Joey Catches a Break

                 Hey! Well if it isn’t Tom Drummin! Ya know? I’m not the least bit surprised runnin into you at a place like this. I’ve learned a few things here and there, and if you think you’re gonna to make it big you might as well just kick back and wait ‘til you catch a break. I think some people can just pick up an instrument and become world famous. Meanwhile other musicians play their finger to the bone and not see a penny from it, but we must never sell out. It’s crucial that a good musician sticks to his message and his music. But like the Beatles said “life is very short and there's no time for fussing and fighting my friend.” It’s been quite a few gigs ‘til I got to a show like this. You think I’ve been lead guitarist for The Flat 7’s forever? No way! I can tell you how I did it, but first I have to put my guitar away. I protect it with my life because without a guitar, a guitarist has no life! You drummers probably don’t understand.

                So like I was sayin, I wasn’t always makin a living as a guitarist.  Sure I had a few friends that I would jam with; but nothing seemed to work out. We’d play some shows at bars, but people just wanted covers, man, and you don’t get paid for how original your music is. But as Bob Dylan wrote “for the loser now, will be later to win” and I thank that guys from Black Rose of Tomorrow for helping make that dream come true, even if they are pretentious a-holes.  I was jamming after a gig in an alley outside a bar in Lansing. Two people came out from inside the bar. I freaked out and started to pack up, I could only think to myself “let them take my money but not my guitar!” I started to walk away when one of them called out.

 “Hey! You Joey? The guitarist that played the last set right?” I was surprised he knew my name, only the other local bands knew who I was, ya know?  I told the guy who I was, and he talked to me about my music and my band and such. At first I was thinking “Joey you moron get the hell outta here,” but the more the three of us talked the more my thoughts changed. Turns out they were a couple of musicians themselves, good thing to run into musicians in a dark Lansing alley rather than robbers, or worse! But anyway we were talking about my gig and how they liked it. They said I showed more promise than any other guitarist in Lansing.

“Are you guys for real?” I asked “no shit! Thanks.” My voice must have gone up three octaves.

They shot each other a glance and gave me a hesitated response. “…yeah, no problem. Hey listen if you’ve got time we’d like to hear an audition from you, we’re looking for a guitarist to join us on our tour. Our normal guy can’t make it out to Detroit, so we need someone to fill in that show.” I had not realized who I’d been talking to, but none other than Black Rose of Tomorrow! They’re as famous in Lansing as The Clash was in the UK.

“Holy Hendrix!” I grabbed my hair, almost pulling it out, “I feel like a guitarist version of Taylor Hawkins!”  Again they shot each other strange glances; one of them muttered something about “being off his rocker” and “a bad idea.” But I was invited to their house to play anyway. I was in awe of the place, guitars hung from the walls like posters, and sheets of half written music covered every surface.  You should have seen it man! But my poor guitar, never has it sounded worse, it’s as if it didn’t want to play for me. Talk about the day the music died. I didn’t blame it though; guitars can only go so long on the same set of strings. But how I can afford new strings when I can’t afford new shoes? But Matt, the lead guitarist, came to my rescue.

“Looks like you’ve worn that thing down for all it’s worth. Here take this; I don’t even play it anymore.”  And he gave me the beauty you see now, my ‘98 Fender Strat, American made, in metallic purple. As you may have guessed, I played the hell out it, and got the spot for the show.

So there I was, playing the big stage at the Fillmore Detroit. It was over before I knew it. I couldn’t get the smile off my face ya know?  I was just chillin with the guys backstage. “Sure beats playing by yourself in an alley huh?” Matt said to me. Everybody laughed, and I couldn’t blame them. He was right, I went from shitouttaluck to hanging out backstage. I couldn’t help but think these guys didn’t try as hard as I did. Why should some musician’s get all of breaks? I’m a musician too, when is my turn? No sooner than I had started complaining to myself than Mr. Derek Warrian of Warrian Records walked in. Man, I was shaking more than a school girl seeing the Beatles for the first time.

“So… you Joey?” he said casually. The guy looked like he belonged in Nirvana. He had a chill kinda feel to him ya know?

“Yeah, uh, yes sir I am, it’s uh, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” I stumbled over a cable while getting up to shake his hand.

“Well, listen, I was talking to these guys the other day and they told me you had some talent. Turns out they were right. I’d like to offer you a deal.” I almost shit my pants, a record deal, for a low class musician like me! “I’m looking to produce some more local music, so I’m willing to produce a full length album and an EP for you and your band.” I was shocked, man. I couldn’t believe it.

“Th-th-th-that would be awesome, I mean yeah of course I’m in.” I was stuttering so much it was like I was singing My Generation, I think Derek could tell this was my first time with a record label.

“Ok, tell you what. Why don’t you tell me what percentage you want for royalties?” He leaned back with a smirk on his face. My mind went crazy. I mean, how much should I ask for? I didn’t know the first thing about how much bands make on royalties, let alone local bands. All I know is that musicians get shit percentages ya know? The label would be doing all the work with recording, management, gigs, radio, and I’m a just a desperate musician. Should I ask for three percent, or would that be too low if he were to offer me five percent. Shit what if I ask for five percent and he thinks I’m coming off as cocky. I need them and they don’t need me, man.

“Eight percent!” The words came out of me like a power chord. I felt frozen as if I were on stage naked.

“Ha, aha, hahaha. Can you guys believe it? The kid wants eight percent! Sure I can give you eight, just because I like you I’ll give you fifteen! I’ll even have Black Rose of Tomorrow throw in a bonus. Hey guys, why don’t you give him some bonus money to welcome this young man onto our label.” The whole band was laughing and tossing some bills at me. I remembered Bob Dylan’s words “for the loser now, will be later to win.” I picked up my money, my guitar, and got the hell outta there.

Back at home I met up with my band. “Guys! You’ll never guess what I’ve been up to this weekend.”

“Getting high and slacking off?” said Gary, our bassist.

“No, actually, come to think of it my weekend was a lot like a Led Zeppelin song – ”

“See?” Gary interrupted, “you’re always quoting songs and never writing them.” I had no time for him, he’s just a bassist. And bassists never know what’s going on, that’s why they play bass! Except Geddy Lee, he was a God among men. But anyway, like I was sayin, I told the guys about Black Rose of Tomorrow, and about how I played with them and about Derek Warrian. Hell, I told them as much as I have to you so far!

“So how much did they give you?” Mark asked, he’s our drummer… you’d like him actually, his style is a lot like yours, buy anyway, turns out I had gathered around $475. We talked for hours about what would be the best use. We could fix Mark’s drums; the nutcase had a head held together with duct tape! Can you believe it? New amps, cords, pedals, pickups, and such ya know?  We created a new name and used our label to get some gigs. Damn I gotta get goin, shit to do as they say. Keep rocking that beat bro, and I hope you can get half as lucky as me.