Spring Campaign Kick-off

        It has been a long winter.  This one saw a lot of doctoring and not enough picking.  Winter is slow for the bluegrass business, but to go six weeks without a gig is a long dry spell.  Marfar’s mad money account was depleted, and spring fever had set in for me.

        I go through the same mental gyrations every year.  When business slows down I begin to wonder if folks have forgotten us, but come spring they start to call again.

        When we have a gig, I have to discipline my doctor brain to stay focused on medicine as show time draws near.  I do fine until around four o’clock, then I have to work hard not to get out of doctor mode.  I think the staff tends to book me light those afternoons; they can see the transition taking hold.

       Late in the afternoon, I can seldom resist getting the mandolin out of the case and running through a few tunes in between patients.  Once I open the case and that old curious mix of wood, glue, and BBQ hickory smoke permeates the office, my staff knows I’m pretty near gone.

       The patients accept it too.  In fact they often ask I play a tune, and if nothing is urgent is going on sometimes I’ll stroll through the office and do requests.  I know the government would frown on it, but we don’t tell them.

       Yesterday’s gig was typical Neuse River fare.  It was the annual Karemax executive dinner at the Littlehorn Steak House, a regular stop on our schedule. 

       It is hard to beat the music business.  We played two sets, got paid a couple hundred bucks a man, and had a fine T-bone/baked potato/salad bar and all the sweet tea you could drink dinner.

       Moose and I got there early and met with the event coordinator.  (E.C.)  I have found folks with that title to be tough nosed women, but Moose knows how to deal with things.  Moose was e-qing out the tenor singer mic and the E.C. noticed  a tooth pick dangling from his mouth.

       “Young man, I must ask you to remove your toothpick before the guests arrive.”  

       Moose glanced over at me, and then acknowledged her.  “Sure enough lady.”

       She scurried off to set out some table center pieces, and when she came back Moose has his back turned and was digging through the gig bag for a mic cord.

       “Anything else you gentlemen need?”

       “Yeah, you got any more toothpicks?”  Moose turned around and looked like some kinda grey bearded porcupine- he had wedged a tooth pick in between every tooth.

       I noticed the lady did not bother Moose again.  He has a way of establishing his territory early on.

       Once it is show time, though, the Moose knows how to handle every crowd.  He knew this gig was for my boss, and he took to the role of a perfect gentleman- fooled ’em all.

       When you play with these guys, you never know what will happen.  One year Raymond the Fiddler broke into “Always Marry An Ugly Girl” at the Ladies Auxiliary.  I ended up in the Hospital Administration office over that one.  The tune went O.K. until the last chorus.  (I can’t bring my self to write the line that got us in trouble, but if you ask I may bury it in the comments or post the whole song, I haven’t decided.)

       As we get older, we are a somewhat more sedate group nowadays.  Simpkins, the bass man, got married (see bluegrass bachelor party) and we are morphing into a group of old guys who still play music to pretend like we are young.   (As Stroker said over coffee at the break, I like our position, though.) 

       I serve as doc to the group of course, and Simpkins was nursing the tail end of a case of laryngitis.  For those of you who treat musicians, I have found inhaled corticosteroids to work best for tenor singers with this malady, but I prefer off-label use of Combivent for baritones or lower registers.

       In spite of our age and infirmities, once out of the starting gate, adrenaline kicks in, and we put it on.  Moose kicked off with “Bugle Call Rag” and then “Bells of Saint Marys,” and the tone for the gig was set.

       For one, it indicated this was improvisation night- we hadn’t done either tune in two years.  Secondly it was the signal to lean towards instrumentals to save Simpkin’s voice.  The inhaled betamethasone did him proud though, Simpk hit all the high notes dead on pitch. 

       In case you think I am like an Elvis Pressley doctor for the group, I am not, although back in our less regulated days Moose did take a gag script down to Reveco by the River to watch the young pharmacist react.  It read, “Morphine, one gallon, sip as needed,”  and was complete with a scrawled picture of a moonshine jar.  It was our last foray into that territory, though, ’cause the knucklehead kid called the State Board to complain.  What a nut.  As Moose said, the boy shoulda known right away.  For one, it was written on my encoded pad that does not allow any controlled substances.  You can’t get a Tylenol #3 off of those scripts pads, and Moose knew it.  More important, the pharmacist should have known right off it wasn’t me- you could read the writing.

       At the break the boys got into the free booze and had a nip.  (They say I am an old guy who takes all the fun out of it, but the band has never had a DUI.  I think my influence has made them at least somewhat more moderate wild animals, at least I hope so.)

      After a break, the mood can change and Moose came up with some invented on the fly piece called “The Shieskebob Bounce.”  I stumbled on the bridge a bit, but we got through that O.K. and closed with some strong gospel numbers.  The crowd seemed to dig it, and the E.C. signed us up for the annual Hospital Week picnic.  The boys were all in favor, and already speculating on what the chow might be.  

       It was a fine gig.  We loaded up all the sound, and I cut all the guys a check for 200.00 bucks.  On mine, as per tradition,  I made it out to Marfar, and put it at her place at the table when I got home. 

       The way I see it, I get everything out of the music I need.  I get to keep being a Doc, and pick with the best musicians in the County.  I eat free steak dinners at the best spots in town, and the bosses both at work and at home are happy.  I am a lucky man, and I don’t see how any old grey haired doc could ask for anything more.

       As the season wears on, will keep you posted.  Just a month ago, the schedule looked a mite sparse, but it is starting to fill in.  Spring thaw is on the way.

Dr. B

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