So the bassist and I are talking by cell phone, both staring at Weather.com. We agree: It’s going to storm all night. We shouldn’t play out usual Thursday gig on the river (outdoors, naturally). The bassist calls the venue only for the venue to explain that they, too, were looking at the radar and everything appeared A-OK, so the band should arrive and set up as normal.
Uh … what radar are YOU looking at, Mr. Bar Owner? The one on SUPER-Weather.com?
Ugh. So the band arrives as usual and sets up the gear. It’s 9:35 and I am sound-checking my guitar. Everything sounds good; strings are in tune, etc. That’s when I notice the drummer is staring at something. I follow his stare and look down the Ohio River. Around 500 yards down the river, everything just disappears. Just nothing there. I mean, I kind of equate it to the novel The Neverending Story, and when the characters were looking at nothing – just nothing at all.
“Is that fog?” I ask.
“No man, that’s rain,” the drummer replies. “That’s the storm.”
A man from the bar runs up to the stage. “Please tell me you guys have tarps – because there is a red supercell right above us! TAKE COVER!!!” We barely had time to simply unplug everything and BAM – it hit, and it hit fast and big. Those loud raindrops. Rain coming in sideways. It came in one way, then the other way. Wind. The PA got wet. They keyboard got wet. The cords got wet. The mixer got wet. The guitars got wet. The mics were wet. Everything … just soaked. We threw up a tarp to stop rain coming in one way and the Wind Gods quickly nailed us from the other side. Absolute. Disaster.
The lead singer surveys the scene. “I say we plug in and play!” he says. The band just looks at each other.
“We’ll play the instruments if you plug everything back in,” I say.
He picks up some soaked plugs and electrical gear. “Nah, let’s just go home.”
So we did.