Banjo playing is glamorous
Ah, the charmed life of a 5-string banjo player. Had I known sooner about the fame and glory that is banjo player, I would have taken it up long before I did! The public acclaim, the accolades, the perks…what a life. Who knew that I would someday make 10′s of dollars picking banjo? And at last count I’m up to 9.75 fans, so my plot to dominate the world via the banjo is slowly inching forward.
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I had always dreamed of being something when I grew up. Now I see that I should have been more specific. Before we go a lot further, don’t let me make you think that this path is an easy one. When it comes to being a banjo player, half of this job is 90% mental. And you can quote me on that. (Did you know that 43.2% of all statistics are made up on the spot? There’s an interesting fact for party conversation for you. Oh, wait, I forgot…banjo players don’t get invited to parties.)
- Cousin Rastus
My biggest influence for getting started on the banjo was Cousin Rastus. He was quite a guy. He applied and got accepted to all 4 branches of the military at once, which caused quite a ruckus once it came time to board the bus for boot camps. Cousin Rastus always admired military leaders and was quite the historian. He had whole bookshelves devoted to George Washington, along with Revolutionary War memorabilia and collectibles. The prized item in his collection was George Washington’s wooden dentures. We got pretty used to this except when he took them out of his mouth after dinner.
Cousin Rastus is no longer with us. We always knew his time with us would be relatively short. I can remember one time his house caught on fire, so he picked up the phone and dialed the fire department to tell them his house was burning. The fireman reassured Cousin Rastus that they’d be glad to help, then the fireman asked “alright, how do we get there?” Cousin Rastus said to the fireman: “don’t you have them red trucks anymore?!”
Cousin Rastus actually ended up living a longer life than we thought he would, but the end came for him needlessly. He might even be with us today if it weren’t for the fact that he tried calling 911 during an emergency once, but couldn’t figure it out because he was dyslexic. Needless to say, help didn’t arrive in time for poor Cousin Rastus. He’s missed by a lot of people, including the local chapter of the organization he helped start. Perhaps you’ve heard of A.D.M.? (Mother’s Against Dyslexia.)
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I was very close to Cousin Rastus, and so got to be a pall bearer at his funeral. My dad wore his Navy uniform, one of my other cousins wore his Airline Pilot’s uniform, so I wore my Taco Bell uniform. Since this was a special occasion I made sure to include the sombrero. For Taco Bell employees, the sombrero isn’t worn every day; it’s part of the parade dress.
Who knew I’d play to as many as 17 people?
Sometimes when I am on stage with my bands, I marvel at the fact that I have a captive audience, sitting in rapt attention as I play. Apparently they often can’t believe how lucky they are that so much time is left, because every 10-20 seconds I see many of them looking at their watches. Ah, fortunate people that they are. When I am picking and singing my heart out on stage, I can’t help but feel a kindred connection to acts like The Rolling Stones…The Eagles…The Beatles…Tiny Tim. I stand before the throngs, playing the banjo, knowing that at any second some of the audience might rush the stage in a zealous fervor. At each gig I know that the ear-shattering screams might be coming soon, just like for The Beatles, so I always brace myself. Believe me, when it happens someday, I’ll be ready! I do have to admit one thing that I can live without: I hear the stories of the rock ‘n roll acts who have panties thrown onto the stage for them. When this happens for me, it’s always a bit embarassing. With panties as big as the ones I receive, I’d rather not see them. You could cover a small Volkswagen with some of the undergarments that get thrown at me. And, well…truth be told, I do make a nice little bit of side income selling them in the “car cover” section on eBay, so it’s not all bad.
Some people might suggest that the pressure of playing before as many as 17 people at a time is going to get to me eventually, but I love it. I’ve not really had a bad stage experience except for the time when this kid came up and turned one of my tuning pegs and knocked a string out of tune, just before I went on stage. I played the first 3 songs out of tune because I could not figure out which string he had turned. (I’m going to have to break down and learn to tune that banjo one of these days.) So while my experiences have been good for me, that isn’t always the case for acoustic musicians. I remember this one gig where my band was part of a 5-band lineup; we were second on the list. The poor first guy!! Sheesh…he was just a solo singer-songwriter; one little ol’ guy picking and singing on stage. He got about 7 songs into his repato…repretoire…reppatwire…ummm, song list…and suddenly the audience started booing him! Whew, how embarassing! Well, he tucked his tail between his legs and crawled off the stage. I felt really bad, but we we then took the stage, got set up, and starting picking. But that audience just wouldn’t let it die, because about a song and a half into our rep….ummm, list, more boos! Apparently they were thinking of that guy again! We played on but apparently they really wanted him to hear how unhappy they were with him because they boo’d through our whole set, and loudly!!
The future is so bright I gotta wear shades
Ah yes. Making $10…$15…sometimes as much as $37.50 per gig; playing to 17 people and up…gigging 10′s of shows a year; life is good. I even heard a guy at work once complain about having to do some mundane chore that he really hated, and he said that he’d rather staple a skunk to his forehead and attend a banjo player’s convention rather than do the deed. See?! Everyone wants in on the act!
I’ll have more stories to relate on my path to superstardom, so stay tuned for that! In the meantime, if you are on the fence about taking up the banjo, let my little story encourage you and move you in the direction of a yes. Besides, whenever I’m up on a fence, I always get shot with a B.B. gun, so I don’t want that for you. Come on in, the water’s fine! Give it a try, and as I always say: pick ‘em if ya got ‘em!
Banjo Paul
“Wunse, I coodn’t even spel bango pikker…now I are one!”
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