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the band I joined earlier this year, was booked a while back to play in front of Les Maronniers, a large and well situated café/brasserie near the River Marne at Gournay-sur-Marne.
The day is described below.
Spent the morning pottering about, as one does, preparing various items of clothing and equipment, practising a particularly tricky organ part for the 200th time and generally trying not to be the victim of a freak morning-before-gig accident.
2 pm load up from home for 2.30 departure leaving plenty of time to meet the other band members at our rehearsal studio at 3. I have pretty good procedures and checklists but at the back of your mind, there is always that thought “Did I bring my keyboard” or whatever. In any case, there is always something missing – you just have to hope that someone else in the band will have a spare (unless it’s stage trousers that have been left behind!)
Each of us fills about half a car with our personal gear, while all the really big stuff travels in our mid-sized back-windowless white van. We haven’t got round to painting ‘Flashback’ on the side yet, but my co-band members are so well organised that it would not surprise me if that happened one day.
This is the sight that greeted us on arrival.
OK, without our rhythm guitar player, singer and front man celebrating like he'd just scored a goal...
A huge open-air stage, complete with waterproof roof. This raises our spirits greatly (not that they were down in the first place) particularly since we had played our previous gig in a broom cupboard of a bar roughly the size and shape of a railway carriage.
With so much space to play with, and great vehicle access right up to the stage, unloading and setting up is no hassle at all. If you were wondering, roadies really earn their money. P.A. gear is heavy and does not take readily to being moved around.
We are lucky enough to have our own expert and ressourceful sound engineer who accompanies us on gigs and he ensures that everything is placed exactly where it should be before the power even gets switched on.
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When we can, we replicate the configuration we always have at the rehearsal studio as this is what we are familiar with. I don’t get to see the lead guitar player much (he’s way over the other end of the stage) but we can sort of communicate enough through nods and waves.
Soon my work station is ready for action.
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After many gigs of not actually hearing what I was doing, I now have my very own local monitoring system a few metres behind me. I run the ‘phones out’ line of my keyboard into this together with a split from my mic line, made possible by a neat little gadget (one of the many). Although, of course, we are well covered with stage monitors (4 floor wedges in this case) I find there is no substitute for having this local and personal monitor. It doesn’t make me play any better, but at least I get to hear the mistakes!
Anyway, for the 3rd time, our sound engineer reassures me that the local amp does not affect the front of house output at all and none of the others seem to mind, so I’m happy.
The key difference between having a professional sound engineer and not having one is at the time of the sound check. Without one, it’s guesswork at best but more often simply competition as to who can put his stuff up the loudest without anyone complaining.
Our sound check – as usual – is like a military exercise and if you play as much as one note when its not your turn you get a look equivalent to 10k volts from C, our engineer. But you can’t amble off in search of a coffee either as your name can be called at any time.
We run through a couple of songs and everyone seems happy, so its power off and break time as we settle down for a light meal courtesy of our hosts. I impress my fellow band members with the ultimate accessory – a sleek, black elastic keyboard cover which really looks amazingly pro.
The waiters and waitresses say they will keep an eye on our equipment while we are away, but we take it in turns to make regular patrols anyway and I try to keep the stage in my line of vision.
We change in a broom cupboard (2 at a time, for obvious reasons) and its showtime.
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My wife and son arrive and, fearing a drop in temperature once the sun goes down, position themselves strategically inside the café but with a good view of the stage.
I am eternally grateful to my wife not only for the splendid photos on this post, which are her work, but also for her patience and moral support.
First thing I notice is that there are not many empty tables on the terrace. This is more due to the fact that it’s a nice sunny evening and the café’s great location than to our reputation. But it’s encouraging none the less.
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We play less well than we do at rehearsal, but without any major disasters.
As our repertoire consists of pop hits, the songs go by quickly. There is barely time to find the right settings on the board between numbers and I’m thankful now for the hours we have spent rehearsing as a result of which I can play most bits of most songs without having to think.
The audience seems appreciative, although no one is applauding wildly or dancing – but then again, we’re not really that kind of band.
C checks up on us regularly, making sure we are all happy with what we hear on stage. He tells us that the front of house sound is fine in the main and gives me a mild ticking off for adjusting my volumes too much during the songs. He is in a much better position to do this. In fact, its why he’s there!
I find myself trapped in a one-sided conversation with a member of the audience keen to relate how he was in the front row of the Stones 1967 concert in Paris …(there’s one at every gig. The band may change but the story remains essentially the same).
There is just about time for a lemonade and we are back on stage to complete our set – with a more varied mix of covers and a couple of original songs as night falls.
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I make more mistakes than in the first half, particularly towards the end of the set when, for some strange reason, the stage gets overrun with 4-5 year olds who appear to be playing some form of hide and seek.
I wave goodbye to my wife and son who are leaving before the traffic gets too bad!
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We end with our regular show stopper, Van Morrison’s simple but organic stomper, Gloria and that is that. These things are quite strictly controlled with local regulations needing to be complied with, so come 11 pm its power down and reverse the setup/unload process of earlier in the afternoon.
We watch the drunks stumble away from the café and into their cars (fortunately we will not be on the road for a good hour) as we disassemble and pack up our gear. C gives a master class in the correct technique for handling and coiling cables. Mains leads, stands and plectrum are returned to their original owners wherever possible.
General opinion is that we have played ok and that both our host and the audience were pleased by events. We picked up a serious contact for future concerts sometime during the second half of the show despite the oversight of not having left printed cards on all the tables (these exist but had inexplicably not been brought to the gig)
Once everything is safely stowed away we stop for a quick drink before heading off for the final unload at the studio (those speakers do not get any lighter) and if anyone has made it home to bed before 2 am then they are doing well.
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