LAURA! COME BACK IN OCTOBER

The Irish musical scene can be quite entertaining.

I arrive to the venue to play a gig with the ‘Hot Club of Dublin’, park the car and see our bass extraordinaire John walking towards me….

‘What’s the story, John. All set?’. 

‘Spoke to the manager. He told me to come back in October’…..???

It turned out to be a misunderstanding, so all is ok now.. We are starting in an hour or so. The gig is going to be tough though. We play acoustic set because there’s too many people and not enough room for our sound system. Also, it seems we have a large group of our dedicated fans in the audience, so we have to be good, even without our PA system.

Talking about our fans..

I just lost one of them. Forever, it seems. Her name was Laura and she was one of the most devoted fans we ever had.

Laura…..oh, Laura! She was a special one. Some years ago she decided to become our unofficial ‘stage/tour/road manager’, which means she knew more about our work than I ever did. She would remind me about our upcoming gigs and rehearsals, she’d text to warn us that there’s an accident on M7, so if I want to get to my gig in time, I’d have to leave an hour earlier, she’d advise me what tune we should play on the upcoming radio interview etc.

She wrote to me once and said that such and such photo on Twitter should be taken down. I didn’t know much about the social media, so I had to ask Aoife (one of my students) about this Twitter thing. Aoife is 8 years old, which means she is much smarter than I am. She told me that kids use Twitter when they need to share something important with each other. ‘OMG! Emily is so annoying! Frank and Mary were kissing behind the petrol station and our cat Milly got sick because she ate our parrot Doobie’, this sort of thing….also she told me that one of the world leaders uses Twitter when he wants to invade another country or to complain about a journalist who called him a dope. Well, Aoife might be smarter, but I wasn’t born yesterday.. A President on a Twitter?? No, it can’t be. I think she was having me on.

Back to Laura…She would travel miles and miles to see our concerts, she’d learned every single piece of music we’re written and performed, she knew our names, schedules and set lists. She’d send beautiful letters wishing me luck with the gigs she couldn’t attend and commenting on the gigs she did attend. I was so used to seeing her in the audience that it became a part of my touring life. Strangely enough, we’ve actually never had a real conversation as she seemed to be perfectly ok to communicate with this artificial person she created in her head. And whoever this dude was, it wasn’t me for sure. It was someone young, romantic, sensitive, passionate, wild and talented. It was someone living in a highly dramatic and glamorous world of show business, radio and TV interviews, 5 star hotels, limos, champagne, private jets, yachts, red carpet, celebrity parties and composing timeless masterpieces in a horse-drawn caravan at the same time.

 

Here is how ‘Gypsy Violinists’ should look….

This is how they look in real life…

Sorry Fino!!! Couldn’t help it.

I love you, brother!!!

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Back to Laura.

For her, I was a ‘Gypsy Violinist’. The word ‘Gypsy’ suggested a wildly romantic life around the campfire somewhere in the mountains. Leather pants, long hair, a horse or two (put on a ‘Titanic’ soundtrack) and a staple diet of all ‘Gypsy Violinists’ – an occasional love affair in the Gypsy caravan. (I was always wondering if Laura ever tried to have sex in a cold tent with no shower, no mirrors, mosquitoes in your hairdo and couple of ants stuck in your CK underwear). 

Most likely not.

Also, the love affair with the ‘Gypsy Violinist’ had to include an occasional suicide, usually involving some kind of exotic, slow release poison. So slow in fact, there would be enough time for the lady in distress to say something like, ‘Oh my beautiful Gypsy boy! I shall be gone as our love was not to be. Your Violin is your love, not me….I will not compete but retreat to the depths of darkness….Remember me well, my darling’ (Cue ‘Titanic’ soundtrack). ‘Play your Violin for me one last time, before I succumb to….’ , well, whatever you’re supposed to succumb to. 

Now she’s gone. Not that I’ve done something wrong, of course. It’s just for the fraction of second, she saw a real me. She saw a glimpse of my true personality, and that was too much for her to bear. All magic, mystery, romance, passion was gone in a moment. A ‘Gypsy Violinist’ had ceased to be.

She found out I have a hole in my sock.

She wandered into our dressing room. I was lying on the couch. My feet were up. She saw my little ‘pinky’ sticking out. Her face fell. She didn’t say a word. She turned around and left. I haven’t seen her since. I think she took one of those exotic poisons.

From now on, I am just a man. An ordinary man. I perform mundane and boring tasks like eating, washing up and sleeping. I pay my electricity bills. I go shopping. I have 9 points on my drivers license. I use the bathroom. I go through the communal fridge at 5am, while hoping for a miracle. Yesterday night, I scared the crap out of our dear Louise as she opened a kitchen door at 3am and found me standing there with a half-eaten sandwich sticking out of my mouth. 

What would Laura say to that! It’s not something you want to see if you are involved with the wild and talented ‘Gypsy Violinist’…..ants in yer arse and all.

I feel guilty for being so boring and prosaic, but what can I do? I am, dearest Laura, I am! And here’s a killer for you. I snore! Proper ‘Gypsy Violinists’ don’t snore. Actually, they don’t sleep either. They ride through the stormy nights on their horses, playing violins at the same time. 

I don’t ride. I wouldn’t know one end of the horse from another. The only ‘Gypsy Violinist’ who nearly managed to achieve this horse-riding, violin-playing thing was one of my uncles, Kolya. I hope you noticed the word ‘nearly’. Ages ago, his band was invited to perform at the International Gypsy Festival in former Yugoslavia. Kolya was supposed to play ‘Jelem, Jelem’ (an unofficial Gypsy Anthem), while riding on a magnificent white stallion around the stadium. The idea was great. In principle. There was one little problem though. Kolya was scared of horses. He had to drink a glass of brandy just to get near this animal. When he saw the size of this thing, he nearly passed out. Somehow he managed to gather his courage and tried to climb on top of it, but this infernal animal wouldn’t have it. He didn’t like Kolya and he decided to be difficult, so they had to bring a chair. Three men were holding the horse, one person was trying to lift Kolya, his wife was holding the violin and the rest of the band was having a time of their lives. After the second attempt, Kolya’s trousers had burst revealing his underwear. My uncle swore and kicked the horse, who turned around and bit Kolya on his butt, ripping the chunk out of his pants. The horse was sent back to the stables and Kolya had to limp around the arena on foot, wearing someone’s pants and cursing under his breath. So, he also was not a proper ‘Gypsy Violinist’ after all, strictly speaking. And by the way…he snored as well, which brings us to the beginning of another story. The story of snoring, eagles, raw fish eggs, unjustly accused and consequently vindicated. It still has to be put to ‘paper’, so I say good bye for now, and if you, dear Laura are still alive…..

 

Come back in October!!!