non-guitars
last saturday saw the Ageing Rockstar and me travelling up to Camberley for an outing. now and again the Ageing Rockstar gets to play one of his many guitars in front of an audience, alongside an Ageing Drummer, an Ageing Singer and an Ageing Keyboard player, as well as a bass player who is merely Teetering on the Brink of Middle Age.
such outings are often arduous. travelling to the wilds of Surrey can bring its challenges, as there are frequently roadworks to be dealt with which play havoc with the Ageing Rockstar's carefully calculated timings. on this occasion we had to divert, after a large sign on the motorway informed us of very long delays.
the Ageing Rockstar began to fiddle with the radio in his car, which doubles up as a satnav. it is inhabited by a very well-spoken lady, whose diction is only slightly marred by her habit of pausing for breath between words. the main problem with this satnav is that it came with the car, which is almost as ageing as its owner. the idea is that people who buy one of these cars from Landrover will update the satnav software now and again which will let the lady in the radio know when new roads have been constructed. however the Ageing Rockstar has no patience with such fripperies and so the lady in the radio is often puzzled by unexpected roundabouts and sometimes even new motorways.
i rescued the day with the help of mr google and his maps, which are somehow neatly folded into my phone, and we arrived at the venue in plenty of time. as it turned out we could have dallied for much longer, as the other Ageing Musicians were only just setting up their various equipment. for the uninitiated, the business end of the gear, in the form of drums, guitars and keyboards, is just the tip of the iceberg. behind this can be found miles of cables, multitudes of extension leads and numerous mysterious boxes covered in switches. a great deal of care must be taken to ensure that the correct cable is plugged into the correct box.
once all the plugging and unravelling has been done it is necessary to have a sound check. this is an opportunity for the Ageing Musicians to show off their ability to count to 2. they wander around the stage saying 'one, two' into their microphones. i pointed out that this was boring and asked if they knew any other numbers whereupon the Ageing Rockstar showed off his mathematical genius by coming up with a number in excess of five million. it was however pointed out to me that the beauty of '1,2' was its use of noises which test the microphone effectively.
the soundcheck went on for some time. there appeared to be a problem with feedback. this is not the type of feedback that the modern world thrives on via endless surveys about the customer service experience, but rather is a high-pitched squeal caused by the speakers failing to respect each others personal space. how this works was explained to me but it made as much sense as the off-side rule in football. suffice to say it is not nice. it was decided that a different arrangement was needed and further cables were unravelled and re-ravelled. eventually it was time for proceedings to kick off. by now the Ageing Rockstar had a headache, probably from the feedback. the only painkillers to hand were ones which cannot be taken alongside the various puffers and stuff needed by the Ageing Rockstar to facilitate breathing so i went off in search of paracetomol from the local Tesco, relying on my inate sense of direction rather than the confused satnav lady.
fast forward to half time, which is when the TBMA bass player and Ageing Rockstar get to talk guitars. although it appears that a bass guitar is not a guitar. it is a bass. it took me a little while to grasp this concept. all becomes clear when it comes to the compulsory guitar census.
"so how many guitars have you got, then?" asks the TBMA bass player.
"well not including the red one that doesn't work very well, and the blue one that i don't play much, its about 20." (here i should point out that no guitarist ever describes a guitar as a red one or a blue one. they prefer elaborate descriptions involving humbuckers, lipsticks, p90s and all sorts of other details, but i failed to take notes.)
"what about the ones that have arrived recently?" i ask.
"oh, they're basses, not guitars." says the Ageing Rockstar firmly. the TBMA bass player nods vigourously, and also opines that any guitar that is not used regularly should not be part of the census. i ask if this means they can be used to light the fire and express my sympathy for the TBMA bass player's wife. my own battle with guitars pales into insignificance beside the thought of having to count guitars that are not even guitars.
at the end of the evening all the wires and switches and drums and keyboards and guitars and non-guitars all have to be packed up and carted off. there is also the small matter of remuneration, which at least covers the cost of the deisel. there is always a bit of hanging around waiting to be paid. there was talk of potential deductions being possible because of the initial faffing around.
'this is where it would be handy to have some roadies," said the Ageing Keyboard Player, "we could just leave it to them to pack all this up."
as any good groupie would, i took this as my cue to fetch the Ageing Rockstar's Landrover. the layout of this particular club is such that you go in through one narrow entrance and out through another. i duly exited and then reversed into the entrance area so that the back of the Landrover was lined up with the door where the band were getting their stuff out, without being in the way. this took some time as the Landrover does not have the helpful bleep that i have got used to with my own car.
"that's not very helpful!" said the Ageing Rockstar, "the door opens this way so i will have to walk all the way round the door in order to put stuff in the boot!" while feeling that this was slightly ungracious, i duly did another 91 point turn to face the other way, thus making it twice as hard for the other band members to get past.
there then followed another long wait before the Ageing Rockstar finally came out. although i was fairly obviously in the driving seat he came round to the drivers side.
"out you get!"
"why," i said, "do you have a problem with me driving?"
"do you have a problem with me driving?" he replied.
"well, its just that i am in the driving seat already."
