Everyone has their bad days.  Professionals know how to make the best of a bad situation, and at least salvage what can be salvaged.  I learned this like most people learn things – the hard way.

I had been hired to play a wedding.  It was to be outdoors and I met with the soon-to-be couple and the wedding planner to scope out the venue and make sure everything was in place.

I was to play a song for the groom to walk down the aisle to, and the Maid of Honor was to sing and play for the bride to come in.  Easy, no problem. The Maid of Honor wasn’t a working musician, but had been a singer at some point.  We agreed it would make sense to put both guitars through the same amp and keep it simple.  After all, why would we need more for just one song each?

It was a small wedding and I had no other responsibilities.  Show up, bring the amp, play song, go home.  Easy money.  Unfortunately, ‘Piece of cake’ rhymes with ‘Big mistake’.

Rain came down heavy enough to move us to Plan B – everyone crammed under the awning. 

I played the song I needed to prepare, timed it right and it went off without a hitch.  Then I handed over the cord for the Maid of Honor to plug in her guitar.  She plugged it in.  No sound.

Most of the time on stage, you can cover a hiccup with a ‘Bear with us folks while we get this figured out’, or some schtick about not being bright enough to work electricity.  But during a wedding, waiting for the bride to come in, humor is lost on most.  So much pressure rides on this one moment, whether it needs it or not.

So, I did what most prey do in their last moments alive - I panicked.  Twisting nobs, flipping switches.  Nothing.  I looked up with terror only sharks witness before devouring their next meal.  Without saying a word, the non-working musician took control. 

She stepped out in front of the mic, cool as a cucumber and sang a completely acoustic version of ‘God Blessed the Broken Road.’

IT WAS AMAZING.  People cried…a lot.

The voice only carries so far, but with the help of the venue it was intimate without being strained or too quiet.  There was so much soul, so much feeling, so much love.  In that cramped little space, her voice gently lilted over the sound of the sweetly falling rain. She created a moment that will be remembered for a lifetime. 

And it was all thanks to this guy for not getting it right.  You’re welcome.

I walked out, head low.  After checking the gear, it was a cord malfunction.  As a musician, you’re only worth the cheapest piece of gear you use.  Good thing I gave them a discount.

In a great twist, a few months later I saw the groom while I was working the pizza counter at my second job. 

We locked eyes.  And said – nothing.
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I knew he recognized me from somewhere. But I was hoping that he didn’t figure out where till he was at home enjoying a delicious hot slice of Chicago style pie with his bride.  

Playing with a cowboy band, you eventually get the opportunity to play on a cattle drive, or a multi-day horseback ride for cowboys.  Lucky for us, it was not required to actually ride in with them so we drove.  This one was to take place in a field, on a mountainside.

It took a good hour-and-a-half to make it to the little dirt road in the Rocky Mountains, and another 20 of diligent, calculated maneuvering to make it to this place.  At one point the two-track was no wider than the pickup - with boulders on one side, and tall pines on the other.  I had ridden up with Dad in his black Dodge truck, and I am confident we wouldn’t have made it in my little Suzuki.

We then had to carefully find the right road to get to the stage.  Past the rows and rows of tethered horses, tents, rocks, giant fire-pit and makeshift bar, to a tiny, puzzle-like parking lot.  Seeing as most of the materials and gear had been horse-ridden in, it only makes sense.  It was still just a field.

This all should have been a clue that maybe their version of ‘sound system’ that they were to provide for us, might be a bit… rugged.  It was exactly how they had described it, in the vaguest terms.  But there weren’t enough channel inputs for us to have the 4 instruments and all 4 vocal mics plugged in; 8 channels in all.  Instead, they had 6.

So, we decided we would share vocal mics, like in the movies.  What the movies don’t portray is how you have to smell someone else’s breath while you do this.  And if someone happens to chew tobacco, or has been drinking whiskey, or forgot to brush their teeth, you get to live it first-hand through the nostrils.  All.  Night.  Long.

Everything was covered in dirt and dust – mics, mic-stands, cables, mixer, everything.  The ‘stage’ wobbled whenever someone shifted their weight too hard.  The ceiling was low enough for the fiddle player to bump his head if he wasn’t careful.  And being in a field means that we needed a generator.

If you’ve never had the pleasure of having a generator for electricity, it can be capsulated in one word – LOUD.  The system wasn’t quite loud enough to drown it entirely out, even though it was behind the trailer-stage. 
Having gathered all of this in the short time it took us to sound check, the bar-keep came over to take drink orders.  A little bit of spirits can take the edge off, and this edge was only getting sharper and sharper.  So we ordered.  I told the guy ‘Sprite’, since alcohol never seems to help my playing, and he was off. 

On his return, I got a huge plastic cup of fizzing goodness.  Without thinking too hard I took a swig.  For some reason instead of ‘Sprite’, he had heard ‘Sprite and Whiskey’.  He brought over an extra which was also fused with that Tennessee goodness.  I asked for some water, expecting the worst.
 
There were benches set up for people to sit.  Granted, they were hard wood benches, but benches all the same.  It was getting dark and the firepit was in the back of all the rows, in the road by the saloon tent, where they were serving food and libations.  And being cowboys, they were in no mood to sit.  So, the first couple of songs were rough as we played to an un-interested crowd of boots by the fire, and the 4 dancers down in front.

This all was shaping up to be a memorable evening.  An overall feeling of ‘Well let’s just stay in the frying pan’ began to manifest.  After all, we are professionals and our job is to sound the best we can for the circumstances, right?

I forget when exactly they showed up, but the two gentlemen that were responsible for hiring us came and sat on the steps at the side of the stage.  Somewhere along the line, I overheard them talking about the bottle they were sharing and it happened to be top shelf…something.  Brandy, whiskey, I can’t remember what.  But after a couple of minutes they were having the greatest time, singing and carrying on with us.  At one point during the kick-off to a particularly bluesy rendition of ‘Folsom Prison Blues’, I distinctly remember hearing them cheer us on.  ‘Get it boys!  That [groove] is downright nasty!’

They made my night.  After that, everything was dandy.
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We played the rest of the 2 hours left for the few dancers and the good-ole-boys sitting on stage with us.  Then we loaded up and did our best to navigate through the slow-moving herd of cowboys in the road and follow that two-track-trail back down the mountain.  In the dark.