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December 23, 2005

Enchanted Evening

Written by Girth McDürchstein on December 23, 2005 12:35 PM
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On Wednesday, much to my surprise, I received a phone call at my home. “Girth,” the caller said with great urgency, “we at the Cabana Club wondered if you could have the band ready to perform an impromptu, acoustic version of The Hedge for our dinner patrons tomorrow evening. I’ll pay you $5000.”

This got my immediate attention. We haven’t been in Chicago long, and we have very few “profile views” here on MySpace, so it surprised me that anyone even knew we were here. Our prominence precedes us, apparently. Since we’ve performed Girth McDürchstein’s ‘The Hedge’ as recently as four months ago, and at one time Riffs and I worked out a slightly modified acoustic version of the show that we’ve played on a number of occasions, and he offered $5000, I agreed that Abysmal would, in fact, have no problem making that engagement, despite the short notice.

I was wrong.

I met the band at the studio and announced, “Break out the acoustics, we’re playing a volunteer show for charity,” and the first complaint came from our bassist, Mikey Parker. This is often the case, so I had prepared for it.

“The fuck, man?” he exclaimed in his rough, uneducated staccato. “We got a fuckin’ day ta prepare for dis, we haven’t played it in mont’s, n’ we’re workin’ on new stuff. Stop draggin’ out the old.”

“I expected this, Mikey,” I replied with steely bluntness, “and the acoustic arrangement Riffs and I worked out doesn’t specifically require a bassline to be functional. They asked for the whole band, and I thought we could all be ready to deliver, but obviously I was wrong, so the rest of us will go it alone.”

“Fuckin’ right ya will!” Mikey said.

With Mikey placated by utterly copping out, I turned to the others. Jam said, “You don’t really need me for this, do you? I mean, I can be there on the piano—if they have one—but you worked out all the keyboard parts for guitar, and I’m somewhat rusty on many of the parts. I’d feel more comfortable not being a part of this.”

I will admit this surprised me. Ordinarily, Jam is the most gung-ho performer in the group. I reluctantly accepted his wishes. He was correct; the acoustic arrangement doesn’t require keyboards or piano of any kind, but I always enjoy the richness of sound that an acoustic piano—particularly a baby grand at quarter-stick—can provide when pitted with acoustic guitars, basses, and drums.

Margo put her warm hand on my shoulder and whispered, “Girthy, darling, I’ve never even played the drum parts for this.” That is true. On the album, we used a variety of computer synthesizers to create the percussion after our drummer, Tommy Janofsky, quit the band and then totally fucked us, business-wise (more details about that here). This occurred before Margo even admitted her passion for the drums, but even still, when we toured with The Hedge musical, she performed as an actress (with three roles!) while the elaborate percussion was performed by veteran session musicians Sam Goldfarb and Bob Prescott.

“That’s fine, baby,” I muttered, trying to sound casual as my heart broke into pieces. I put my clammy hand on hers and said, “Riffs has a great sense of rhythm. He and I can go it alone.”

“No can do, ‘Girthy,’” Riffs said, mocking—as he often does—my marriage to Margo, “I got plans.”

“Plans?!” I roared. “Cancel them immediately!”

“Girth, Girth, Girth,” Riffs said, “this shit is important. I gotta get up to Skokie and get loaded at my cousin Ruth’s bat mitzvah, then heckle whatever’s playing at the Marriott Lincolnshire.”

“I see,” I said mournfully, realizing Riff’s plans did greatly outweigh an acoustic set of Girth McDürchstein’s ‘The Hedge.’

“Fine,” I said to them all, “I’ll go it alone.”

I’ve made many mistakes in my life, but this was among the biggest. The Hedge is, simply, too musically complex to be performed by a single individual with an acoustic guitar and a golden voice.

Sure, it started off well. I skipped the overture—unnecessary in unstaged performances—and moved through the straightforward chord progressions in “Bad Parenting” and “1985.” “Video Game Violence” is where I first slipped up; it is not easy to maintain an extended, five-minute guitar solo with no backing. And this, really, is the roadblock I stumbled upon time and again; on a few songs, I cleverly omitted the solos, but how could I do that to such guitar showcases as “Somebody” and “Meeting the One”?

Perhaps I should have, because the performance, as a whole, was not well-received, and I was asked to leave the bandstand in the middle of “A Star” (and I will swear to the grave that if one of those bastards had shown up to at least provide harmonies, “A Star” would have gone over swimmingly). Though they asked me to leave, I would not oblige until I had struggled my way through the piece, receiving tepid applause from the few couples who remained at the bar. The gentleman who called me earlier, a square-jawed, freckled manager named Russ, refused to pay the agreed-upon $5000.

“I asked for the whole band,” Russ insisted.

I decked him, which had almost no effect on his disposition. He wrestled me to the ground without much effort, then had three busboys and a parking valet escort me to my hearse.

And so you see, folks, that the band shan’t be repeating that incident any time soon. We may occasionally take the stage to play some pre-Hedge material—although I grudgingly admit Mikey makes a good point about concentrating on the new songs we are writing—but until we prepare our tour for the next album (which we haven’t even begun “officially” recording, as many of the songs remain incomplete), the band will be official “shut-ins.”

You hear me, Cabana Club and other venues? No calling us for performances, because I will blithely accept and the inadvertently make a mockery of your generosity.

On behalf of myself and Abysmal Crucifix, I apologize to the Cabana Club and its patrons on Thursday evening. I have a very difficult time saying “no” when people offer money.

—Girth