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I missed you, Robin. Figured you were busy, somewhere, though my imagination didn't stretch as far as Marrakesh.

I haven't owned a pair of pajamas since I was a teenager, and that's been awhile. News reports say Kate is keeping the designer of her wedding ensemble strictly a secret until the big day arrives--- maybe that's the big secret, she's getting married in pajamas. Next year, all the brides will be doing it and I hate to think what the bridesmaids will be wearing.

"They didn't write, they didn't call. I guess William and Kate have hired another cocktail pianist..."

Prince Harry said in a TV interview yesterday (on his hiking trip to the North Pole) that Prince Chuck is seeing to the music for the royal wedding.

Well, THAT explains it. Prince Chuck? I wonder what kind of music he likes. Missed you, too, Clef!

I am wearing my wife hat this weekend—Mr. Goldsby has a string of important concerts and it's my turn to attend and be the cheerleader, a role I play gladly!

It's been a while and I haven't been keeping up with Piano World lately. I'm pretty much back to my usual routine, although the gigs have been sparser so far this year. I do have a mildly amusing anecdote to pass on from last night's gig.

Some of the guys in the band occasionally get together in a rehearsal studio - not to actually rehearse, perish the thought - but to fool around with tunes we don't play with the regular group. I refer to this as the Busmen's Holiday Band. There's a core of four of us who usually show up, plus several intermittent attendees.

One of the singers from the regular band came by. He doesn't play any instruments well, but likes to dabble a little. During one of the breaks he sat down at the drums for a few minutes. We decided it would be fun to have him play on a song that our drummer sings, with the drummer playing front man. It's a slow song ("Turn the Page") that doesn't require virtuoso drumming and it came out passably well.

Someone suggested it might be fun to try it on an actual gig. We did it last night in the last set, by which time the audience would have consumed enough alcohol to properly appreciate the new lineup.

The result? Well, our singer did a surprisingly good job on the drums. And our drummer's vocals were right on key ...

... but got increasingly ahead of the beat as the song went on. It was like trying to follow the Priest/Sinatra Impersonator from Our Lady of Arrhythmia. (see upthread)

The rest of us found no small irony in this, and being the close-knit group of sensitive, considerate fellows that we are, we ribbed him about it for some time afterward.

After several of the guys had made their own gentle commentary I said "Tom, I only heard you get ahead of the beat once..."

"Thank you", he said, nodding in my direction, until I continued..

"...It lasted for six or seven minutes, but it was only the one time."

Greg Guarino

Hi Greg! Welcome back. I very much enjoyed your story. Trading instruments (or positions) in a band is always a great way to stir things up and get in trouble. Sounds as if you guys were having some fun.

So listen, my husband is playing in a, uh, bordello this Wednesday. Need I be concerned? This place, a well known, and completely legal cathouse called Pascha, is presenting a cultural program, hoping to attract people who are curious about the place but need a legitimate reason to go there (Clef, I can hear you snorting from here). Last month's concert was a huge success, although I did cringe when my husband told me the band was served dinner in the "employee cafeteria."

The postcard for the event is very funny--a picture of a jazz band on one side and a picture of a pole dancer on the other.

Onstage is a couch shaped like a giant penis along with a glass walled shower. Both of these items are used for the show that goes on after the jazz band finishes. Needless to say, everyone forgets all about bebop at that point.

Interestingly, the gig pays way more than most of the freelance jazz jobs in the area, and the musicians are treated very well. Having grown up with a father who occasionally played the drums in a burlesque theater, I guess the idea of my husband playing in the red light district doesn't bother me as much as it should. I'm wondering if I can get a photo of him on the P-couch with the bass.

I have a small concert to play at an art gallery opening in Bonn on Wednesday, but afterwards I shall hightail it to the bordello gig. I missed the first concert, I think maybe I have to go to this one. How can I resist?

