St Pat's Weekend in Review

AS I sit at my desk in my classroom at school and type, my windows are open! Finally, perhaps Spring is in the air. When the last of the snow will finally melt is another matter.

As usual, the celebration of St. Patrick is for me not relegated to a day but rather involves the better part of the week--or at least weekend.

For the first time in at least ten years I didn't think I would be playing at my usual haunt, the Blackthorne Tavern, because of new ownership. The new owners didn't say if they were interested until very late. (Now it's Brennan's Blackthorne Tavern. www.brennansblackthornetavern.com)

I ended up booking a 4-pm gig in Framingham at Desmond O'Malley's on rt 9. A great bar! I had never been there before. It was packed by the time we started playing at about 4:15. We took one 5 minute break, finished at 7:10, and headed straight to the Blackthorne, where we played until about 12:10.)

Every year I play Irish music and sing in class, with the help of some generous friends. That started at 8:30 am, and went until 2:18, with an hour and a half off along the way.

Sooo. About 11 hours of playing and singing (And about 10 pints of Smithwicks and a few Jamesons thrown in for good measure?) Friday I had left free, so as not to die.

Saturday, I played a house party in Scituate, MA ($$$) from 7-11 with two other musicians, Eric and Amy (www.amybasse.com). Well, at 11pm, the host said he'd pay us another $300 for another hour's work. How can you refuse that? He wrote a check for, well, a lot, without blinking. The party was a huge success. We took no breaks . . . Another five hours of music.

Throw in teaching at the top of my lungs for hours every day. Everyone thinks I have a constant cold. I sound like Jerry Cruncher. Seven years of seisiun singing have strengthened my voice but I am beginning to wonder about damage to the old vocal cords. I'm not 25 anymore. Eh, wattid ya say?

17 wild rovers, 10 finnegan's wakes, 7 whiskey in the jars, 5 wild colonial boys, and oh yes the (Am)Irish have other songs, too.


Take index finger and commence rubbing across lips while making gurgling noise.

I actually love it. I really don't even believe in breaks. Breaks are for wimps and clock-punchers! Toughen up, sally boy. My cousin's band used to play three nights a week, for four hours a night, for eight years (plus three bottles of Dr. McGuillicutty's [sic].) And they worked day jobs. If you love what you do and you want to keep an audience, then PLAY.