I spent the better part of the weekend trying get a handle on my gig schedule for the first few months of the upcoming year. Being a working/touring musician requires a level of commitment that is difficult to explain to a non-crazy person.Admittedly, some of the work isn't all that fun. Booking hotel rooms, plane tickets, and creating itineraries is not really my idea of a good time. Tracking down the bass player who ran off with the blond after the gig, that stuff is a pain in the ass.
But then there are the musical moments when I am nowhere near a guitar or piano. I love the conversations with my musician friends, comparing notes, listening to favorite records, each others stuff, sharing (stealing) ideas, going to shows and often sitting in rapt awe at an unknown band's quirky turn of phrase. I've had more quick dinners turn into long evenings exchanging gig horror stories or the secret behind a song.
And then there are the moments leading up to the song. I can always tell when a song is trying to climb out of me. Its like a sickness, a fever that I have to shake. I will spend hours, even days tweaking lyrics, changing chords, flipping through keyboard patches or switching guitars, laying down version after version of a song til I have a demo I can live with. Sick, I tell you.
Despite the lack of sleep and the growing number of callouses on my fingers, juggling a day gig, spending time with loved ones, trying to keep in touch with friends, and not let my house become a refuse heap requires the sort of love and admiration for the whole process that borders on lunacy. You have to love it. Thank goodness I love it.
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