Here, there and nowhere

Here. There. And nowhere. Sometimes a couple days of song and plunk is all you need to straighten out a knotted brain. Exactly what the soul doctor ordered.

What happens when nothing is happening?

The open road is always a welcome medicine.

Especially, when you pick up a couple of blow-ins from Arizona at the airport to accompany them in a venture into adventure.

One dart thrown on the map took us to Bangor, where we were to play the courthouse venue.

But upon arriving late, there was no talk of anything but a pint of Guinness and perhaps some good old-fashioned fish ‘n’ chips to quell the hunger of the travellers.

And yet, we still found ourselves tangled in cables, setting up for the show ahead.

Sound check consisted of figuring out which cable went where in order to make a sonic vibration that didn’t sound like danger.

The puzzle was eventually worked out after much head scratching.

And doors were about to open.

Not much time to rehearse.

Or even discuss what songs we will play.

But who cares about that?

As it is with life, so it will be with the stage.

We would be winging it until curtain call.

Remember this advice.

When playing along with someone who has 60 albums, the best way to prepare is not to prepare.

Throw your brain out the window.

This is no place for logic or common sense.

Those things aren’t needed here.

You stumble through on instinct alone.

It can actually work out better if you’ve never heard the songs before.

Use the ear.

Know when to shut the heck up.

But don’t be chicken either.

Dive in.

Make mistakes.

Turn the mistakes into something.

It’s a form of meditation.

Riding the wave of a song.

This method also makes the gig go within the blink of an eye.

Just when you think you have it nailed, it’s over.

The same went for the second night in Drogheda.

This gig had a tad more preparation, as I now had a rough idea of what songs might be played.

But would the songs be played the same way?

Nope.

Different time signatures and keys than the previous night.

It’s a fun way to keep on your toes.

Of course, music wasn’t the only order of the day.

Guinness was brought by the trayful.

Enough to last all week.

And as it was consumed through a straw for the night, it turned into a beautiful milkshake.

Don’t knock this method till you’ve tried it.

We drank to MacGowan, and also spared a sip for all the other musicians who we realise got taken from us throughout the years in the month of December.

Too many to think of, but December is a grim reaper.

A quick visit to the local record shop before heading back to the airport.

Two days was not enough plunk to cover all the shenanigans that were talked about.

This will have to wait until the next time.

Which won’t be far away.