Not A-Mused

I've done a lot of work with the Muse for a few years, and I have done my fair share of grunt work for her. I've borne the disorganization, the long drives, the low pay, and just the general thrown-together aspects of these gigs for one reason: I believed (and still believe) in the Muse's work.

But since I've moved to South Jersey, it's been harder and harder to ignore the long drives, made even longer by the fact that I live almost 100 miles further south and the subsequently lower (if you factor in time, gas, and tolls) pay. I actually would have turned this job down (and in retrospect, I should have), but I think the Muse was in a jam and needed me. And, frankly, I was flattered that she felt confident enough with me to put me in charge. To the Muse's credit, she saw this was becoming harder and harder for me, and offered to compensate me for my drive for this gig.

Apparently, this was very important to her business. We were going to sing for a lot of bigwigs, and she wasn't going to be there. So I was in charge of my group, and Pixie was in charge of his.
The day started off somewhat disastrously. I was putting on my makeup when I opened my makeup kit and realized that my fake eyelash glue had gone bad. This shouldn't have been a surprise to me, since I hadn't worn fake eyelashes since the Holiday Swing show in 1998, but I think part of me refused to believe that so much time has passed since then. Suffice to say, though, when I squeezed the glue bottle there was no way I was going to put what came out on my eye.

So I had to go to CVS to get some more eyelashes (I should have just worn mascara, but the Muse had specifically requested eyelashes), and of course I managed to show up when there was one guy working the entire store, and he was alternately running back and forth from the cash register to the photo machine. Consequently, I got on the road 20 minutes late, and had to sit through not one, not two, but three traffic jams.

When I finally got there, I had less than five minutes to put on my newly bought eyelashes, change into my costume (for which I had never been fitted) and get on stage. I believe I already mentioned about the 16-yr-olds in the group. Well, their mothers were there with video cameras, so excited to document their daughters' first venture into professional singing. Pixie had his hands full, with his own gaggle of high schoolers to contend with.

So I put my costume on, which was a Marine jacket with a navy blue skirt. The other girls were dressed in Army and Navy uniforms. All this is supposed to have a USO feel, like the Andrews Sisters. Unfortunately, the jacket was too big for me and there was nothing for me to wear underneath said jacket. I managed to safety pin it so that I wasn't flashing everyone in the room, but I still had a JLo-esque plunging neckline.

Pixie saw me and whistled. "Is this a part of Bush's back door draft? Sign me up!"

While I struggled to glue my eyelashes on, the girls and I practiced a few songs. They had practiced, which was good, but they still weren't performance ready. Oh well! No sooner had my left eyelash been cemented on, when we were ushered into the bar area to start singing.
The gig was only supposed to be an hour, but it was the longest hour of my life. We were stuck between two beverage stations with one microphone hooked up to a garage band amp. The microphone didn't really pick up all of our voices unless we were clustered up right against it, which I suppose was the idea, but it was very hard for all three of us to squish up there like that. On top of that, every time we tried to turn the volume up on the amp, we got hit with some horrible feedback.

The set started out well. We started out with our strongest song, and the three people milling around seemed to like it. The next song, however, was a complete bomb. And I don't mean "da bomb," I'm talking a weapon of mass destruction.

The first soprano, because she was nervous, got sharper and sharper. I tried to follow, but the second soprano, who had learned her notes so solidly she wasn't going to waver. That's an admirable trait, but she wasn't flexible or comfortable enough with her part that she was able to modulate up and follow the first soprano. The second reason this was a problem was that the part she had learned so well was a terrible harmony that had been on the Muse's CD and made no sense.

So here I am with a soprano who has modulated up at least a step and a half, another soprano that's singing a "harmony" that sounds more 12-tone than diatonic, and I'm trying my best to improvise a bass line that somehow will bring the two together. Needless to say, it didn't work, and we fell on our faces.

"I thought we were going to be accompanied by the CD!" hissed the second soprano. It was true; at our only rehearsal, Muse had promised a boom box with one of our CDs playing in the background. I had always been against the idea, because I thought it was tacky, but this girl had been counting on it, because that's how she'd learned her music. Either way there was no practical way of putting a boombox there because the power outlet was taken up by the amp. But Muse had not even left us a boombox anyway, so the complaint was kind of moot.

I took the song off our set list at that point and tried to move to something more simple. Luckily, the room started to fill up and the crowd noise drowned out the pitiful amplification we could come up with. Some people complained that they couldn't hear us, but it took all I had not to retort, "Be thankful you can't hear us."

To be fair, the sets got better the more we rehearsed...er, repeated the songs. By the end of the hour, the girls were quite confident and wanted to end with our best song, which is what we started with. I agreed, and I guess one of the girls got excited and stopped singing her line. Everyone tried to compensate, and instead of ending on a strong note, we sort of fizzled out. Almost everyone had gone into dinner, though, so nobody really noticed. The mom was still there with the video camera, however, smiling and waving. "Do you want a copy of the tape?" she asked me. What I wanted to say was, "No, lady, I want the master so I can destroy all evidence of this evening's existence." What I actually said was, "Oh, you don't have to bother with me."

I couldn't get out of my costume quick enough. Pixie and I went out for coffee and a bitching session. He had a similar problem, but at least he had a pianist to keep them on key (sort of).
When I gave Muse a full report the next day, I focused more on the good than the bad. I still love her enterprise and believe in the work that she does, but this was just too much for me. I told her so, and she understood. It was a very nice conversation, actually. So I wish her all the luck in the world, but I'm kind of glad to have moved on.