If I snorted at all, Robin, it was indulgently. I'm reminded of the story of an adolescent male who was passing by a well-known whorehouse when who should come out of the front door but his own dad. He must have said something like, "What are you doing here, Daddy?" and dad replied, "What--- I should bother your mother on a hot day like this?"

I think that well-regulated places of assignation prevent more evils than they propagate. They have long been the friend of the musician (we would have no Scott Joplin without them). This one sounds like a charming venue, and a stimulating creative environment. And as for your husband, I don't doubt that your personal charms will more than stand up to the competition--- if it is competition.

I'm sure we'll have a full report--- and yes, of course you should go.

Moving on:

"Today in Wedding History"
April 5, 1614 – In Virginia, Native American Pocahontas marries English colonist John Rolfe.

April 5, 1932 – Alcohol prohibition in Finland ends. Weddings can once again have champagne.

And the beat goes on...

My very first band did a lot of switching around. The three of us were all 13 years old and were more or less equally unskilled on all the instruments. It hardly mattered who played what. I played Farfisa organ (with left-hand bass), bass guitar and occasional guitar in that group.


Can't say I've done that.

I did play in a place called the Barbary Coast East a couple of times. I like the addition of the word "East" to the name, as if this was one of an empire of tacky dives spread about the country.

It was in Union City New Jersey. This would have been the mid or late '70s. The club must have been pretty ugly even when it was new, and it hadn't been new for a very long time. In fact, the entrance was actually boarded up when we got there. We were about to leave when a guy showed up to open the door.

Most of the surfaces in the joint were painted black, excepting the ones that were clad in red shiny vinyl, or red shiny fabric, or red shiny naugahide, or red shiny plastic or red shiny...something.

The place was long and narrow, with a long oval bar in the center. We played on a tiny stage at one end. The lighting, what there was of it, was swallowed up almost immediately by the "decor".

Most of the lighting was concentrated on a platform in the middle of the bar, where a single dancer gyrated in slow motion. She wore an outfit whose bra top let about half of each nipple peek out. If you added it up, a total of one breast was exposed.

Ragged as the place was, there must have been some futuristic technology hidden in the basement, because the patrons were in a sort of sci-fi suspended animation: eyes glazed, nearly inert, paying little attention to the dancer and none at all to us. Time, if it moved at all, moved backwards.

Perhaps they could have used a "cultural program" too, along with a bulldozer and defibrillator paddles for the customers.

I think I know that place in NJ, Greg. Or at least one just like it. Those customers might still be sitting there, for all we know.

What are those old burlesque lines . . . .

"Are you and audience or an oil painting?"

"I've never seen dead people smoke."

Yes, I am going, Clef. I'm just sorry I'll have to miss the band dinner in the employee cafeteria—I'll get there after the concert has already started.

News flash! There's a cocktail piano gig up on the "high roller" floor of the bordello part of the building. But Frank, if you're reading this, I don't know if you want to list it in your "live music" thread.

Oh, I'm sure you know it. Michelin gave it three skid marks. The people are undoubtedly still there. I don't remember seeing anyone leave, or arrive, for that matter. They were just there.

On further reflection, I believe I have melded two or three hellholes into one amorphous Perdition in my mind. The place that was boarded up was called The Nugget, also in Union City. The Nugget made the Barbary Coast (East) look like palace by comparison.

There was a third place nearby, The Office Lounge (it is inexplicable that I can remember these names), which was marginally nicer; located on one of Dante's higher circles.

The clientele was still plenty odd though. There was a raised dining area that was at the same level as (and adjacent to) the stage. In the middle of a song a guy leaned over the railing and introduced himself as the Mayor of East Rutherford. And he may indeed have thought he was, given that his demeanor suggested recent consumption of several different intoxicants. In fact, not wanting me to feel left out, he handed me a crumpled bit of foil as a friendly gesture. [head shake]

There was also an exemplar of a type that you sometimes find in bars; the little schnook who counts his night a failure if he doesn't get the biggest guy in the place to beat him senseless.

