In Defense of the O-Ring and the Restaurant Gig
Hey drummers, remember these?
Man. I haven’t seen an O-ring in forever but they were a big part of the first I’ll say fifteen years of my gigging life. You throw one on a snare and it just tightens things up. Do I know why? Hell no. But whenever I would sit down to a well prepared drum kit to rush off my awkward 16th notes while the drummer grimaced about me borrowing the sticks and messing up the hi-hat clutch I would encounter a well-placed O-ring. Well I went to a gig on Saturday night at Ngon Bistro in St. Paul and the drummer, Eron Woods, was rocking an o-ring and it warmed by heart. It also re-connected me with that world of restaurant gigs. Now restaurant gigs come in many shapes and sizes, this series at Ngon, it’s clearly pretty artist-centric, I didn’t see a maître'd making the round asking the guitarist to turn down to a whisper, that’s for sure. But there’s a majesty to a restaurant gig. No stage, you’re generally just cooking up some instrumental music and it’s for people to enjoy while also enjoying other things: light conversation, food, a laugh with their server, a cocktail after a long day. I remember walking into a restaurant in my hometown of Williamstown to see a jazz quartet playing and I thought it was the coolest thing on Earth. First time seeing a set of vibraphones outside of the band room at Mount Greylock, and seeing these musicians navigate these songs without having discussed every detail. . .it was captivating and harrowing. And I bet that dude had an o-ring back when I saw that. An o-ring is the significant detail of a good restaurant gig.
What is significant detail you ask blog reader? WELL. . .I recently spent some time with my friend Brandon Wimberly. He’s a gifted rapper and producer who has been making his way in the Twin Cities for a decade and change. I had the honor of being his teacher for a handful of semesters at McNally Smith College of Music. We just had some breakfast together and talked significant detail. When I talk to writers I often end up talking about significant detail. It’s that magic when a writer can include some credentializing detail into a fiction or non-fiction piece that tells the reader that the writer has either lived it or has done their homework to the extent that they might as well have read it. Generally writers fail at significant detail by being too on the nose with their description. If you’re going to write a short story about a band on a restaurant gig, don’t write about the maitre’d telling the guitar player to turn down. Write about the drummer grabbing an o-ring, about him asking what the drink ticket is good for every week even though it never changes, write about the guitarist who doesn’t even think about using the restroom til after you’re holding your bass for set two, write about having to tell the manager that the check for the band is under the money tray, write about the speaker stand legs gingerly jutting into the foot space for the table next to the band, write about helping move the heavy ass table so you have room to play, write about borrowing the rug from the entrance cause the drummer forgot one.
The scene at Ngon was great. They’re doing it every Saturday, they have the world’s greatest chicken pho (i refer to the chicken as loose chicken but I feel like that isn’t a description anyone understands, but eat it and tell me you don’t get what I’m saying). I had absolutely amazing egg rolls there on Saturday. I had a great non-alcoholic Negroni and a great alcoholic Summit Winter Ale. And Joel Shapira, Tom Lewis and Eron Woods were playing beautifully, supportively, restaurantively. And that o-ring sounded spectacular. (full disclosure: Ngon has been sponsoring the Radio Happy Hour I’ve been doing at Jazz88). (fuller disclosure: I’ve been supportive of that pho for a lot longer than our relationship together).
Shout out to Adam Booker’s artwork in the back.
You want to talk about some all star moments in significant detail writing? Me too.
Bad Diary Days from Pedro The Lion.
Barely ever fight
She knows that I love her
At first we made it every night
But I don't want to bug her bout it
She just has a funny way of loving me
Pair of ticket stubs in her desk
A movie I'd never seen
I probably shouldn't ask
It sounds so accusing
She must have forgotten to mention girls' night out
The breakfast cereal talked more than we did all day long
I asked her for a walk but she had to be on her way
So I told her I knew she'd been stepping out
She swore that it would not happen again
She swore that she could explain
We both knew her words were in vain
It’s that line, “pair of ticket stubs in her desk”, it just has the vulnerable, anxious, nosy energy of a young man worrying about the distance between him and his girlfriend. It hits so perfect. It tells me so much more about their relationship than the salad of adjectives most writers push off when trying to describe jealousy.
All That I Got Is You from Ghostface Killah
(just the first verse for brevity)
Yo, dwellin' in the past, flashbacks when I was young
Whoever thought that I'd have a baby girl and three sons
I'm goin' through this difficult stage I find it hard to believe
Why my old Earth had so many seeds
But she's an old woman, and due to me I respect that
I saw life for what it's really worth and took a step back
Family ain't family no more, we used to play ball
Eggs after school, eat grits cause we was poor
Grab the pliers for the channel, fix the hanger on the TV
Rockin' each others pants to school wasn't easy
We survived winters, snotty nosed with no coats
We kept it real, but the older brother still had jokes
Sadly, daddy left me at the age of six
I didn't know nothin' but mommy neatly packed his shit
She cried, and grandma held the family down
I guess mommy wasn't strong enough, she just went down
Check it, fifteen of us in a three bedroom apartment
Roaches everywhere, cousins and aunts was there
Four in the bed, two at the foot, two at the head
I didn't like to sleep with Jon-Jon he peed the bed
Seven o'clock, pluckin' roaches out the cereal box
Some shared the same spoon, watchi'n Saturday cartoons
Sugar water was our thing, every meal was no thrill
In the summer, free lunch held us down like steel
And there was days I had to go to Tex house with a note
Stating "Gloria can I borrow some food I'm dead broke"
So embarrasin' I couldn't stand to knock on they door
My friends might be laughin', I spent stamps in stores
Mommy where's the toilet paper, use the newspaper
Look Ms. Rose gave us a couch, she's the neighbor
Things was deep, my whole youth was sharper than cleats
Two brothers with muscular dystrophy, it killed me
But I remember this, mom's would lick her finger tips
To wipe the cold out my eye before school wit her spit
Case worker had her runnin' back to face to face
I caught a case, housin' tried to throw us out of our place
Sometimes I look up at the stars and analyze the sky
And ask myself was I meant to be here, why?
I had to bold up the grab the pliers for the TV line before the pants line, but for me it’s the fact that Ghostface chose to say “wasn’t easy” as opposed to “was hard”. You might act like it makes no difference, but it does. One maintains some pride in the phrase “wasn’t easy”, it’s not quite the confession of hardship that “was hard” was. And even though this entire song is a confession of hardship, it is an anthem of pride, an anthem to loyalty to the people close to you in the face of trying circumstances and those details come through loud and clear.
What a treat. Do you have some favorite significant details? Go f yourself! Just kidding, I actually would like to hear about them, I just thought it would be funny to tell you to go f yourself. My email is s@heiruspecs.com there’s also a “contact me” page on this website and it’s pretty fun cause you have to pick out your favorite kind of chicken to reach me. Give it a try.