Memories and Labels

Interesting Memorial Day weekend this year. Left me with a feeling I'm not quite certain about. First of all, allow me to explain my absence.

........

Yeah, eerily accurate.

So anyway, this weekend we went down to visit my folks in The Music City, as is tradition. Which is always nice. The barbeques, silly entertainment, and how could I forget the privileged opportunity to join millions of others in subletting my wallet from price-gouging oil companies.

It’s as if somehow, in some unparalleled cosmic event, we’ll deplete the national fuel supply in a one-weekend-splurge.

At twenty-six miles to the gallon.

(By the way, if you’re curious, unleaded fuel outside Illinois’ border was 2.99 per gallon, cheap enough to afford a pack of Marlboro's and still break even to one gallon of Illinois gas.)

That aside, this weekend really was one to remember. Dad was sick. I mean ill. He slept more in 24 hours than I would in a normal 72 hour stretch. Seriously. The man was out on meds for bronchitis and some nasty sinus infection that had nearly knotted his throat shut. Monday he finally began coming around and we actually got to visit with him, but I get ahead of myself.

We drove down Friday night. I had this brilliant idea that we’d leave about midnight, make the six hour trip and show up in time for breakfast Saturday. Strangely, it worked perfect, something we’ll probably repeat.

Stephen slept the entire way and Lisa nearly did herself. Luke however, pulled his first all-nighter. He obviously fell asleep off and on along the way, but it was only in spurts. Come daybreak just outside of Nashville I heard his tiny voice perk up from the seat behind me, “Hey I can see now.”

It was good though, he slept well Saturday night.

Sunday however was The Day. For me anyway. Stephen and I went to the golf course to putt across the greens and later that afternoon everyone met over at my aunt’s for a Shrimpin’ Backyard Barbeque. Mack and Michelle visited and brought genuine shrimp and crawfish up from The Bayou with them. Not sure where the crab legs came from, but they rivaled anything I’d ever eaten back in New England. We had spicy sausage, succulent corn... everything. You name it they had it, either grilled, boiled or fried.

Yeah I gained some weight.

My cousin Denis was also there with several “friends” (according to his mother) for a friendly game of Backyard Whiffleball before the feast. If you were unaware, Denis is in a rock band beginning their summer tour through Spain. They’ve been in the studio working on their debut album all weekend (a follow-up to their 6 song EP) and planned the game during some downtime at his mom’s backyard. So he brought not only his band, but the sound engineers, booking agent and the producer, who he identified as “the one with the Pompeii hair.”

Spot on too.

A dozen of us sweated through seven innings before the provisions were ready. Our team won of course. Stephen helped play my third base / Left Field position while I was in the outfield, and cheered me from the “dugout” as I ran bases. It was cool. I even pegged a runner racing Home with the ball. A great game, one I’ll have to tell you about later because we’re getting to the The Label half of the title.

Early on Denis had introduced me to the crew and everyone, so it was later that I quite possibly scored the opportunity of a lifetime. I happened to be headed back into the house for a clean plate when I met the producer on his way out, Adult Beverage in hand.

J**** B. was named Nashville’s Best Rock Producer in 2005 (read that this morning). His studio's located on Music Row. Anyway, we exchanged hey’s and ended up chatting for a time there beside the doorway. Talked a little industry, bands, etc. And then in normal fashion, as if we were talking sports, I brought up our band, Elevenfold. After discussing sound and style, I queried if he was interested in any “new projects”, expecting my first run-around rejection I’d ever receive from a producer.

What’s crazy to me is this. He said he was interested. Even gave me his card, and said to call him. J actually went all the way out to his ride and then came back to delivery me the card. So I’m taking that as a positive.

I still can’t believe it. Seems surreal. So far this turned out to be one of the top memorable weekends I’ve ever experienced. J even knew where Champaign, IL was, and overall impressed a giddy musician busy trying to act cool about looking for a break.

Not sure what any of this means right now except we have some work to do. Serious work. And fast.

Oh and if you're waiting for the moral? Always carry an expendable copy of your demo in your pocket.

Just be sure to make one first.