Roxy & Elsewhere

I don't have a lot of recurring dreams. There are repeated themes that seem to pop up once in a while, but by and large my midnight adventures are usually new and different every time. But every now and then this one dream comes back into focus, and I don't really know what to make of it.

I'm at a club. The name of the place is never clear, but it's always crowded and smoky. People milling about, stage lights set to half power -- your standard pre-concert scene. I'm there, hanging out. Sometimes I'm talking to the sound guys, sometimes I'm at the bar chatting up the cute bartenders --
When I suddenly realize that Frank Zappa is standing there next to me.
Now first off, I'm a huge fan. I'm not quite as psycho about it as I used to be, but there was a point where pretty much everything I listened to was Zappa-related to some degree. I find his music is unique, esoteric, and challenging -- not only from a technical standpoint, but as a listener. Discovering, learning to appreciate, and then spending countless hours trying to imitate, emulate, and incorporate his compositions into my own style marked an enormous growing point for me as a musician, and I tend to think a part of his sardonic worldview rubbed off on me as well (which isn't a bad thing).

All of which should be swirling through my head once I realize the dude is right there next to me, but in the dream doesn't register the way it probably would have if the opportunity had ever presented itself. In the dream it's a nod, a handshake, and oddly enough -- casual conversation about nothing in particular. There's plenty of time before the show, so talking at the bar turns into "come join us at the table," where I find myself sitting next to people like George Duke, Steve Vai, Terry Bozzio, Ruth Underwood, Mike Keneally, Ike Willis, the Fowler Brothers -- all those people. Like some real life version of Picasso at the Lapin Agile, except with marimba players.
And we're just, you know ..hanging out.
Stories are traded, I even get a few laughs out of Frank. We're talking music, I confess to being a big fan, but by that point it's all good. I've got a few drinks in me, so maybe I start bragging a little bit, but not to the point of making an ass out of myself. Everyone's laughing and having a good time when all of the sudden one of the sound techs comes up and lets everybody know that it's five minutes to show time. Everybody gets up, pats me on the back, shakes hands and apologizes for having to leave, and then heads up on stage.

I make my way into the crowd and find a spot near the stage. I never had the chance to see Frank Zappa perform before he passed away, but I own enough recordings of him in concert to know that I'm gonna be in for a great show.

The lights come up, people start cheering, and a couple of band members start setting things up and making sure they're in tune, when the same sound tech from the table shows up and asks me if I could come backstage. Of course I say yes -- and I head back there to find Frank talking to the monitor guy about something or other. Once he notices I'm there his face lights up, he puts his arm around my shoulder, and says:
"Hey why don't you sit in with us tonight?"
Floored, I stammer some sort of response like, "What!?"
C'mon -- it'll be fun. You can use one of Steve's guitars."
Sometimes the scenario's a little different. Sometimes the guitar player in his band couldn't make it to the gig for whatever reason, sometimes Frank's jamming with a group of music students who are frustrating him because they aren't playing the songs right, and finally in a vent of frustration he points at me and says, "Hey Dan -- get up here and show them how it's supposed to sound."

All the while, unbeknownst to Frank -- I've gone from mildly buzzed to instantly sober as the sudden realization comes crashing through the haze like a wave hitting some unsuspecting sandcastle on the shore
I don't know how to play half of this guy's stuff.
Like I said, his music is technically dense -- filled with split second changes and all sorts of rhythms and odd time signatures. I'm a pretty decent guitar player, and there are a number of Zappa songs I can play the hell out of -- but there is a whole other list (including some of his most popular stuff) that are just a bear to tackle -- songs that after years and years of practice I still can't quite get all the way through without having to stop, slow down, or fake.
Or to put it another way -- Me playing Inca Roads (even on a good day) sounds like some first year little kid with a violin trying to play anything on the last 5 pages from a Suzuki Method workbook.
My heart's in the right place, but the song is just frikkin' hard.
But there's this look in Frank's eye. This sort of gleam of excitement you get when you know something cool's just about to happen. I try to put excuses about being out of practice, but he shrugs it off and tells me to just keep my eyes on his hands, and he'll walk me through any changes I don't know.

It's like I've talked myself into this situation that I'm not really prepared for. Like I've earned someone's trust and confidence to the point where maybe they think I'm capable of a lot more than I actually am. It's like I've finally been given a true chance to shine -- a spot on the stage, an open look at the basket with seconds to go on the clock, a quiet bookstore standing a foot away from a pretty girl -- like I'm one question away from all the money on Jeopardy! and the category is "Things Dan said he was good at for $1,000"

But worst of all is the part of the dream where I actually walk on stage with a guitar strapped to my back, still not sure how I'm gonna make it through this whole thing without embarrassing myself, but above all -- trying to figure out how I can do this without somehow letting Frank down. Because that would be the worst fate of all. Having someone's confidence in me shattered, their belief in my superpowers all kryptonited away in one fell swoop.

The music starts up, and it's one of my absolute favorite (yet incredibly difficult to play) Zappa songs -- Echidna's Arf (Of You). It vamps for a few bars, just like it does every time I try to play along with the album -- and just as those rapid fire light speed arpeggios are about to kick in I wake up like a shot, wondering what the hell I'm gonna do.

I'm sure there are a lot of messages to be read in there, but the dream recurs at such odd intervals that I can't always understand what it's trying to tell me. It's not like I always have the dream just before I'm about to embark on something that I'm not fully prepared for. Sometimes it just shows up.

It makes me feel like there are things I should be doing with my life that I’m not giving enough focus to. Like there are chances I should be taking, skills I should be honing, places I should be going that I’m not.

I don’t like that feeling. I don’t like what wondering about it does to me. I get all wistful for the shoulda coulda wouldas, get frustrated with the things I do have that aren’t where I thought I was going to be at this point. I mean, it’s ok to want more from your life – but not at the cost of the blessings that you already have, you know?

I want to be good at things. I want to be the one who takes that last shot with the clock ticking down. But for way too long in my life I've wasted far too much time worrying that when Frank finishes singing "Or was it, something different.."
I won't know how to shine.
[Listening to: Nine Inch Nails, "Into the Void"]

Comments