This place had one of those, and had apparently taken to giving him odd jobs to do to keep him occupied. If he was busy enough he might forget the red-starred item on his nightly todo list; to question the manhood or intelligence of the largest guy he could find. And the guy's friends, if possible.

On the night I remember he was carrying an odd-shaped bucket; a brushed-aluminum truncated cone. I happened to bump into him as I was running an extension cord. This may come as a surprise to my Piano World cohorts, but I'm a fairly verbal fellow, and I never feel comfortable ignoring someone who's right in front of me.

But what to say? The bucket caught my eye.

"You going to milk a cow?" I said.

"Ahhh, no, man. They got me carrying iiiiice...", He froze for a moment and his face changed, as if in reverie, "...but did you ever milk a cow?"

He continued, obviously enraptured, "It's so sofffffffft... and smooooooooth man (pantomiming as he said it), just like a woman's..."

"Ice, yeah, ICE" I interrupted. "I could sure use something cold to drink. See you, uh, later..."

My band's sojourn in the bowels of the Garden State only lasted part of a summer. That particular night ended in the usual way. At a quarter to two in the morning the nine watts of light that had been on all evening were augmented with about twenty spotlight bulbs that lit the place like an operating theatre.

Every retina in the room was in shock, and the bright light did no one any favors, looks-wise.

The patrons were first told to leave, then prodded to leave and finally dragged out into the parking lot, where the nightly 2 a.m. brawl began right on schedule. Two women had started it this time. The manager locked the staff (and us) inside an called the police.

The one good thing about that place, at least for me, was the "Dinner Set". They had told us they expected five sets for the princely sum they begrudgingly paid, the first one of which would be lighter fare, as not to disturb the fine dining ambiance.

We didn't have such a repertoire, but our guitarist/singer still remembered his Wine-and-Cheese" solo repertoire. It was heavy on Kenny Loggins. Our bass player switched to congas and I got to play bass guitar for a set. Fun!

a funny interesting post Greg.

For some reason this video strikes me as good wedding postlude material

I hardly know what to add to this dissertation on dives, except that I'm really glad to see Greg back and I'm happy to listen to as many stories about these places as he can tell... as long as I don't have to go to any in person.

But I've wondered myself how to some people, a bucket of black paint equals decor. Ambien ambience, maybe; I get that.

Well, anyway. Today is the anniversary of the premiere of Bach's St. John Passion, back in 1724, which I have put on the box in his honor. April 7, 1827 saw the invention of matches, but this was soon dwarfed when, on April 7, 1906 Mount Vesuvius erupted, paving Naples; dwarfed in its turn by the invention of the internet on April 7, 1969. However, April 7, 1915 was Billie Holiday's birthday, and I like to think that this is the occasion which will stick in my memory for this date.

I'm sure she could tell us a story or two about horrid dives with all-black decor. But then, we have her in "Lady in Satin" with a single, fragile gardenia behind her ear and an orchestra with forty string instruments backing her up (Ray Ellis conducting http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Billie_Holiday) . I looked over her story before posting this and had to correct a few misremembered details. It also reminded me sharply that, compared to some people, I have very little to complain about--- except that I am too lazy to do what I need to do in this life.

Hmmm... better open the piano, order those texts on Orchestration, and crack the Cubase manual for another attempt; that would make an occasion for a memorable anniversary, if I can get it to work (or a nervous breakdown).

Rereading my own post, and reflecting on the many stories I've written here, I feel I should balance the scales a little bit. I'm afraid that anyone reading my stuff would be inclined to divert their kids off to almost any pursuit other than music; Pyrotechnics, Meth Lab Technician, Nuclear Accident Clean-up, etc.

While it's true that many of the places I played in my tender years were dives, some were perfectly nice dives; none would have graced the cover of an architecture magazine, to be sure, but many of them were frequented by decent people out for a good time with their friends.

Even places like that had the odd drunken caricature. Such people and their antics do generally make for a better
"story", so expect more of the same when I get a chance to write them up. And there were places like the Barbary Coast...East, that were dismal by any reasonable standard.

