Liver Damage and Popcorn

Let’s get something straight, people. Musicians don’t like it when you throw things at them. Shit…most people in any situation don’t like it if you throw something at them, except at an egg toss, which is truly an amazing human activity. It doesn’t matter if the person throwing things at you is bald, six foot six and the head chef of the restaurant you’re playing that night… it’s just not good policy.

So after I got hit in the head with an ice cube while unloading my drums, I knew the night was going to be magical. Like a pigeon shitting on your head.

I admonished my bald friend with an icy stare to match his ice that hit me in the head. He came up on stage to shake my hand and apologize. As he held out his hand, I made him wait just a click before shaking it to let him know I meant business. There...I showed him. That bastard owes me a steak. Au poivre, medium rare. Speaking of food…

I hadn’t eaten all day and that usually just fuels more stupidity while drinking, so I laid out a careful and calculated plan for the evening. It consisted of one mantra. Don’t Drink.

But that mantra was soon forgotten when Liquid Jukebox kicked in. For those who don’t know what Liquid Jukebox is, please allow me to explain. Liquid Jukebox is the part of the evening (and sometimes the entire evening) where the band no longer has a setlist, nor a liver.

We’ll play anything you like. Name a song, and if we can’t play it, we’ll buy you a drink. But— If we can get through most of the song (like 2 verses and a chorus), you have to buy the whole band a shot. We make it pretty easy for the crowd by offering our drink preferences in advance. Five shots total-- Four tequilas and one Old Grand Dad. And if the request is a well-known song that we already play in our repertoire, just line the shots up in advance on the bar in front of us.

Things were going pretty well in the first set. We were sounding good and playing tight. We got to the last third of the first set when we started getting requests and announcements of birthdays in the crowd. We played a birthday song or two for LSD’s stalker who usually attends our Marina Grille shows. Her handle is “Rain” on the Overboard website and tends to post flattering comments about LSD’s flashy muscles and what she wants to do with his...socks.

She cracks me up because she’ll sit in her car after the bar has closed waiting for us to come out with our equipment. When LSD gets in his car to go, she’ll follow him. One time, LSD and I pulled out of the parking lot together and caused a traffic diversion at a red light so she couldn’t continue the hunt. She was stuck behind me stopped at the traffic light. As it turned green, I ran interference and LSD got away. By now, after 6 months, we realized that she’s harmless but crazy, so we just go with it.

Song requests started to pour in, and without thinking, Flipper continued to honor them without reminding the crowd of our Liquid Jukebox policy. I don’t know if there’s actually a conscience deep down inside me that speaks up when social injustice is anywhere near, but as usual when this happens, I yell out, “Hey, where’s the fucking shots!” over the music in my booming, yet subtle, masculine voice.

That prompted The Admiral to remind the crowd of our Liquid Jukebox policy in the microphone. We anticipated getting at least a round of shots from the guy in the front requesting AC/DC. But as we turned the corner into the intro of Shook Me All Night Long, I noticed that guy shirking his responsibilities and not approaching the bartender. I called The Admiral over while Flipper was going through the first verse of the song. I explained to The Admiral the plan that I was formulating with mouthed words, hand gestures and raised eyebrows (our usual method of non-verbal communication). He agreed and we hoped that Flipper would understand what we were trying to do. With all the hand gestures, I was hoping he wouldn't steal second base in a communication mix up.

The first verse was almost done and The Admiral leaned in to tell Flipper what to do in a few seconds. I watched Flipper bring his hands up in the air as he was singing the last word of the verse, and …cut.

Flipper cut off the band like an orchestra director and since The Admiral and I followed the direction perfectly, it was easy for the other two guys in the band to cut-off with us in unison. Usually they're in another world, but tonight they were sharp.

Through the newly acquired bar silence: “OK people, my drummer is pretty pissed off that there are no shots coming this way, so we’re going to try something new. Until we get those shots up here, we’re going to play some easy listening. Bobby, play Summer Wind.”

As Dickboy tried desperately to figure out how to play Summer Wind, he gave up and started playing a different song of the same genre. It may have been Memories or something, but whatever it was, it did the trick. Within minutes three bartenders were lining up shots in front of us. The gag worked, and we were satisfied with the drink ratio. On a quick nod, we decided to re-enter the song and like a swiss watch we went right back into the chorus of Shook Me, except it was the last chorus before the guitar solo. Noone noticed that we cut out a verse on purpose to save Flipper’s voice for the night, but the double ruse worked.

When all was said and done and the smoke from the bar cleared like a battlefield, there were 25 shots lined up on the bar in front of us. Like martyrs, we did our duty and drank our allotted shots one by one in quick succession. We closed out the first set a few songs later and braced ourselves for a full bottle of tequila to kick in.

Soon after for the rest of the night, we were missing cues and I was getting pissed because my snare drum broke in the middle of the second set, but the bottom line was that the bar owner was VERY happy that night from the bar sales. The shots kept flowing and our livers were baring the brunt of the toxicity.

Forgetting that I hadn’t eaten didn’t make things easier on my altered state and in a hunger panic I went and found the popcorn machine in the back of the bar. As I was eating the stale popcorn, I casually asked the owner (who was also eating out of the same bowl that I brought over) how long this popcorn had been sitting there? He smiled and said the machine hadn’t been turned on since he bought the place last year. We kept eating and we were both happy despite the really disgusting news.

Musicians take note, Liquid Jukebox works in any situation to make a bar owner happy. And stale year-old popcorn works, too.