The Leg Bone's Connected to the Jazzbone

Saturday July 24th
My cousin Brook (& Mike's!) boisterous wedding festivities exact from each participant a payment of tears (and chuckles) of the type that friends and kin tender with joy and pride on such occasions. In other words--there's nary a dry eye in the Portland city park where the nuptial ceremony takes place. The reception continues in the same vein, with exuberant toasts to the cute and awesome bride and groom. When the party is over, all retire replete with good cheer, good food, drink, cupcakes, and sparklers.

Sunday, July 25th
A smaller group meets in the a.m. for bagels & just a bit more family time. Afterwards I grab a ride with my cousin, Jon F Geffen to head back up to Tacoma--for Andrew and Gary await and there's a gig tonight! The traffic is gnarly & I grow weary in the eyeballs due to the summer afternoon glare on the highway.

It takes four hours (twice the usual travel time) and I arrive kind of last minute-ish. Gary & Andrew trot off to the venue du jour, Jazzbones, to load-in--graciously conceding that I might welcome a breather before I head over to join them in rock.

I chill for a bit, chatting with Heather, thus bringing my brain back to earth after its journey to the outer reaches of the galaxy’s spiral arms brought on by the lightspeed visit with glorious family and extensions thereof.

In due course, we scoot over to the club Jazzbones and find Gary & Andrew already ensconced next to a tidily arranged merch-table, tasty beers in hands. The drumkit is against the far wall all assembled and ready to be whisked up onstage when it’s time for rock.

I peer about the room. Something seems different—the murals? No they were here before. Well, they are fetching—shiny reddish-hued depictions of music-related actions such as drumming and sax playing. Hmmmm—maybe it looks changed because I was so wildly sleep-deprived last time (as recounted in the October blog: HUMPDAY), and I’m merely mildly sleep-deprived at the moment.

The band playing has a Fender Rhodes. I flashback to the first time I met Gary during a solo set I was playing at the Albion in San Francisco and he McGyvered my Fender Rhodes when it broke down (it broke down a lot, the damned thing, but it sounded GREAT) --and I was able to finish my set thanks to him.

Now, back in present tense , it’s our turn. We place our gear onstage and wallop the hell out of it for several songs. It sounds good. The hand bone’s connected to the piano-bone.
The piano-bone’s connected to the drum bone, the drum bone’s connected to the bass-bone. Hear the sound of True Margrit. Amen. I’m looking out as we play. A woman smiles and nods in time through each song from her table close to the stage. Presently, another woman breathlessly approaches the stage and asks me to sing ‘happy birthday’ to a girl who’s turning 21.

I ask:
“What’s her name?” She pauses.

She says:
“Wait”, and scampers back to the bar. We play some more tunes. She returns. She says:
“Candace”, and jets back to the bar.

I strike a chord and sing:
“Happy birthday to Candace/ you’re turning 21/ Happy birthday Candace/ now you’re free to be a lush.” A heartwarming sentiment, really. We wind up our set, tear down, load the truck, and drive away from Jazzbones. Again.

This gig’s connected to the last gig
The big gig’s connected to the humble gig
That next gig’s gonna flip your wig
Dem gigs dem gigs dem funky warm and fuzzy gigs

Dem Bones shows up a lot...here...
Or here...