But the counterbalancing factor that I often omit was that I didn't experience any of this alone. It was a pretty great group of guys (and one woman for a while). This stuff isn't just funny in hindsight, we had a pretty good chuckle about it even then.

"Chuckling", in fact, doesn't do the mirth any justice. This was a very funny bunch, in some pretty funny circumstances. There was plenty to laugh at, and we manufactured more of it. Not having had enough at the end of the gig, we'd usually end up at a pub or all-night diner afterwards to continue.

We managed to hash out some pretty serious topics around the table too, but even those discussions were punctuated by frequent guffaws.

I don't see these people all that often these days, but even so, during my recent illness they were among the first to call (frequently), visit and even help out with things that I wasn't in shape to do around the house.

Sometimes even the "negatives" can become positives in the company of good friends. That's how it was for me.

So you don't necessarily need get you kid into "Ivory Poaching" if they show any musical talent.

Ho-Haus Concert Report:

Just to refresh your memories, I attended (last week) my husband's jazz concert at a bordello in Cologne that has recently instituted an ARTS PROGRAM. Not that any of you are dying waiting for a report on this, but maybe one or two of you are curious.

First, let me say that earlier on the same evening I had played a fancy pants concert for some very upscale people in Bonn. It was at an art gallery and was in honor of a well-known German painter who was celebrating his 85th birthday. Lovely people, interesting work. Unfortunately, the portrait hanging OVER the piano was of a naked girl screaming and running away from bombs, kind of an odd choice for an event that was supposed to be celebratory. A good painting, but very disturbing. And it was front and center, right over my head. Okay, enough said about that. The people were very kind and seemed to like my music. I left and drove directly to the bordello.

There are two entrances to this place. Take the wrong one and you end up in the ho part of the haus. The writer in me really wanted to go in there, but the wife in me felt a need to go listen to my husband's concert, so I took door number two and headed to the nightclub.

The joint was packed. Lots of red and purple pleather chairs, black sparkle curtains, the whole place throbbed with bebop music and, to tell you the truth, I felt as if I were stepping into a giant naugahyde womb, accompanied by a Thelonius Monk soundtrack.

But that's not what I noticed first. What struck me as I attempted to slip inconspicuously into the seat saved for me by my friends, was that the floor was incredibly sticky. Like really sticky. Each step involved me having to practically peel my shoe off the floor. I tried not to think about this too much and sat down. But I was a little nervous about touching anything.

The music was swinging and cool. People were smoking and staring and the vibe was very 1975 NJ Barbary Coast (East). No signs of girls until the band's encore, when a beautiful girl in an old fashioned burlesque outfit came out and did a hootchie-cootchie dance around the band. It was harmless and fun.

At exactly 10:00 the band stopped, a stage crew of men built like gorillas ran on the stage and removed every trace of ART and prepared the place for the Real Show. I was a little disappointed with the Real Show. Thirty girls in corsets and g-strings (where's that Bach piece when you need it?) came out and slithered around to "Lady Marmalade." There were a few wimpy attempts at pole dancing, but nothing too impressive. The girls were striking in an MTV kind of way, but they all looked pretty bored and (is it my imagination?) a little sad.

I was told that the dancing girls were not the girls doing the nasty-nasty in the upstairs rooms. There's a cast system at the bordello, and I'm guessing the dancers are the lowest paid workers there. I wonder where the jazz musicians fit into this multi-tier pay scale. Anyway, we decided to get out of there. We stood up to leave just as the announcer (with this horrible 2001 Space Odyssey music blaring behind him) yelled, "And now ladies, TOPLESS!" and all the girls ripped off their corsets. That was something. 30 girls = 60 breasts. The piano player from the jazz band literally froze on the floor (or maybe he was stuck) and I couldn't budge him away from the spectacle.

We lunged onto the street, not to get away from the breasts, but more to get some fresh air.

