This summer, I was asked to play bass in a trio (two guitars + me) performing at Toto & Sarah's nuptials in October. In preparation for this event -- or as we pro musicians say, "gig" -- I was supposed to learn how to play the Beatles's "In My Life," "And I Love Her" and "Let It Be;" John Lennon's "Imagine," the Beach Boys's "God Only Knows" and "Wouldn't It Be Nice," plus a Postal Service song, "Memories" from Cats (!!), some song from St. Elmo's Fire (!!!) and a couple of hymns. Sadly, no selections from the Motorhead oeuvre were chosen -- c'mon, nothing says "wedded bliss" like a cover of "Love Me Like a Reptile."
Regardless, I had to get to woodshedding, pronto. Things were progressing nicely until one of Toto's groomsmen got all squirrely and moved to Portland, Oregon and removed himself from the equation, so Toto called me and asked me to join the wedding party. I was all flattered and honored and whatnot, and now I don't even have to worry about what I'm going to wear, but this means that my little concerto is not to be, and as I'd just about mastered all the Beatles and Beach Boys material and was preparing to work on "Memories," I must admit that I was more than a smidgen disappointed -- I was really looking forward to putting on a show.
What really sucks, however, is that I'm a much better musician now than when I was actually playing in bands back in my callow youth. Why, I'm depriving the world of my gifts! Hiding my light 'neath a bushel! I should form a band of my own.