As promised in Blog #1, I went to the courthouse last week and filed a civil claim in Small Claims Court against a woman who hired me to produce a song and subsequently disappeared. Having lived in Los Angeles for 9 of the past 10 years, I had envisioned the small claims process as a bureaucratic nightmare. (Dealing with the California DMV almost turned me into a bonafide anarchist). In truth, it was pretty simple...
The toughest part was making it through the formidable metal detectors and past the security checkpoint at the courthouse. Here in Nashville, we take our homeland security seriously. I've flown a whole lot in the last several years, so I'm pretty familiar with the security screening process. That doesn't mean that I've been mistake-free. In fact, I've accidentally made it on to planes with a pocket knife in my backpack several times. Also, being a musician, I usually have wires and strange looking metal boxes in my backpack, but I've never been hassled about that stuff. At the Nashville courthouse, however, they searched my bag and searched my bag, and searched it some more until they found a dangerous-looking nail clipper. It was one of those nail clippers with the little fold-out file. I was politely informed that if I wanted to keep the clipper I had to break off the file, which I did. Secure in the knowledge that I wouldn't be filed to death while in the courthouse I trooped on up the the second floor where the civil claims office is.
Considering the fact that I was bringing a lawsuit against a fellow US citizen the form I had to fill out was amazingly simple. All that was required was my name and address, the name and address of the person against whom I am bringing suit, and a brief description of why I'm suing in the first place. There was no line, and after paying a court fee of $102.75 I was out of there.
The next step was for the sherrif's office to serve notice to this woman that she was being sued. I has been over 3 months since I completed the work on the song that she hired me for. I have called and texted countless times and twice I even drove by her house to see if I could talk to her face to face. She was nowhere to be found. Naturally I left feeling skeptical about the ability of anyone to find her and to serve notice that she was being sued. But in a surprise move that helped to restore my faith in our law enforcement system, the sherrif's office found her. The she-weasel has been served!
Court date is currently set for March 2nd at 8:45am. I'll let you all know how it goes...
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Culinary delights.
Incase you didn't get it from the title of this blog entry, I'm writing a book. It's about some of my experiences as a musician, both in the Drew Davis Band and elsewhere. For today, here's an excerpt. This takes place almost 10 years ago and relates to a tour I did in mainland China with several of my USC music school homeys. This excerpt is self-explanatory. Hope you like it.
We were in a town called Kunming in the Southern Chinese province of Yunnan. The local promoters had taken us out to lunch and had been plying us with beer after beer. After catching a bit of a buzz, they ordered a plate of large sea snails. Now, I’ve eaten Escargot, Abalone, and Conch, but this was somehow different. These sea snails were cooked in their shells that were about four inches long and had a typical swirled, conical shape. They appeared to have been steamed or something. The promoter guys dug in and each ate a couple of the snails. No one in our group showed much interest, not even the models! But I had been acting my typical fun-loving self and had been going beer- for- beer with the locals. They wanted me to try a snail but I was still hesitant. So they ordered some very strong rice wine and we did a couple of shots. I was nicely toasted at this point, so when they brought up the snail again I thought, “What the hell? You only live once. When’s the next time I’ll be in China?” and I went for it. You know those painful memories that you block out? Like breaking a leg or something. You know it happened, but your memory of the moment is somehow a little fuzzy, you can’t quite remember exactly how the pain felt. Well, this wasn’t like that at all. I remember biting into the snail with such vivid detail that it still turns my stomach to think about it. The entire table was watching me as I lifted the shell to my mouth. The foot of the snail (the part that sticks out of the shell) looked to be well cooked and I hoped that it might be like eating a large piece of Calamari. As I attempted to sink my teeth into what can only be described as a piece of smelly, oceanic tire rubber, my gag reflex kicked in. The entire table was watching, however, so I mustered all the intestinal fortitude that I could and I continued to try to eat this snail. Biting through the foot of the snail was fast becoming untenable; it was so tough and chewy. So, I took the next step and using my teeth pulled the entire snail out of it’s shell and into my mouth. Surprise! Although the foot of the snail was indeed cooked through, the rest of the snail was as raw as if it had been lifted that very moment from the depths of the sea. However, with a mouthful of snail and an entire table watching there was no turning back. I chawed my way through the snail until the moment of swallowing came. I took a shot at swallowing. My esophagus shot back and the snail didn’t go anywhere. I tried again, and again the snail didn’t move. On my third attempt to swallow the snail I actually got part of it to start sliding down toward my stomach and then mercifully the rest of it followed without further incident. I burped, the table cheered and that day, in my own small way, to the locals I became a culinary hero.
