Amazed, Proud, Cocky and Thankful

I'm not sure if I believe in epiphanies. As a temporary game changer, maybe, but as a permanent, life-changing experience? Not so much. After all, human beings are creatures of habit.

(Extremely) general example: let's say you have a near miss, a 502 meant for you. You slip through - even though you've been pounding Scotch all night long and your blood level equals Otis and Foster Brooks combined. You may temporarily quit drinking well before driving, but as a professional musician I've seen the old habits creep back to those blessed with a divine mulligan.

Or maybe you committed to a diet because your favorite pair of jeans are SO tight people can read the date on the quarter in your back pocket. So you start the diet, build some momentum, but eventually your friends start putting the plate of nachos too close to your fork hand, and...

Why am I blabbing about this? Because I might've had something approaching an epiphany, but maybe it was more of a "you've been drinking $200 wine out of a golden chalice and you're CHUGGING, dude!" If you've read any of my stuff here you know my band is pretty good. Solid. Dependable. We don't always get along, but by and large I knew I'd put together a tight, professional group that, thanks to our variety and skill, was able to get some good work along the way.

However - and I mean this honestly - I saw how really, really good, how versatile and amazing this band was last Saturday night. Now, keep in mind, when something's great over an extended period of time, it's easy to take it for granted (if you've ever had a relationship with a smokin' hot, generous and kind person you know exactly what I mean. John Lennon always said "Be Here Now," and as a grown musician and man I'm starting to GET IT.). Sometimes, efficiency equals complacency, and when a band keeps humming along you forget exactly WHAT it is you're accomplishing night in and out.

Seriously - being a part of something really good is almost dangerous. Slipping into the malaise of efficiency and dependability blinds you to the sparks and the fire of the creation itself.

So, here I am last Saturday, playing to a packed house in Sunset Beach. We're seconds away from downbeat, the band and the crowd's really up, the vibe is good - and I take a glance at the set list I'd put together earlier in the day.

The first fifteen minutes of music include:

Moon Dance (at about 150 BPM to make the thing swing HARD)
All My Loving
Every Little Thing
50 Ways to Leave Your Lover
The Way You Look Tonight
Signed Sealed Delivered

Seriously - that's absolutely nuts. A three piece with voice slipping from Jazz to 60s pop to 80s pop to Jazz/pop to Sinatra/big band to Motown?!

And this is just a small piece of the night. My Girl? Pour Some Sugar on Me? Le Freak? Love Shack? I Want You Back? American Pie? Everlasting Love? Slide? Come and Get Your Love? Spectrum, meet the other side of the spectrum.

So, there I was, right before Rob clicked in time for the first song, and it hit me: we're not just a good cover band - we're a DAMN good cover band, one that adapts and creates and plays whatever's necessary to make the gig happen. And not only do we play the stuff - we NAIL it, right to the wall, and then show it to the crowd like showing neighbors vacation pictures. It's crazy, and it's wonderful, and it's something many other bands just CAN'T do.

By the way, I'm not disparaging other bands - far from it. What I'm saying is my band's become so good at doing what it is we do it's become routine, and the spectacular and impossible's become commonplace to me.

But not after Saturday. Thanks, guys.