Sad Trombone

I've never been terribly self-confident, and I'm my worst critic. Once recorded, I don't go back and listen to my albums. All I hear are the flat notes, the things I wish I had done differently, and the lines that could have been better. It's the same when I re-run a live performance in my head. I despair over the mistakes, the pacing, and the stupid banter that fell flat. Over my career, I've benefited from far more good reviews than bad ones, yet the bad ones stick with me. It's also the bad ones I tend to agree with. So those few times I feel great about something are few and far between. The story of one of those times might perfectly encapsulate my career. 

In 1990, the Gear Daddies opened for the BoDeans on an East Coast tour. The entire tour went well for us, but our set in New York was extra special. On that particular night, from start to finish, we were on fire. All these years later, I can still vividly remember that set. We fired on all cylinders, and the sold-out crowd was wildly enthusiastic. 

I walked off stage, drenched in sweat, and collapsed on a road case to savor the moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw one of the BoDean's female guests, dressed to the nines, beelining towards me. I readied myself for a compliment on our set but instead heard: "We're out of toilet paper in the women's room."

To this day, I'm unsure whether the sad trombone sound I heard was real or imagined.

For the record, my response was, "I'll get right on that."