Kelly In Catty

This blog is Kell's attempt to keep in touch with friends far away who complain that I don't e-mail nearly enough.

Saturday, March 05, 2005

I'm Singing The Wrong Bruce

I feel like I've arrived as a musician. At last night's gig, someone came up to me and said, "I really enjoyed the way you did that Bruce Cockburn song..." It was a great accolade, but we didn't play any Bruce Cockburn songs... Remember? I'm the B.C. Archivist. I would know. We did play "Tougher Than the Rest," written by a different famous Bruce... However, unless you believe in Kurt Vonegut's sytem of artificial relatives, two people with the same given name does not necessarily mean they're related...

And Bruce? (either one of you) - If you have an unjustified feeling of displacement this morning, I'm so very sorry.

We've played this particular restaurant for over a year, so it sort of becomes like a second home - where all your old friends come to see you and say "Kelly, I actually have to drive all the way up here to see you..." It makes me want to write them songs... Or add more Grateful Dead to our rep - or something.

Last night, TWENTY of my friends, colleagues, and superfans showed up - which is unprecedented. So much so that the owner not only gave me Mardi Gras beads, but he paid for my drinks, which he only does when he's incredibly pleased with the night's count. So not too shabby, eh? (Audrey, I think this means you're forgiven for setting that placemat on fire! ha ha)

The other funny thing about the evening was Jake, my boss' son. He's five, and the polar opposite of shy. He told me Scott's dobro sounded like Gary from Spongebob Squarepants. Between songs, he'd run up to me and ask questions like "What's that little tiny guitar?" ("It's a mandolin, Jake!") - or simply tell me something random like "Kelly! My cat Hammy barfs in the basement!" ("Yeah, when mine was still alive, she barfed on my rug sometimes - Wanna talk about this more, or should we sing another song?") Jake opted for the song, and decided to shake his little booty. While he frenetically danced around the restaurant, someone noted, "Yeah. Kids are great for about an hour, then all you wanna do is kick 'em outta the bar..."

I wonder if Bruce Cockburn ever had gigs like that.


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