The next night my husband was back in the Philharmonic Hall, where he did not have to change clothes in a dressing room full of feather boas, platform shoes, and erotic props. Life has returned to normal, whatever that is. There's more I could tell you, but I might be banned from PW forever if I did.

It's a big wedding weekend. I have already heard tales from the banquet department of one bride screaming about CUPCAKES.

Dying of curiosity, well, ok, no. Interested--- oh, yes. To be sure. And I can tell you're getting a running start on the next memoir. It is only natural that you would save the juiciest cuts for the main course--- who wouldn't?

Dave was over to tune yesterday, and expressed great interest that your waltzing asparagus book has been released in Germany. He is quite the reader, and he keeps up, too--- you have to when you have kids. If California ever splits into two states, the great question will be: which half gets San Francisco, Silicon Valley, and the Central Coast? Whichever half ends up with the latter, "Waltzing Asparagus" might be a great--- what do they call it?--- the theme song for the state, like "Oh Say Can You See," or "Once a Jolly Swag Man."

Anyway. We're anticipating the English-language version. And I have a follow-up to the trick exam question: "What is the most common element in the Earth's crust?" It is: "What is the Earth's fastest-evaporating resource?"

The answer, of course, is: "Good intentions."

Speaking of topless dancers, I used to know a young lady who worked on the stage at San Francisco's "Lusty Lady" Theatre. They went on strike soon afterward, wishing to reform such management practices as the charging of a "stage fee." I don't know how lusty she was, but she was certainly lively and interesting, and very smart. I think you're right about the caste system among sex-industry workers; there are definitely divisions among the ranks. It doesn't help that San Francisco is half progressive and half reactionary; it is a cultural split-personality that allows abuses to thrive. Their intentions are definitely mixed. So really, I think Germany has a healthier way, psychologically--- all you have to do is be sure you go in the right door, and it's written right there in plain German.

That sticky floor is a danger sign, though--- but that's enough out of me.

There was a movie theater in my neighborhood when I was growing up - the Arion, two movies for $2 - that had a similar substance on the floor. One part chewing gum, one part green Jujubes and three parts off-brand cola syrup makes a powerful adhesive. The place was a roach motel with a projector and a screen.


Ah, teutonic punctuality, even in a bordello. Just imagine the pressure in the other part of the Haus. "Schnell, Herr Kleinkopf, only four minutes and seven seconds left!"


Oh, how I was hoping that he had said it in German, and that "topless" would have been one of those nine-syllable freight-train words (OK, I know those are mostly nouns, but a guy can dream, can't he?)

"Frauleinen, knaupverhaugenschleicher!"

Sigh. If my experience is any guide, reality does provide a generous portion of unscripted comedy, but you can always use more. Oben-ohne just doesn't do it for me, and he probably said it in English anyway, for the um, international arts patrons in the audience.

Today in Wedding History:

April 19, 1770 – Marie Antoinette marries Louis XVI in a proxy wedding.

"It was common for European monarchs and nobility to marry by proxy. A famous example of this is the marriage of Napoleon I of France to Marie Louise, Duchess of Parma. Catherine of Aragon wed Prince Arthur by proxy. A famous 17th-century painting by Peter Paul Rubens depicts the proxy marriage of Marie de Medici.

"Various Internet sites now offer to arrange proxy and double-proxy marriages for a fee, although the service can generally be set up by any lawyer in a jurisdiction that offers proxy marriage. Video conferencing allows couples to experience the ceremony together. A unique "space wedding" took place on August 10, 2003 when Ekaterina Dmitriev married Yuri Malenchenko, a cosmonaut orbiting the Earth in the International Space Station, by proxy in Texas, USA.

"In the United States proxy marriages are provided for in law or by customary practice in California, Colorado, Montana, and Texas, although Montana is the only state that permits double proxy weddings."

Just when you thought you'd heard everything. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Proxy_wedding

But, there's more: for the next few days, the International Space Station passes over the United States in the early evening hours. It appears very bright--- as much as -3.9 magnitude--- and you don't have to be up at the screech of dawn to view it.

