Shock the Monkey

(monkey) Wheels are turning (monkey) Something's burning (monkey) Don't like it, but I guess I'm learning-Peter Gabriel

Another open jam is announced at a venue called "The Drunken Monkey".  If you have lived here in Bay County long enough you start to refer to places of business as "it used to be this or that".

It used to be The Saint Andrews Cooler.  It used to be J. Krash's.  It probably used to be several other things.  It will probably change names several more times until the end days. I look up the address on the internet and realize how close to my house it is.

I grab my bass and ride my motorcycle there.  The parking lot is paved with pot holes and broken glass.  "Great"  I say to myself.  I see another motorcycle parked up on the large sidewalk and tuck my bike in next to it.  A voice from the side of the building says "Hey, don't park there, it's the vomit zone."  "Thanks" I tell the voice.  "Park back here by the rear door"  He adds.

I go in thru the glass door that is shattered (probably by an errant bowling ball from the alley next door) and spot the band hosting the jam. They go by the name Hangar Sixx.   The bass player Leon aka "Father Time"  greets me and says I am welcome to play his bass if I want. He knows me from the retail  swimming pool industry that we both work in.  "I don't want to hear swimming pool talk all night." The Dude leans in and warns us with a smile. I see a few other musicians that I recognize trickling in.

 Father Time steps off the stage to go and greet them.  The guitarist arrives and is unwinding cables on the stage.  I extend my hand in greeting and he thinks I am grabbing his Les Paul.  "Sorry fella, I just got that, hands off" He says.  I am taken aback, but I assure him I was only trying to shake his hand.  "My name's Terry, no problem, but you know how it is" he said.  "I do now" I thought.  Terry straps on his guitar like a viking headed into battle.  He is rather imposing and tall.  He starts playing and immediately silences the entire planet.  Birds stop singing, Grinding machinery worldwide acquiesces to his volume.  Well, maybe not, but close.  I ask someone next to me what he is playing.  "He is just tuning up" The Dude offers.  "Sounds great to me"  I answer.  I really like hard rock anyhow.


Father Time introduces me to the drummer named Ron who  plays like John Bonham and mentions Michael their singer could not make it. Leon says to them to take it easy on me I am just a beginner.  "Fair enough" they agree.  I get settled on the stage which is decorated like a barn complete with a "horse hole" for the sound guy to look out of.

The music rotates through a few different musicians and the expected standards.  I am introduced to a guitarist named Jacob aka :"Thor" The Dude advises not to call him that and corrects the person that said it. "I am trying to quash that nickname".  I have found out by now, that The Dude stands up for victims of perceived wrongs.  After a break, I am invited up again, just Terry, Ron and I are on stage at this point and the crowd has trickled a bit.  "Can you play any Led Zeppelin?"  Ron asks.  Remembering the last time, I cast a wary eye at D.J. who gives me a "thumbs up".  "Let's play 'How Many More Times'" I respond.  It is a riff that I have played for hours at home.  I am not sure if it is a "vamp" or "ostinato" but I am comfortable laying down the foundation.  The drummer and I lock in together and the guitar starts up.  All is going well, until Terry mimes singing to me.  I shake my head.  These guys have so much to learn.

Some musicians show up to open jams and play solo.  I try to give them plenty of support, because I imagine that can be intimidating.  I go to the jams to listen as well.  A very young man takes the stage with his acoustic guitar and starts singing some songs by The Cure.  I ask someone what his name is, because I feel that we are on the same experience level and would love to play with him.  A voice behind me declares that my path is not that way.  It was Eddie the singer/guitarist/bass player.  "I wouldn't let you, you are better than him."  Whoa.  I was not sure what to say.  I know that my rhythm was decent, but playing by ear songs that I am not familiar with had not happened yet.  Further down the road I will have many discussions about being in "the zone" (not the vomit zone) with D.J.

To close the night Morgan the bartender asks to play my bass.  "No problem" I said.  She played great versions of the southern rock songs that these guys prefer.  She hands my bass back to me and says "Thanks".  The Dude whispers to me that she fronts a dark metal band and to HER, a performance is a religious ritual.  "Should I take my bass to be blessed?"   I respond. "I like heavy metal".  The Dude shakes his head.

I return several times until they shut the doors in preparation for another name change, no doubt.



As usual, when I arrived home, my wife asked "How did it go?"
"They asked me to sing...Zeppelin" I responded.

My wife launched into her best Robert Plant impression and we both laughed because she scared the cat.

What else could I say?



Stir up that MONKEYDUST!

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