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Alanis Would Be Proud Isn't it ironic? I, who am absolutely miserable at self-promotion, finally get 'round to sending an e-mail to a bunch of people about upcoming events involving me doing something like performing skill-requiring feats of musicality, and not one, but BOTH of the performance venues goes awry. First off, The Shivs, with whom I play keyboards and sing backup, were scheduled as recently as last week for a gig at The Orange Bear, a dive on Murray St., which was to take place this past Wednesday. When I, strangely the first to arrive, reached the venue, I found it locked, shuttered, gated and gutted (I peered through the bars and the windows at the debris). The Orange Bear, clearly, is dead, and nobody bothered telling us. I don't imagine that anyone I e-mailed actually showed up for the gig, as I didn't send the message out 'til the afternoon of the thing, and we all know that nobody loves me, so I'll not be sending an apologetic e-mail follow-up. We left a note twisted into the bars of the gate on the place, which said something like, "Yeah...We were surprised, too. Come find us at the C-Note on March 17th or online." To add insult to injury, or maybe in this case it's injury to insult, since the other gig was actually making me some useful money, I received a very brief and surprising voice-mail message yesterday afternoon informing me that my services at Brandy's Piano Bar would no longer be required on Tuesday nights, as the "regular Tuesday night pianist," which I had thought was now ME, has decided to return on February 22nd. So I guess it's not such an open-ended gig, after all. If you were thinking of coming to see me there, you've got two weeks. I'll be calling the bar owner this afternoon, because the questions nag at me: "Did I do something wrong?" "Did I not do something right?" "Do I just suck, and nobody's bothered telling me yet?" For now, I remain bewildered. And not so sure just how much I enjoy irony when it makes me its bitch. r
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