Weird, as an adjective, has two meanings: 1) relating to the supernatural; or 2) of strange or extraordinary character. Tonight was weird—both definitions.
My friend, fiddler Lindianne Sarno, asked me to join her tonight at Raz for an "amazing evening of music arranged by Hana Ripp." I don't remember ever meeting Hana Ripp, although when we arrived at Raz she said we had met before. You know I'm not real good in situations where there is no plan and I have no control over the situation, so this evening was rather challenging.
The main characters in this "amazing evening" were Lindi and her fiddle, me and a lovely grand by the bar, and Gabriel Ayala, who is a Native American guitarist about whom I've heard wonderful things. There was no rehearsal for the three of us; Gabriel and Lindi had met once before to play together. We all arrived together and kinda stood around trying to figure out where to set up. There was no sound system. As they were looking at each other, pondering, I sat down at the piano and started to play from my "beautiful music to shop by" repertoire. There was applause after every number I played—this is something I'm trying to learn to be gracious about. I'd rather just sit in the background and not be noticed, or be quietly noticed, sans applause. Of course, applause is better than booing, so there you go.
I played a couple of numbers and then in walked Todd, the lawyer-cum-real estate investor I dated three years ago. He looked good. Darn, he never looked that good or dressed that nicely when we were dating! (Remember? This was a guy who didn't own any unstained shirts. This was the guy whose profile said he was 59 and in reality he was 69—I guess that makes him 72 now. But looks darned good!) Todd had called me a couple of weeks ago for Lindi's phone number after meeting Gabriel and realizing quickly that he and Lindi (whom Todd had heard play at Li'l Ab's with her husband, Gary Kuitert, and his band, Titan Valley Warheads, a mere three years ago) would be perfectly matched musically.
I played a few more numbers, then Lindi rosined up her bow and started playing along with me. Let me tell you about Lindi. She and I met in January of 2004 when we started playing with my neighbor, LaVerne Davis Lawrence, for her spring show. The first time Lindi and I sat next to each other and started to play, we just looked at each other and grinned. We knew there was something special between us.
A few numbers later, Hana came up and said there was a woman in the restaurant who was a singer and wondered if she could sing something. She asked if we'd mind. Well, you never know whom you're offending, so of course we said we wouldn't mind. The woman came up and asked if I could play something or other in the key of whatever, and of course I could. Well, this woman sounds like about a two-packs-a-day smoker. She could definitely carry a tune. But when she started singing, I expected the music to flow as it does between me and Lindi, between me and Judy in Sarasota, between me and many singers for whom I've played. Nope. Didn't happen. No magic happening there. No lightning striking the piano. Anyway, that was over quickly and the woman had her moment in the spotlight.
Evidently the whole time Lindi and I were playing, Gabriel was objecting to the lack of sound system. He seemed to think that Lindi would overpower him and was reticent to play with Lindi without a sound system.
So Lindi and I played a half an hour and then I begged off, saying I was just the opening act and that I was taking my cold home to bed. I left it to Hana to massage Gabriel's ego and get him to pull out his guitar and play. I don't know what they did after I left.
I enjoyed what I did. I would play nightly there for tips and a minimum wage—it was really lovely sitting at a keyboard again and working my magic.
I just would prefer to have a little control over the situation.
And now I'm going to pour a little chardonnay and tuck into bed.
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