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.