When I was the drummer in a neighborhood band called ‘The Limited Edition Blues Band’ we played at nice places, crappy places and unique places. The most unique place was a biker bar near a trailer park in a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio. It was a warm Saturday late afternoon when two of our band members arrived earlier than the remaining other four members to set up equipment. The first thing they saw was a man slapping a woman in the face in the parking lot. Then when they walked in and introduced themselves, they noticed hardcore pornography on the two televisions on each end of the bar. Most bars have sports games playing on those TV’s but not here; hard-core skin flicks!
I arrived at the bar about an hour and a half before show time and met our lead singer and harmonica player, Warren. Warren was about 6’3″, 235 lbs. and street smart so when the first thing he said to me was, “Hey man, do you have your gun with you?”—I got concerned. Now, I was a full-time cop and part-time drummer so I had the right to carry an off duty gun (this was before the concealed carry laws of today) but I never brought a gun to our gigs, what for, we were making music not war. When I told him that I didn’t have my gun he said he didn’t have his either but he wished he would have brought it. Warren was a manager for a large printing company and had no license to carry a gun, so I said, “Your gun . . . what are you doin carrying a gun?” He said, “Don’t ask man, but listen to this.” He went on and said there was a domestic dispute and assault in the parking lot, hardcore porn playing on the TV’s and more bad looking characters who looked like they eat metal for breakfast than he’s ever seen. And he also said, “And there ain’t one black guy anywhere in the place.” Warren was African American.
We decided there were two options that we had. Play or get out. But we were all set up, so how could we just start tearing down and leave. If we would have done that, I could see another assault occurring–on us! So we decided to play. One calm member, Ed, who had a rose colored view of most things band-wise said, “Hey guys, let’s just play and I’m sure everything will be just fine.” I don’t think anyone believed him but we all wanted to. We had no choice, we had to play.
As I sat down behind my huge drum set a guy with more wild tattoos on his chest and arms than most lifers in prison have, walked up to us and paused for a second as he eyeballed us and said, “You guys better be good” and walked away. Usually, I would have said something to such a snide remark no matter who it was from, but thankfully, we were a team here and I was the farthest back, sitting behind the drums, so I just went with the band’s flow, which was dead silence. After the guy walked away, Warren said something quite simple and short, but profound. In fact, it is a lesson in motivation and success to this day. He was the front man, the lead singer and harmonica player so he stood out in front of us all. A second before we were going to start playing he turned back towards us all and simply said the words that I’ll never forget. “I don’t know about you fellas, but I’m going to play my BEST tonight!” It hit home, he motivated us all. He was saying, we are in deep crap if we don’t play fantastic tonight and now is the time to shine, not to try to be good mind you, but to shine like a diamond. And guess what? We never played better. We could have opened for any national blues band and we really weren’t that good of a band. But his words did it. Simply . . . let’s play the best that our human bodies could muster. And guess what? When we were done for the night that same bad-ass looking guy who told us that we’d better be good, came up and said, “You guys are the best band we ever had in here.” We smiled and thanked him trying to hurry and get out while the getting was good! I learned about motivation that night. There isn’t much better motivation than a major butt-whooping waiting in the wings if you fail.
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