However, no further space station weddings have been announced.
http://spaceweather.com/flybys/flybys.php?zip=95136

1927 – Mae West is sentenced to 10 days in jail for obscenity for her play Sex.

1956 – Actress Grace Kelly marries Prince Rainier of Monaco.

April 19, 1933 is also the real birthday of Jayne Mansfield (five marriages and five children; all breast-fed, if you want to know some real wedding history), who declined the role of Ginger in "Gilligan's Island" lest she suffer from typecasting. 'Jayne Mansfield' was her real (married) name.

Saturday, the 16th of April , 2011, was a fine day to be married. I played for two weddings and they were both quite lovely. The first, a civil ceremony in the official wedding room of a nearby castle (the sister castle of Lerbach, where I play regularly) featured two five-year old ring bearers, a dozen women in royal wedding hats, and a bride my age wearing a very sophisticated white satin dress with a train that will most likely rival whatever Kate Middleton comes up with on the 29th. I played the Wagner processional and the Mendelssohn recessional, plus two solo pieces in the middle of the ceremony.

Note to wedding pianists: I don’t know why it took me so long to figure this out, but when the bride started to ruminate over which pieces she would like as solo presentations during the ceremony, I volunteered to send her my CDs—no, Clef, not the “demo”—so she could choose pieces already in my repertoire. It was sort of like giving her a menu. This completely saved my Piano Girl butt and prevented me from having to spend a month practicing some terrifying classical piece that I have no business playing. The bride was pleased with the recordings and happily selected (along with her partner) “Legends of the Fall” and “Magic in the Night” from my Songs from the Castle CD. Playing a ceremony is scary enough—it’s pin drop quiet, and, let’s face it, a really important day for the bride and groom—so it’s better to stick with solo pieces that are already in your fingers. I sailed through it and felt great.

The ceremony was over at four. I went and had a manicure, then headed to the next gig—a wedding cocktail party for sixty at Lerbach. No requests, just an hour of background music. Easy. The dining table (one very long table covered with orchids and roses) held all sixty guests. It looked beautiful, although I’m guessing that our younger guests were crawling under the table (TUNNEL!!) by the third course. But I was long gone by then. The band would have had to deal with the chocolate-buzzed kids. Always good to play the early part of the evening.

I’m completely lame when it comes to posting photos here, so I’ve posted photos of both weddings on Facebook—feel free to friend me if you want to have a look (please let me know you’re a Piano World contact). There are a many fun pictures up on my FB page, and I always like hearing from fellow pianists.

http://www.facebook.com/robin.meloy.goldsby

Robin, you play in the lovliest places.

I'm sure there have to be down sides (we've read about some of your trials and tribulations, though you always manage to put a positive/humourous spin on them) - but overall, this is in many ways a "dream job", isn't it?

I've been playing at the castle for ten years now. Even though it's goofy it's wonderful. After twenty years of playing in seaside dives, Pittsburgh trenches, and the New York City velvet-lined no-star bars of five-star hotels, I feel very very lucky to have a job in such a beautiful place. I'm sure I'll get fired some day (musicians eventually get fired from every job they have), but until that happens I am determined to make the best of it.

It took me decades to find this job. And when I "discovered" the place (in spite of swearing up and down that I was out of the hotel cocktail piano business forever!) I went after it, knowing somehow that it was the right place for my music. How lucky I am that it has worked out.

So far. There was a recent change in the bar snacks (they went from smoked almonds and rice doo-dads to lavender-flavored popcorn and salted beet chips), which, according to Piano Girl employment theory, could mean management will start firing musicians.

Easter was lovely at the castle. No bonnets, but lots of cute kids and nice people giving me chocolate. My oldest fan, a 98 year old lady who always comes armed with gifts and kind words, looked fit and happy in a pale pink suit with a butterfly brooch. It was a happy day.

... a pale pink suit with a butterfly brooch.. how lovely.


I've been catching up on this lovely thread..