We were in a town called Kunming in the Southern Chinese province of Yunnan. The local promoters had taken us out to lunch and had been plying us with beer after beer. After catching a bit of a buzz, they ordered a plate of large sea snails. Now, I’ve eaten Escargot, Abalone, and Conch, but this was somehow different. These sea snails were cooked in their shells that were about four inches long and had a typical swirled, conical shape. They appeared to have been steamed or something. The promoter guys dug in and each ate a couple of the snails. No one in our group showed much interest, not even the models! But I had been acting my typical fun-loving self and had been going beer- for- beer with the locals. They wanted me to try a snail but I was still hesitant. So they ordered some very strong rice wine and we did a couple of shots. I was nicely toasted at this point, so when they brought up the snail again I thought, “What the hell? You only live once. When’s the next time I’ll be in China?” and I went for it. You know those painful memories that you block out? Like breaking a leg or something. You know it happened, but your memory of the moment is somehow a little fuzzy, you can’t quite remember exactly how the pain felt. Well, this wasn’t like that at all. I remember biting into the snail with such vivid detail that it still turns my stomach to think about it. The entire table was watching me as I lifted the shell to my mouth. The foot of the snail (the part that sticks out of the shell) looked to be well cooked and I hoped that it might be like eating a large piece of Calamari. As I attempted to sink my teeth into what can only be described as a piece of smelly, oceanic tire rubber, my gag reflex kicked in. The entire table was watching, however, so I mustered all the intestinal fortitude that I could and I continued to try to eat this snail. Biting through the foot of the snail was fast becoming untenable; it was so tough and chewy. So, I took the next step and using my teeth pulled the entire snail out of it’s shell and into my mouth. Surprise! Although the foot of the snail was indeed cooked through, the rest of the snail was as raw as if it had been lifted that very moment from the depths of the sea. However, with a mouthful of snail and an entire table watching there was no turning back. I chawed my way through the snail until the moment of swallowing came. I took a shot at swallowing. My esophagus shot back and the snail didn’t go anywhere. I tried again, and again the snail didn’t move. On my third attempt to swallow the snail I actually got part of it to start sliding down toward my stomach and then mercifully the rest of it followed without further incident. I burped, the table cheered and that day, in my own small way, to the locals I became a culinary hero.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Auditions and Homework
There are no job interviews in music. We don't prepare resumes. We don't write cover letters. We don't strap on the old suit and tie and head to our 9:45am appointment with the VP of HR to discuss our previous work experience, salary expectations, and 401K plans. Musicians don't 'do' job interviews. We audition.
Whether you're a classical oboist playing for a spot in a symphony orchestra, or a drummer trying for a spot in a marching band, or a bassist, ahem, trying to get a gig in the touring band of a famous country artist, the setup is basically the same. You show up, play what you're supposed to, and then you wait. It can be nerve wracking. You are pitted against other musicians for the prized gig. Often you are asked to audition by playing music with other musicians who you have never even met, under less than ideal sonic conditions, in front of 'decision makers' who sometimes aren't even musicians! The only way to counter the nerves, to get past that feeling of being judged, is to do your homework. Opportunity favors the prepared and if you are given the opportunity to get an audition you had better make sure you are prepared.
I have spent a large portion of my life learning to play the bass, developing my sound, collecting the 'right' gear, honing my chops in school and on the road. But none of that matters without proper preparation. I recently was given the chance to audition for a high-profile country artist - a gig that I would very much like to get. 4 songs singing and playing the bass. That's what I had to learn. I'm not a naturally gifted singer so I knew that the singing would be the hardest part for me. In order to concentrate on the singing the bass playing had to be automatic. I spent hours and hours just listening to the songs, visualizing the bass lines in my head. Then I spent hours and hours more actually playing along with the tracks. Learning to sing the parts took another large effort on my part. The final hours of preparation were spent on learning to play and sing at the same time. I practiced right up to the point at which I had to pack my gear and head to the audition, then on the way I listened to the songs in my car one last time. I was as prepared as I could have been and it paid off.
The audition went well. I would say extremely well. I played what I was supposed to and sang what I was supposed to. At the end of the audition they guys in the band told me I had done a good job and said "If we had to go do the gig tonight, we could."
But, even with a lifetime of learning, and many hours of preparation, even with a super-solid performance in the audition, I know that my chances of actually getting the gig are probably pretty slim. There were at least 15 or 20 other bassists who auditioned for the gig and I know that some of them did just as well as I did. Ultimately, who gets the gig, will probably be decided by intangibles like how I looked, or how easy I was to get along with, or how much I laughed at that joke the guitar player told.
