hovering below E. Oh no! We have to get gas!!!! We just would not make it to the airport. Oh, man. I race to the Arco along the way, roll down my window and say stiffly to the remarkably chipper attendant "$10 bucks please." He fills the tank and we roll out. 5:36. I speed to the highway entrance and once we get onto the highway I am driving 80 in a 55 all the way. Thankfully, its so darn early there is not a shred of traffic on the roads. Simon and I don't exchange many words: Simon is willing time to slow down, and I am praying to God that He extend a helping hand on this one.
After what seems like an eternity, we pull off onto the airport exit. 5:44. "What airline you got?" I ask. "Horizon Air." I motor down the long thoroughfare that leads to the terminals, pull off on departure drive, and go as fast as I can get away with through the drop-off area. The funniest thing was that I forgot I was driving a stick shift (yes, sometimes I'm a dope) and so when I come to a halt at the crosswalk, the truck bellows a gnarly grumble into a stall. (Sorry, Wes!) I totally laugh, start her up again, then pull over as fast as I can to drop Simon as close as possible to Horizon Air. As he grabs his bags, I look at my cell phone to grab the time. "Oh, Simon... It's 5:48. You're going to have to use your good looks." With no time for hugs he tosses a good-bye over his shoulder and runs through the airport doors.
I take a deep breath as I drive away, eager to recover my usual state of peace. I say one last prayer to God, then I turn up KINK FM, roll down the window, and enjoy the drive back. Upon reaching home, I climb into bed mumbling "bed... sweet, sweet, bed." I immediately fall asleep and I am pleased to discover later that no phone call ever came from the drummer boy who missed his flight.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
The Trouble with Day Jobs
I am feeling exceedingly frustrated. One of the nagging thorns in our sides is the need to create income. Since we haven't quite figured out how to make enough as musicians, this means we need to pick up side jobs. Now, when you have a group of 7 people with different levels of education, different aptitudes, different areas of skill, and different backgrounds, it can be tough to find jobs with schedules that don't conflict with one another. Add a depressed economy within one of the most economically depressed regions of the country, and it seems impossible to stand in a room at the same time, never mind hold a rehearsal. How can we have jobs and be able to hold the rigorous commitment it requires to be a stellar original band on the path to success?
So here is what I am dealing with: Rudy works Mondays and Wednesdays and every other Saturday and Sunday from 7 am to 6 pm. Steve works M-F from 12-3, Tim now works from 1-8 pm, and Ravi works an erratic evening schedule that can be anywhere from 4 pm to 2 am. Now pile family obligations on top of this, and see how difficult it gets to hold rehearsals and the critical band meetings that keep us on inspired and on track?
Ah, I stare out the window in quiet bewilderment. The question has always been how do we become a viable business? With the internet moving increasingly toward the free distribution of music and the club scene so oversaturated that a living wage -- never mind a fair wage -- is beyond reach, how can we both have the time to excel as musicians and performers AND make enough money to eat, have a roof over our heads, and have fuel for tour?
I know it is my fault. I am the manager of the project and the buck stops with me. I do accept responsibility. Maybe I have not been convincing enough in sales calls. Maybe I don't manage my time well enough. Maybe I don't make the right marketing choices. Maybe I have not guided us properly in songwriting or performance. Maybe I just simply have not gotten us into the right hands.
I know it is complicated and frankly, though we struggle, I embrace it all because each day shapes me more and more into the person I am meant to be. But in the meantime, it is hard on us, it is hard on my band mates whom I watch toil every day to bring the dream that they have been given to fruition. They sacrifice and make due and sacrifice again, and I hold deep in my heart the utmost respect and love for each of them.
But then again, I think, there is more to it. We cannot do this alone. If people want to experience TapWater, if people want to feel the joy that the music brings, if people want us to achieve our vision, if people want us to make it -- and keep making music for all the world to hear -- then the people must support us. It is a two-way street: we have committed our lives to serving you. And we will. But we can only serve you if you help us get into the position that allows us to serve you. And right now, we are not in it.
