Did you know that Clint Eastwood is a pretty good musician as well as an actor? I was surprised to learn that, too. It made me think of how MIDI acts remind me of “The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.” Stay with me and I’ll wrap this up neater than a Christmas present for you.
Last December some guy named Mike was trying to get booked into a local bar. The bar owner insisted that he only books duos and bands in his establishment and since Mike was a solo MIDI act, he couldn‘t get his foot in the door, so to speak. Turns out Mike and I had the same agent and my agent thought he’d be doing me a favor by giving Mike my name and phone number.
Mike called me and asked if I wanted to sit in for a night with him and his MIDI-based act. Since I was also a MIDI-based solo act, I figured this might be a good opportunity to not only make a few bucks, but possibly expand into a MIDI-based duo. I agreed and went to the bar with a positive attitude that this was going to be fun. Mike showed me his MIDI setup, which consisted of a laptop computer with several directories containing his vast selection of songs. He had everything from AC-DC to ZZ Top on that computer (he even had a Doris Day tune, but I overlooked that and agreed to play anyway) He also had a very expensive Roland keyboard. I was impressed.
I was impressed, that is, until the first twenty seconds into our first song together when Mike opened his mouth to sing. It felt like every eye in the place was staring at my red, hot ears. I could have shriveled up and died right there. And we still had three hours and fifty-nine and a half more minutes to play. Now I knew why the bar owner didn’t want him as a solo act--he stunk on ice. I gave Mike my best Clint squint and tried to fade into the background. As soon as the first song ended I took control of the situation and leaned over to Mike and whispered, “Just play along and I’ll sing.” Okay, we’ve established that Mike, in this scenario, is “The Bad.”
Now I’m not claiming to be the world’s best singer, but my God, any fool from karaoke night could have done better than Mike did. So just for comparison’s sake let’s call me “The Good.” We agreed to switch off between our song lists, with me playing a few of my regular tunes while he just played along his keyboard and then he could play some of his with me playing along on my keyboard. I was relieved to find out that his first choice was Edgar Winter’s “Frankenstein.” It meant that Mike would not be subjecting the audience to his vocal disabilities. We’ll call this nightmare of a job, “The Ugly.” I swear if I’d have had Clint’s six-shooter strapped to my hip, Mike would have been pushing up daisies.
Somehow we managed to make it through the night without being on the receiving end of any flying vegetables. Mike talked to the bartender after the job and collected our pay and while he was busy loading his station wagon with his gear, I sidled over to the bartender and apologetically explained that Mike was not my regular partner and that I could do a much better job for him by myself at half the price. I slipped him a business card before Mike came back in from the parking lot.
A week later I was shocked to look at my agent’s web site and read down the list of acts that he represented. There in B section was Bill Bernico, while down in the M section, I spotted Mike’s name. Right after his name was the entry, “The Mike and Bill Show.” Gag me with a Stratocaster. I immediately e-mailed my agent and strongly suggested (pleaded) that he remove that entry. I let him know I didn’t want to be associated with a “schlep” like Mike. It could only do me harm. The next day that entry was removed and my pulse and heart rate went back to normal.
A few months later, with the taste of that stale night out of my mouth, I scanned the classifieds to find an ad from a MIDI-based musician looking for another musician to round out his act. I dialed the number, hopeful about what I might find on the other end. It rang a few times and I was about to hang up and forget about it when a voice on the other end cheerfully said, “Mike here. How can I help you?”
I quickly hung up and retreated to my basement music studio/office. It suddenly dawned on me that being a solo act wasn’t that bad after all. Hell, even if I had to be billed as the “man with no name” it was better than being half of the “Mike and Bill Show.”
©2005 Bill Bernico for CYBERMIDI.com Downwind Publications
