Yea! My band got hired to play at a high school dance! This is my second or third gig ever. I’m strutting into the hall, carrying my guitar case, and, boy, I’m feeling it.
It’s 1972, I’m wearing my white suit with huge lapels and square shoulders, and along with my long blond hair it all contrasts nicely with my black Les Paul knock-off. During set-up, I notice a pretty girl I had met the day before. We’d had a nice conversation about music, and she was amazingly knowledgeable and in tune with pretty much the same stuff I listened to. I wave to her, she waves back. Oh yeah, this just got even better!
We start the gig with a medium paced number, and the band sounds OK, but not perfect yet. I’m thinking “We’re better than this, we’re just still a little cold, and perhaps a little nervous.” It’s OK. Most of the audience doesn’t notice anyway – they never do. But I’m sure the girl did notice at least one or two of the imperfections. Still, she claps enthusiastically at the end of the tune, and I immediately count in a super slow blues, a shuffle with a ¾ feel on every beat. I start, guitar cranked, three simple pick up notes, 5th, 6th, tonic – just guitar – and then, on the downbeat, the band will come in and I’ll hit that minor third and bend it up into the Blue Note. The guitar is singing just right, its tone is smooth and glorious, and I’m looking forward to that downbeat – every young guitar player’s dream.
So why does it suddenly sound like someone stepped on a cat? The people on the dance floor all turn to face the band to figure out what has caused this cacophonous event. In horror, I look down on my fretboard and realize that I have started in the key of Bb. The band, meanwhile, is in the agreed-upon key of A. Little can be played that sounds worse, and there are only few situations, in which even the most undiscerning musical layman can tell that something just went horribly wrong. This is one of them.
Unfortunately, no hole opened up in the floor for me to disappear in, and I had to make it through the whole evening – scarred for life.
That evening I learned a valuable lesson: A little less show and a little more playing in the right key can go a long way.