A-one-and-a-two-and-a-three…

I always wanted to be in a rock group. I simply didn’t have very many chances. I began playing the guitar as a young teenager, sitting on my bed for endless hours, singing to an empty room. When the chance arose to play with a group for an assembly at my high school, I was excited. The group consisted of a drummer, a guitarist (who was actually named John Paul Jones), a guy who played maracas and tambourine, and me, playing bass and singing. The name of the group was…uh…Keep On Truckin’, named after the ubiquitous R. Crumb poster which I shamelessly ripped off in some handmade flyers advertising our debut.

Our twenty-minute set included songs by Grand Funk Railroad, Santana and a couple of others. On our final number, though, we cranked our amps up to maximum, despite the principal’s warning (hey, The Man can’t keep us down!) and launched into Jimi Hendrix’s Foxy Lady. It wasn’t good, but it was loud. This gig led to…absolutely nothing.
My next band was in college. My friend Tom and I were asked to join us with a couple of other guys to play at a fraternity party. You know, one of those quiet, contemplative gigs. This group, I’m embarassed to say, was called Isengard, from Lord of the Rings. I had no say in the song selection and we ended up playing some songs I hadn’t listened to, songs by Blue Oyster Cult and other bands of that ilk. We managed to finish our single gig and picked up a few dollars, but never played again.
My final group was born out of my job at a music store. There was a guy who gave guitar lessons and a girl who gave piano lessons. The guitar guy came in one day and asked if I knew any country songs. “Only really old country,” I answered. I had learned some Hank Williams and Bob Wills songs, but I was certainly not current. He said that anything would help; he’d accepted a gig at a country bar and the piano teacher and I would join him. We would play anything remotely “country” that any of us could think of. That would turn out to include Linda Ronstadt, the Eagles and even ZZ Top. At the club, we looked out into the darkest space I’d ever seen, except once when I was deep in San Marcos' Wonder Cave when they turned out the lights. We had one small nightlight on a music stand so the guitarist could see our song list. Even that tiny light bothered the owner of the bar, who kept telling us it was too bright. During a break, I asked her why it needed to be so dark in the place. “Well, lotsa people come in here with somebody besides who they’re married to.” Ohhhh.
These three gigs illustrate the glamorous nature of showbiz, at least on the local scale where most musicians function. But let’s face it, few things turn out to be as glamorous as we initially believe they’ll be.
But a few things live up to the hype. Love. A lifetime commitment that grows deeper and richer through the years. And I gotta say, my belief and understanding of God has never ceased to amaze. Oh, it sounded good, all those years ago, when I heard I could be forgiven for everything I'd done, that I could go to Heaven instead of the other place. But learning that my life here could be so much sweeter, feeling that God could help me learn to care about other people...this has been heady stuff. If my early understanding of Jesus was like playing in my first band, this is like being a Beatle. He loves me.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.