This Chaos of a Gig Reminded Me that “It’s Not About Me”

I played a gig about a year ago that really tested my inner “type-A,” “always-well-prepared-in-advance” habit. Now that’s a great habit to have as a musician, but every once and a while a gig comes around that offers you no opportunity to prepare. And you never no what additional challenges might come into play on top of that.

It was Thursday afternoon, and I was literally sitting at my computer waiting for an email or text with the set for the gig (which was scheduled to happen in about 3 hours). A fellow musician had called me about a week before for this one-off special-event sort of gig. I really didn’t know who I was playing with, and I didn’t even know much about the event itself. I just trusted the guy I knew who connected me with this particular event.

Sure enough, the evening rolled around with no communication from the bandleader or singer. I showed up extra early in hopes that maybe there’d be some charts on the music stand next to the house kit that was already set up. Nope, no charts. I leaned over to the bass player who was getting set up. “Hey do you know what we’re playing tonight?” He glanced over at me with a nonchalant, yet nervous chuckle. “Nope. No idea!”

Well this will be fun, I thought to myself.

A few minutes later, two guys walked in. One was carrying a guitar and the other was empty handed. Ok, looks like the bandleader...or bandleaders. At least they’re on time. Hopefully they’ve got a setlist and charts.

I couldn’t decide if the guitar guy was a country singer or a washed up punk rocker from the early 2000s. His mop of brown hair said “punk rocker,” but his dark button-up shirt with the flamboyant white elegant designs on the back said country singer. (You know the kind of shirt I’m talking about...For some reason it matches a cowboy hat really well.)

The following interaction was one of the strangest I’ve ever had on any gig. After introducing himself, the guitar player proceeded to list off all of his credits. A strangely one-sided conversation began, him telling about the books he’d written, sessions he’d played, and bands he’d toured with. He dropped some fairly serious names....names that SHOULD verify this guy’s skill on the guitar. Though I immediately wasn’t a fan of this musician’s attitude and giant ego, I at least hoped he’d be a fantastic player and that the night would be a breeze.

Nope.

The rehearsal quickly turned into one of the messiest I’d ever been a part of. This guitar player (who was leading most songs alongside his buddy who sang backup) could not stay at a steady tempo to save his life. Myself, the bass player, and the piano player were tightly laying down the groove at a solid tempo, but guitar-guy was consistently blasting ahead of us with no regard to what was going on around him. We weren’t playing to a click, but I was honestly glad that we weren’t. He kept upping the tempo of every song by at least 15-20bpm. That’s a LOT. But we in the rhythm section accommodated the leader’s rushing problem as best we could. Did I mention this guy could barely sing, too?

After a painstaking hour or so, we had hammered out the five tunes on the set for the night. Thankfully we were all at least vaguely familiar with the songs, so arrangement-wise things pieced themselves together alright. The piano player did a phenomenal job of following this guy and adjusting to his tempo constantly, and the rest of us just hung on for dear life.

Lots of careful listening and constant adjusting helped me to survive this gig without a scratch. I doubt the band as a whole sounded decent at all. But we at least stayed together. This whole debacle reminded me of the simple “side-man truth:”

The gig’s not about you. Support the singer as best you can.

I had to completely lay my ego aside and think as little as possible about myself or even my drums. I had to focus in on this singer-guitar-player and follow his every move. If I had done “what drummer’s are supposed to do” and kept solid time without moving, I would have certainly made this guy sound much worse. But I allowed my tempo to ebb and flow with his, covering for him as best I could.

There’s also a drumming truth that states:

Great drummers do everything they can to make the band sound better.

In my case, making the band sound better meant following a crazy singer’s every move. Making things “feel” tight to the listener was key, even if our tempo was all over the place.

Do your best to help the band sound great “as a whole.” Think less about the drums and more about the song. That’s something I have to always remind myself, because it’s certainly easier said than done!

Take Care and God Bless,

Stephen