For now, however, the preparation is done, the audition is over and I feel proud and secure in the knowledge that I did my homework and that, as the guys in the band told me, I could go and do the gig tonight. While I spend the next couple of days waiting to hear the results of the audition I'll keep those things in mind.
Whether you're a classical oboist playing for a spot in a symphony orchestra, or a drummer trying for a spot in a marching band, or a bassist, ahem, trying to get a gig in the touring band of a famous country artist, the setup is basically the same. You show up, play what you're supposed to, and then you wait. It can be nerve wracking. You are pitted against other musicians for the prized gig. Often you are asked to audition by playing music with other musicians who you have never even met, under less than ideal sonic conditions, in front of 'decision makers' who sometimes aren't even musicians! The only way to counter the nerves, to get past that feeling of being judged, is to do your homework. Opportunity favors the prepared and if you are given the opportunity to get an audition you had better make sure you are prepared.
I have spent a large portion of my life learning to play the bass, developing my sound, collecting the 'right' gear, honing my chops in school and on the road. But none of that matters without proper preparation. I recently was given the chance to audition for a high-profile country artist - a gig that I would very much like to get. 4 songs singing and playing the bass. That's what I had to learn. I'm not a naturally gifted singer so I knew that the singing would be the hardest part for me. In order to concentrate on the singing the bass playing had to be automatic. I spent hours and hours just listening to the songs, visualizing the bass lines in my head. Then I spent hours and hours more actually playing along with the tracks. Learning to sing the parts took another large effort on my part. The final hours of preparation were spent on learning to play and sing at the same time. I practiced right up to the point at which I had to pack my gear and head to the audition, then on the way I listened to the songs in my car one last time. I was as prepared as I could have been and it paid off.
The audition went well. I would say extremely well. I played what I was supposed to and sang what I was supposed to. At the end of the audition they guys in the band told me I had done a good job and said "If we had to go do the gig tonight, we could."
But, even with a lifetime of learning, and many hours of preparation, even with a super-solid performance in the audition, I know that my chances of actually getting the gig are probably pretty slim. There were at least 15 or 20 other bassists who auditioned for the gig and I know that some of them did just as well as I did. Ultimately, who gets the gig, will probably be decided by intangibles like how I looked, or how easy I was to get along with, or how much I laughed at that joke the guitar player told.
For now, however, the preparation is done, the audition is over and I feel proud and secure in the knowledge that I did my homework and that, as the guys in the band told me, I could go and do the gig tonight. While I spend the next couple of days waiting to hear the results of the audition I'll keep those things in mind.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Small Claims Court
I hate contracts. Especially in the music biz. I've spent countless hours, days, weeks, and months hammering out contractual details and it sucks. Usually the really thorny issues pertain to hypothetical situations which never even come up in real life. In fact, even the broad strokes in most of the contracts that I've been a party to don't make their way into actual business dealings. Good business means having a contract. Great business means never having to rely on that contract to get your business done. It's all about relationships. Treat people well, and they'll usually do the same.
So when a friend of mine (actually a girl who I had been on a few dates with, and really liked) asked me to produce a song I never thought I'd need a contract. Oops. I spent several days setting up the session, finding the players, booking the studio, and negotiating the rates. Then several more days recording and mixing. That part was amazing! I got great players and they all did their jobs wonderfully. The studio I booked is one of the nicest in the world (www.paragonstudios.com). Thank god the musicians and studio all got their checks, because when it came time to pay the producer (that's me), my 'friend' disappeared.
I emailed, called, texted, smoke signaled, and even tried to reach her through her brother (who I had used as the piano player on the session), but she never responded. So now, with no written contract I'm attempting to collect on $1100.00 that I'm owed for my work as a producer. Tomorrow afternoon, I'm dropping the gavel on that beeatch and filing my first small claims court case here in good old Nashville, TN.
I'll post again soon and let you know how I do...
So when a friend of mine (actually a girl who I had been on a few dates with, and really liked) asked me to produce a song I never thought I'd need a contract. Oops. I spent several days setting up the session, finding the players, booking the studio, and negotiating the rates. Then several more days recording and mixing. That part was amazing! I got great players and they all did their jobs wonderfully. The studio I booked is one of the nicest in the world (www.paragonstudios.com). Thank god the musicians and studio all got their checks, because when it came time to pay the producer (that's me), my 'friend' disappeared.
I emailed, called, texted, smoke signaled, and even tried to reach her through her brother (who I had used as the piano player on the session), but she never responded. So now, with no written contract I'm attempting to collect on $1100.00 that I'm owed for my work as a producer. Tomorrow afternoon, I'm dropping the gavel on that beeatch and filing my first small claims court case here in good old Nashville, TN.
I'll post again soon and let you know how I do...
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