"well, you're not driving!"
resistance was clearly useless so i grudgingly climbed out, muttering that i felt like one of those surburban ladies who fetch their husband from the train and then get into the passenger seat so the husband can drive home. to be fair, i am not that keen on the Ageing Rockstar driving my car either. i think we may both be rather set in our ways. it must be the oldness...
such outings are often arduous. travelling to the wilds of Surrey can bring its challenges, as there are frequently roadworks to be dealt with which play havoc with the Ageing Rockstar's carefully calculated timings. on this occasion we had to divert, after a large sign on the motorway informed us of very long delays.
the Ageing Rockstar began to fiddle with the radio in his car, which doubles up as a satnav. it is inhabited by a very well-spoken lady, whose diction is only slightly marred by her habit of pausing for breath between words. the main problem with this satnav is that it came with the car, which is almost as ageing as its owner. the idea is that people who buy one of these cars from Landrover will update the satnav software now and again which will let the lady in the radio know when new roads have been constructed. however the Ageing Rockstar has no patience with such fripperies and so the lady in the radio is often puzzled by unexpected roundabouts and sometimes even new motorways.
i rescued the day with the help of mr google and his maps, which are somehow neatly folded into my phone, and we arrived at the venue in plenty of time. as it turned out we could have dallied for much longer, as the other Ageing Musicians were only just setting up their various equipment. for the uninitiated, the business end of the gear, in the form of drums, guitars and keyboards, is just the tip of the iceberg. behind this can be found miles of cables, multitudes of extension leads and numerous mysterious boxes covered in switches. a great deal of care must be taken to ensure that the correct cable is plugged into the correct box.
once all the plugging and unravelling has been done it is necessary to have a sound check. this is an opportunity for the Ageing Musicians to show off their ability to count to 2. they wander around the stage saying 'one, two' into their microphones. i pointed out that this was boring and asked if they knew any other numbers whereupon the Ageing Rockstar showed off his mathematical genius by coming up with a number in excess of five million. it was however pointed out to me that the beauty of '1,2' was its use of noises which test the microphone effectively.
the soundcheck went on for some time. there appeared to be a problem with feedback. this is not the type of feedback that the modern world thrives on via endless surveys about the customer service experience, but rather is a high-pitched squeal caused by the speakers failing to respect each others personal space. how this works was explained to me but it made as much sense as the off-side rule in football. suffice to say it is not nice. it was decided that a different arrangement was needed and further cables were unravelled and re-ravelled. eventually it was time for proceedings to kick off. by now the Ageing Rockstar had a headache, probably from the feedback. the only painkillers to hand were ones which cannot be taken alongside the various puffers and stuff needed by the Ageing Rockstar to facilitate breathing so i went off in search of paracetomol from the local Tesco, relying on my inate sense of direction rather than the confused satnav lady.
fast forward to half time, which is when the TBMA bass player and Ageing Rockstar get to talk guitars. although it appears that a bass guitar is not a guitar. it is a bass. it took me a little while to grasp this concept. all becomes clear when it comes to the compulsory guitar census.
"so how many guitars have you got, then?" asks the TBMA bass player.
"well not including the red one that doesn't work very well, and the blue one that i don't play much, its about 20." (here i should point out that no guitarist ever describes a guitar as a red one or a blue one. they prefer elaborate descriptions involving humbuckers, lipsticks, p90s and all sorts of other details, but i failed to take notes.)
"what about the ones that have arrived recently?" i ask.
"oh, they're basses, not guitars." says the Ageing Rockstar firmly. the TBMA bass player nods vigourously, and also opines that any guitar that is not used regularly should not be part of the census. i ask if this means they can be used to light the fire and express my sympathy for the TBMA bass player's wife. my own battle with guitars pales into insignificance beside the thought of having to count guitars that are not even guitars.
at the end of the evening all the wires and switches and drums and keyboards and guitars and non-guitars all have to be packed up and carted off. there is also the small matter of remuneration, which at least covers the cost of the deisel. there is always a bit of hanging around waiting to be paid. there was talk of potential deductions being possible because of the initial faffing around.
'this is where it would be handy to have some roadies," said the Ageing Keyboard Player, "we could just leave it to them to pack all this up."
as any good groupie would, i took this as my cue to fetch the Ageing Rockstar's Landrover. the layout of this particular club is such that you go in through one narrow entrance and out through another. i duly exited and then reversed into the entrance area so that the back of the Landrover was lined up with the door where the band were getting their stuff out, without being in the way. this took some time as the Landrover does not have the helpful bleep that i have got used to with my own car.
"that's not very helpful!" said the Ageing Rockstar, "the door opens this way so i will have to walk all the way round the door in order to put stuff in the boot!" while feeling that this was slightly ungracious, i duly did another 91 point turn to face the other way, thus making it twice as hard for the other band members to get past.
there then followed another long wait before the Ageing Rockstar finally came out. although i was fairly obviously in the driving seat he came round to the drivers side.
"out you get!"
"why," i said, "do you have a problem with me driving?"
"do you have a problem with me driving?" he replied.
"well, its just that i am in the driving seat already."
"well, you're not driving!"
resistance was clearly useless so i grudgingly climbed out, muttering that i felt like one of those surburban ladies who fetch their husband from the train and then get into the passenger seat so the husband can drive home. to be fair, i am not that keen on the Ageing Rockstar driving my car either. i think we may both be rather set in our ways. it must be the oldness...
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