Now please, don't get me wrong: I love the corporate gig. I think I can speak for the band in saying we love the corporate gig. For those of you wondering what exactly that means, let me explain:
From time to time, throughout the year, we play "private" shows for various companies and their sundry functions, and they're fun. I've gigged for some really weird companies filled with really weird people. I've played for little companies in tiny cabins, and for companies that give iPods to whoever shows up and sports cars whoever wins the drawing at the end of the night.
Usually these shows are great successes.
Sometimes they are not.
The catch is simply this: At a regular concert, folks go to see a band play. A band they like, and choose to go and see. At a company party, folks go to get a free meal and a bonus check. Come on, tell me it isn't so. At one show last summer, the CEO got up after the free dinner and said "Thanks for coming. Hope you enjoyed your dinner. Your bonus checks are on the table by the back door; pick them up on your way out. Now here's the band!"
Needless to say, everyone got up, grabbed their check, and went home.
Kinda funny. Kinda not.
Tonight I played a corporate gig, and there was a lady (no lie!) sitting front and center crocheting. Socks, or something, I don't know.
At a concert? Seriously?
Well, that's fine. The truth is, I'm a little jealous. We of the RubberBand have talked quite frequently about having our own corporate Christmas party, and maybe even hiring a band to set up and play for us. We would hand out bonus checks, and by bonus I mean bogus, eat chicken cordon bleu (Shupe orders the steak), and have Roger give a presentation on how we've grown this year. Craig would receive the Banjist-of-the-Year award for the 12th straight year, I would secretly be jealous of his award, and Bart would probably make a move toward spiking the egg-nog, but probably just with Gatorade powder. The band would start to play, and Shupe would just start talking louder, Craig would sneak out the back, Roger would be playing with his new iPod (and by new iPod, I mean napkin), and Bart would clap along to everything, even the ballads, and somewhat out of time.
And I would get out my hooks and start crocheting.