It's Hard Out Here For A Pimp

Some pursuits are nobler than others. I think it is infinitely more important to find a cure for cancer or AIDS than to discover a drug to give you a hard-on. (There are those who obviously don’t agree with me, and maybe in 40 – ok, 20 – years, I won’t agree with me either.) I think the New York Times Crossword is better than Sudoku, which is better than the Junior Jumble, which is better than Tic Tac Toe. I think the Theatre is better than the Cinema, which is better than HBO, which is better than network TV. And everything is better than dinner theatre. Except cruise ships. Or at least that’s what I used to think.

Cruise ship musicians are given a bad rap. We’re thought to be burnt-out bitter old hacks desperate for work. Cruise ships are like the last refuge for the damned. There’s an old story about an entertainer going to meet with the band leader and finding out that no one in the band reads music except for the drummer. “How can this be?” he asks. The leader replies: “ He’s not our regular drummer”. Ba dum bum. (My favorite drummer joke: What did the drummer get on his IQ test? Drool!!!! Ah, I slay me.)

This is what my job entails: the main part is to play for the guest entertainers. These are solo acts of all varieties who travel from ship to ship and stay anywhere from one cruise to an entire season (there was a magician aboard my ship who had been here off and on for 3 years!) If they’re new to us, we may get their music a couple of days in advance, or we may not. The morning of the show, we rehearse 90 minutes for a 60 minute show (We try to get a rehearsal in early so we can have more port time. But then again, we’re usually up drinking until 3 in the morning, so not too too early please thank you). If we’re lucky, we get charts that are legible, clean and clear in playable keys without too many technical demands. Sometimes, we get photocopies of photocopies of mimeographs of hieroglyphs with 10 years of un-erased pencil marks, mismatching measures numbers (or none at all), confusing cuts, no tempo marking, no feel marking (is it disco or a cha-cha?) in P flat minor, and an entertainer who has no idea how to rehearse. Once I played for a giant untalented jerk with such illegible charts who kept telling us to “just feel it”. Every time I asked him a question about what he wanted, (because we all had conflicting information and markings), he would throw up his hands in frustration and say “I don’t care! Whatever you want!” He was abusive and insulting because we didn’t have an intimate knowledge of his particular style of music, and he just thought all decent musicians knew how to play this. I ended up yelling at him. If I ever see him again, (which is doubtful, since he didn’t have any gigs lined up) I will yell at him again. I’m almost yelling right now. I hate him. (PF, you SOB, you know who you are). Sometimes, I’ve gotten charts that are so difficult that it would require about a week of intense practice. Occasionally, guitarists, bassists and drummers will get 10-page piano charts, because the arranger was too lazy to write out separate parts. (Pianists can turn pages. The aforementioned musicians have a much harder time of it.) We play for classical pianists and violinists, Elvis imitators, jugglers, banjo players, opera singers, Broadway singers, soul singers and salsa singers. We have to be able to sight-read the music, adapt it to our instruments, play in every conceivable style, and please the sometimes-cranky sometimes-demanding sometimes-incompetent guest entertainer (although most are really nice, are talented and gracious). AND we have to perform it twice that night without making mistakes, lest we catch hell from the act or the cruise director. (I once did a show with a lousy musician who was impossible to follow. He went to the cruise director after rehearsal and bitched about the drummer for 20 minutes [The drummer was fine]. We had to practice an additional hour and a half [after an initial 2 hour rehearsal] because King Shit Of Turd Island couldn’t play a 3/8 bar. Tabarnaq’!) Oh, and since we’re musicians, we should actually try to make music, as opposed to sounding like unprepared robot hacks.

