This morning I was feeling pretty down. However, I was contacted by a financial consulting firm who says they can put me right to work, and I am meeting with the CEO tomorrow to discuss projects. I feel optimistic after a long phone chat with her. She's swamped, and I am idle, so maybe we can help each other out.
On Wednesday evening I practiced with a gigging classic rock/blues band in Gilroy. They play every weekend and get paid for it, and that's what I am looking for. The band I am playing with now is mostly hobbyists who aren't looking to gig (music term for "playing for a paying audience") on a regular basis.
My age is always a concern. I show up at a band practice with three guys who are all young enough to be my sons, and we hit it off right away. The male singer (and band leader) is good; the guitar player competent and the drummer very competent (he has a degree in jazz from San Jose State). We ran through eleven of their set list songs that I had practiced in advance, on my own. It seemed like a really good fit, we played quite well together and they were complimentary of my playing skill. The band leader said I did great and it is obvious that I love the bass. Yep, it's the only instrument I have ever wanted to play.
However, I don't have the job yet, though they told me I am on their "preferred list." They are still auditioning bass players. I told them, "if you can find a better bass player, hire him!" However, I am still in the running, and that's good.
The drummer was playing on a mismatched set of drums: all of them red with one yellow snare, and his cymbals and high hat had holes in them -- it looked like a rat had chewed on them, but rats don't chew on brass. He said he had found the cymbals discarded under a stairwell and appropriated them. It doesn't matter, he sounded great.
So is the sun about to break through the cloudy skies of my life? Maybe.
At the women’s protest march
37 minutes ago