So help us. Encourage us. Tell your friends about us. Make a donation to us. Come to our shows. Request us for radio and internet air play. Refer us to booking agencies. Demand us at festivals. It is only through the power of your unified voices that we may rise up to become what we are truly meant to be: the link that unites all households across the country and across the world in the creation of true and loving community that works for the good of all people.
So here is what I am dealing with: Rudy works Mondays and Wednesdays and every other Saturday and Sunday from 7 am to 6 pm. Steve works M-F from 12-3, Tim now works from 1-8 pm, and Ravi works an erratic evening schedule that can be anywhere from 4 pm to 2 am. Now pile family obligations on top of this, and see how difficult it gets to hold rehearsals and the critical band meetings that keep us on inspired and on track?
Ah, I stare out the window in quiet bewilderment. The question has always been how do we become a viable business? With the internet moving increasingly toward the free distribution of music and the club scene so oversaturated that a living wage -- never mind a fair wage -- is beyond reach, how can we both have the time to excel as musicians and performers AND make enough money to eat, have a roof over our heads, and have fuel for tour?
I know it is my fault. I am the manager of the project and the buck stops with me. I do accept responsibility. Maybe I have not been convincing enough in sales calls. Maybe I don't manage my time well enough. Maybe I don't make the right marketing choices. Maybe I have not guided us properly in songwriting or performance. Maybe I just simply have not gotten us into the right hands.
I know it is complicated and frankly, though we struggle, I embrace it all because each day shapes me more and more into the person I am meant to be. But in the meantime, it is hard on us, it is hard on my band mates whom I watch toil every day to bring the dream that they have been given to fruition. They sacrifice and make due and sacrifice again, and I hold deep in my heart the utmost respect and love for each of them.
But then again, I think, there is more to it. We cannot do this alone. If people want to experience TapWater, if people want to feel the joy that the music brings, if people want us to achieve our vision, if people want us to make it -- and keep making music for all the world to hear -- then the people must support us. It is a two-way street: we have committed our lives to serving you. And we will. But we can only serve you if you help us get into the position that allows us to serve you. And right now, we are not in it.
So help us. Encourage us. Tell your friends about us. Make a donation to us. Come to our shows. Request us for radio and internet air play. Refer us to booking agencies. Demand us at festivals. It is only through the power of your unified voices that we may rise up to become what we are truly meant to be: the link that unites all households across the country and across the world in the creation of true and loving community that works for the good of all people.
Monday, May 4, 2009
The Hood River Tradition
So we have started a TapWater Tradition. Every time we drive back from our gig at the generous and kind-hearted Double Mountain Brewery in Hood River, the guys take the hour and ten minute ride home to drunk-dial all their friends and family at 3 o'clock in the morning. It is simply hilarious. As I drive, I can hear six separate raucous phone calls going on. Wes is open mouthed and cackling at the moon in the front seat, while Simon is speaking in Indian and Chinese voices and Steve is running through the colorful things he would like to do with Crisco and Saran Wrap to the lady on the other end. They call friends, girlfriends, ex-girlfriends, uncles, parents, cousins, and neighbors. My favorite part is when one band mate calls someone that everyone knows so he holds up the phone and the entire Suburban rocks with yells and laughter: "TRRAAAAVVVVVIIIISSSSSSSSS!!!!!! WHAT'S UP BRO!!!" Most of the time, the friends and family members don't pick up, so the guys leave loquacious nonsensical messages for a fun morning pickup. Other times, a night owl or two will answer, and they are blessed with a few minutes to catch up with the people they miss but don't get to hear from very often.
I used to think this was silly, but now I have grown to adore this TapWater Tradition as a string of just a few of the very bright moments that make up TapWater.
I used to think this was silly, but now I have grown to adore this TapWater Tradition as a string of just a few of the very bright moments that make up TapWater.
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