If I look into their eyes, they start to play better.
I don't know how that can be true. They're not looking at me, and the pub is dark.
A musician must just sense when a person is listening.
Every week, almost, I go to Twain's, where the musicians come to play for free, for fun, and to takes risks, and make mistakes ("there are none" - said Miles Davis) and it's better than anything else I've ever heard live (well, except I saw Dexter Gordon at the Vanguard, and, you know, some other things, but still, I enjoy it a lot).
You can tell the difference between those that play all the time and those that don't. Though, as a drummer who gets competitive, and believes in what he can do, if not what he does, even those who sound practiced, don't necessarily sound great, except when I look them in the eyes and make them better.
I also see the, "that wasn't quite what I was after" look in their faces. I understand, then, not just what they are doing, but what they want to do, and I find myself nodding.
People say I'm getting better (well, a couple of people), so I'll keep going, for that reason, and because I like it.
People say I'm writing better (well, a couple of people), so I'll keep doing that too. I am after all, trying to become something here.
I'm trying to make something of my life, drumming and writing.
I started drumming when I was 7 years old, played until I was almost 18 and then quit for 25 years. Writing carries me back, too, because what else are you going to drudge up, when you have to think of a topic every week?
And then there's Facebook (or as my friend, who "doesn't even own a blueberry" calls it, "My Face."). I joined years ago but never did much with it. Frequently, now, someone I used to know finds me on there. So here I am thinking about the past and then it finds me.
People, who I had begun to think didn't even really exist outside of my imagination (the past seems like that sometimes, doesn't it?)
And they want to know what I've become. Nothing I'm much too proud of, but any day now… (I believe that). I'm not so old that I have to give up, even if it has been about 30 years since. Actually, no one has asked, but I do want to know what they've become (and strangely, I haven't asked either!)
Ninth grade was my favorite year of school, drumming for the Stage Band, but that wasn't the only reason. It was the closest I ever came to feeling like I was part of a good group of friends (until very recently actually, different group, though). Of all people, I wonder most what happened to those I knew in Ninth grade.
Like Darrall, who once stole $20 from me, for drugs (I always assumed).
After we had both gone off to different High Schools, I ran into him at Tower records in Greenwich Village. He told me he worked there as undercover security, trying to spot theft. He had an employee discount, and so I gave him $20 and a list of albums I wanted. Then after that I never could reach him. A mutual friend saw him, and even told him I had been trying to reach him about picking up my albums. It was a good scam, works once anyway. I wrote him off after that, even wondered once or twice whether he was dead of an overdose.
This week I got an e-mail from Facebook. It says "Darrall" has sent me a message. "Hey dude, where are you? I have your albums."
We all lose our way, and then sometimes we find it again.