The weather Tuesday morning was relatively awful, by North Texas standards. Which means, not particularly awful at all according to anyone who lives north of Sherman. We are a bunch of chicken littles. And on the roads, we're dipshits. Put those two together when there's a wee bit of ice on a bridge and the news stations start a casualty count. Seriously, we had a small dusting of freezing rain overnight and something they call 'freezing fog' that morning, bridges were a little icy and schools were closing. Yes, it was a miserably cold, ridiculously foggy, all around craptastic day. But bad enough to close a school? Are you kidding? This town needs to grow a pair, and I'm not talking about the kind hanging from the tow hitch on my neighbor's F-150. Well, ok, I sort of am, but those are the kind of 'pair' that cause folks to think black ice doesn't apply to them.
Anyway, there was concern expressed for my safety in getting to my audition for this 50s/ rockabilly/swing/ blues jump & jive band. No need to worry, because that was hours away, and the sand trucks were working overtime on the bridges. Roadways on land were fine. It was 70* two days prior, for pete's sake. But just because I figured traffic would be awful, and I would be venturing into a land unknown, I did try to leave a bit earlier. Fortunately the audition was at 8pm so there was a good amount of time to get gussied up.
my uncle's letter sweater from 1960. Before I noticed the name sewn into the sweater, I thought it was my father's. They both lettered in tennis!
Check out the Laverne shirt!
Traffic and the roads, as I suspected, were just fine. I managed to get myself lost on the way, but I had figured that into my travel time already. Fifteen minutes to spare, and I arrive at a 50s bungalow with an aluminum Christmas tree in the window. Yep, complete with revolving color projector. The band is auditioning someone else in the back and the 'main guy', owner of the house and studio, had asked his girlfriend to come and greet the nervous little chickies. So since they're running behind, I sit for a bit with her and admire the home, which has belonged in his family for over 50 years. Main Dude walks in and he seems supremely excited to see me. I think it was the sweater- everyone really got a kick out of it. (score!)
The band rehearses in his converted garage. Quite packed with people, instruments, amps, a washer/dryer and other bits and pieces. Let's see.. arranged in a thin, pressed oval, we've got a sax player, keys, gee-tar, drums, bass and trumpet. An open, mocking mic stands between the bass and trumpet. This is where I squeezed in, less than a foot away from the opportunity to increase my vibrato with a strategically placed spin cycle.
Introductions. Pleasantries and did you see my sweater? My throat is dry. Let's begin.
Well, I can't say I hit it out of the ballpark, but I don't know that I was too terrible. Definitely forgot lyrics here and there (and there.. and -oops- feedback.. maybe they didn't notice me miss the lyrics there.. and whose bright idea was it for me to bring my tambourine? Note to self: you can not double task during an audition), generally sounded ok (except for that supremely unwise reach for a glory note. apologies to all alley cats), and tried my best to have personality and fun. Either they like me, or they're all impossibly nice. But man alive, these cats are good. Really. good.
I walk back out through the house and the band takes a break as well. The next audition hasn't arrived yet, so the girlfriend offers me snacks and something to drink. She and I chat for a bit more, and at one point I glance around and see that Main Dude is standing in the kitchen, looking at us with a big grin of approval on his face. Oh dear. He goes back outside and she tells me that despite the fact he has been very successful in his other musical ventures, this particular band, with this particular music, is his Dream. I thanked her for not telling me that before the audition. Because, you know, no pressure.
Time to go home, though. The next girl arrives with her husband? boyfriend? and they both go back to the studio. As they walk by, the air gets heavy and thick with the unmistakable scent of.. sweater envy. "Sing your heart out, chica," I think, "you might win the talent portion, but I've got eveningwear slammed." Can't imagine where her friend is going to be- maybe he'll sit on the washer? Either way, I don't want to hear any of it and it's just time to go. My 'check engine' light blessed me with its presence on the way down, and just in case I blow up, I'd like to do it as close to home and as far away from midnight as possible.
Gather my things, final goodbyes, get in car, call home. I set off for a long drive, feeling nothing but tired.
1 comment:
Damn Kat, you are a good writer. I cracked up reading this. I love your writing style. And yeah, schools close at the mere mention of temperatures less than 40 degrees, but never Dallas ISD. Which means that my office never closes either, since we only close if DISD does. Dangit. :)
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