All or nothing at all.

Just in case you were wondering, and I know for a fact that every single one of you out there has been on shpielkes (which is Yiddish for carpet tacks) about how my Montreal début went, it went fine. Actually, it went better than fine. The boys played well, I sang beautifully, the patrons were appreciative, and several of our friends were there.

Wouldn’t it be nice if I could just leave it at that, put down the pen, close the book and you would be left with a wonderful impression? Well, folks, I’m not going to do that, because as nice as the experience was in some respects, in others it sucked big ones.

The weather was execrable. We drove to Montreal with a car full of Hubby’s gear and Kevy’s drums and the three of us (good thing we have a station wagon) in pouring rain with a windshield that kept fogging up in spite of the air conditioner (which it was really too cold for) and got lost once because Kevy forgot in which direction the one-way streets went.

Fortunately we were able to park right next to the restaurant and unload the gear. Unfortunately, the restaurant is below street level, and the bar where the jazz happens is another floor down. Carrying the stuff down was bad enough. Bringing it back up at the end of the gig was worse.

For the vocals, they only had one working speaker. I got used to that, and it was a good thing Kevy had brought his own microphones because the one they had sucked. So the sound was pretty good in the end. The restaurant charged a cover of $6, I believe (or was it $7?) and it looked like there were a lot of people in there.

I was delighted to see many of our graduated students who have moved to that city, as well as a couple who were there on holiday from farther away. I even saw the young woman who had been Little Princess’ baby sitter when she was really young, whose wedding I had sung at (a marriage lasting a mere six months, tops, sadly). She works as an event planner for a catering company and is getting her translation certificate at night. She didn’t stay for the gig, but we did get to catch up briefly.

At the end of the evening, the owner emptied the cash box and handed Hubby the contents. Hubby gave Kevy and our keyboard player each a crisp $50 bill, and then we drove home through the fog and rain, arriving at around 2:00 a.m. He revealed to me after we dropped Kevy off that the contents of the box came to $60 and that he had been to the bank earlier in the day to have those $50 bills on hand just in case. So we ended being out $40 cash plus the cost of a half-a-tank of gas for the trip to and from (around $35). So basically, he paid $75 for the privilege of driving four hours to play music for the “fun” of it. He says he will not do that again, ever.

And I agree.

|

<~~~ * ~~~>