It's A Gig!

I have a gig coming up. How cool is that?

For those of you who are not rock legends - or who have never watched a television show or a movie about rock legends – or who have been living on one of the moons of Jupiter - a "gig" is ultra-sophisticated insider talk, referring to a paid performance by a musician.

Or by me.

From my point of view, this is a pretty big deal. I was in a garage rock band when I was a kid, and so I can vaguely remember what it was like to have somebody throw money at me money in return for playing my guitar. Just imagine eating a nice steak dinner, then having the waitress hand you a fifty dollar bill instead of a guest check.

Since those golden days, I've been mostly grateful if people didn't throw their drinks at me in return for playing my guitar. This has required just enough practice to keep my repertoire polished to the point where, as far as listeners are concerned, drinking seems like a better idea than throwing.

Most of this practice occurs during the writing of this column. I keep a guitar propped up near my computer at all times, just in case I need a quick run-through of Steve Goodman's "City Of New Orleans," or Phil Ochs' "Draft Dodger Rag" to inspire yet another literary masterpiece about dove poop on the picnic table.

For the past three years, I have had the privilege of developing creative writing and roots music programs for incarcerated kids (you can get the whole story about this at www.lostvoices.org). This has given me the chance to play and sing with the likes of folk music legend Josh White Jr., singer/songwriter/Celtic goddess Kitty Donohoe, and blues master Robert Jones. Sharing a stage with these incredibly gifted professional entertainers – and with the kids - has opened my eyes again to just how amazing it can be to make music.

So a few weeks ago, when I was invited to perform, for a small fee, as one of several street corner musicians in a local citywide celebration of the arts, I jumped at the chance. All I needed was forty-five minutes worth of material, and enough stamina to belt it out three times over the course of the day.

This all sounded great at first, when I had those few weeks to get forty-five minutes worth of material together. It sounded even better a couple of weeks ago when I discovered (by careful interrogation of everyone who has ever sat by a fire pit with me, my guitar, and any appreciable quantity of beer) that I actually know something like forty songs. This is enough to assault passers-by for more than two hours.

Yippee!

So I typed up a "set list" of all those songs. Next to each song I typed the best key for me to play it in, and any other little reminders that might come in handy: "Be sure your belt is fastened securely before you try to hit the high note on the last verse, or things could get ugly!"

Then, being the consummate professional that I am, I began to practice until my fingers were shredded and my throat was raw. The theory here is that even if I blow a verse or two, the sight of blood dripping from the guitar strings might earn me a little sympathy applause.

Now, with less than a week to go, I'm feeling cool, confident and completely prepared to face the public - does anyone know if the French Foreign Legion is still accepting applications?

If you are anywhere near the Detroit area on Saturday, May 19, and are in the mood to heckle a columnist, you will find Mike checking his belt and going for that high note on a street corner during "Art Feast" in Plymouth, Michigan. For more information, contact the Plymouth Chamber Of Commerce at 734-453-1540.

Copyright © 2007, Michael Ball