On Friday, as a bachelor's party for the other guitarist in my band from college, the band got back together to play a concert in the park and record some live tracks for an upcoming album.

Now, there are a few problems with this. First, the groom (the other guitarist) couldn't make it, so calling it a bachelor's party is a bit of a stretch. Second, the concert in the park consisted of hauling our equipment out to Mt. Tabor Park in Portland, setting up, and playing while hoping that no Persons In Authority decided that we not AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL. Third, the songs that we wanted to exist were firmly lodged in the minds of their authors (including myself), and resisting all efforts to bring them forth.

Oh yeah, and when I got there, there was no sign of anybody else, and cellphone contact revealed that they were all at least an hour away from arriving.

There I was, sitting in the living rock of the exinct volcanic crater that is Mt. Tabor. So I did what any polite and humble guitarist would do: I set up my gear on stage and proceeded to put on a solo show, just me, two guitars, an amp, and a bagful of smaller bits. Heh. It was OK. (As one of the guys in the band later remarked, sort of like Pink Floyd playing Pompeii, only without the creativity or talent.) A few people peeked over a wall at me, trying to figure out what was going on, but I basically had an audience of zero. On the upside, nobody drunkenly yelled out "FREEBIRD!!! PLAY FREEBIRD!!!"

Eventually, the rest of the band showed up, and we banged out some songs. I got the basic idea of the two songs I wrote out on tape, though I managed to completely bollix the guitar parts. Whatever. Then my electric guitar developed a ground fault in the output jack, so I had to finish the set on acoustic.

All in all, I had a great time, even though I think I was so excited to be playing with a band again that I acted like the Olympic bronze medalist in attention-whoring.

...Is the thrill that'll get you when you get your picture
On the cover of the Rolling Stone