The rest of the time, I play and sing in a cover band. Not a regular cover band, mind you, where we play one style or artist. (A la "Björn Again"). No, we play music from the past 70 years of hits in every conceivable style! In The Mood, Strangers in the Night, Tennessee Waltz, Rock Around the Clock, Dancing In The Street, Sweet Caroline, Mustang Sally, Superstition, YMCA, Don’t Rock The Jukebox, Living La Vida Loca, It’s Hard Out Here For A Pimp, Soldier Boy… Ok, those last two are lies. But nevertheless, I think my point has been made. We play in a lounge, or by the pool, or on deck. Sometimes people dance. Most of the time they don't. We also occasionally have to play jazz sets. And we take requests! On top of all that, I am called upon once in a while to play a classical concert. So I gots to keep my chops up too for all the Beethoven, Ravel and Rachmaninoff. Could a hack do all this crap?

Now, my absolutely favoritest part of my job is playing pool music. I loves me my pool music! I can’t get enough of playing pool music! Please, could I play some pool music now? I love playing pool music because there’s nothing 70-year old sun-bathing Patricia-Cornwell-reading Mai-Tai-drinking people want more than to hear an 8-piece rock band play Mony Mony or Turn The Beat Around. They love having their peace and quiet disturbed. They never tell us to turn it the hell down. They never come up to us and tell us to play some Frank Sinatra, or to not play at all. And the acoustics are amazing. It sounds like we’re playing in a pool. I love that. It doesn’t make us sound like a bunch of hacks in the least.

Truth be told, there are indeed hacks on ships. Whereas I have been tremendously fortunate to have worked with mostly wonderful musicians (including my current band. We rock!), I have occasionally encountered true and utter mediocrity. Bad musicians are either little brats fresh out of school and have absolutely no frickin’ clue what they’re doing (they aren’t hacks yet, but they certainly are future hacks), or they’re guys (and they usually are men) who’ve been around for thousands of years and just don’t give a crap anymore. But most are good solid musicians (including young ‘uns and old ‘uns) who can play just about anything you can throw at them

I love my job. I say that without sarcasm or reservation. I really love what I do. I have seen 25% of the world (according to the “Where Have I Been In The World” application on Facebook) and I plan to see a great deal more. I have become a much better and more versatile musician in the past 3 years, and I wouldn’t have thought to acquire these new skills if I hadn’t been forced to. (It’s sink or swim here on the Seven Seas – so to speak. I had never really played jazz or pop before, having come from a classical and musical theatre background). I occasionally get tired of the lack of respect and sometimes utter disdain that comes with the job though. Let me give you an example before I take my leave.

Once, I was playing solo piano at a big event on the ship. One of the bigwig officers who I would generally call my friend came up to me and started banging away on the piano. I stopped playing told him that I didn’t go into his office and start banging away on his computer keyboard when he was working. He then said that what he did was work, and what I did wasn’t really. I was just playing around. He then said he wished he had my job. Playing 3 hours a day and getting paid good money for it. Man, I had it easy…

I. Got. Mad.

I. Got. Really. Mad.

I. Got. Really. Really. Mad.

But. I kept my cool. I told him he couldn’t possibly do my job, but I could certainly do his (it would take me about a year of training I reckon – I told him). I asked him if he had taken officer lessons from the time that he was 6, or if he had practiced being an officer for at least 6 hours a day from the ages of 15 to 23 to keep up with all the other officers, all the while taking a full course load in school, and sacrificing things like baseball and playtime with his friends. He said of course not. Aha, I said. That’s what it took to get me where I am today (wherever the hell that may be). And unless he had, he was ill equipped to make a mockery of my craft and profession. He laughed an awkward laugh, and I laughed an awkward laugh. We parted as friends, but it was never the same. Pity. At least he doesn’t bang away when I play any more. How Wude!!

I probably shouldn’t have pushed it as far as I did, because I am generally quite humble (What!? I hear you all say) about what I do. I don’t think it’s extraordinary. But it took a hell of a lot of work to get to this level. And a lot of maintenance. And a lot of sacrifice. I’m the first to admit I still have a lot to learn, and I’m eager to learn.

But ain’t nobody gonna call me a hack.

Oh no you di’nt.