Terry and his band were in deep doo-doo. They were attracting a following, a recording contract was in the offing, the crowds were tripling in size at every performance and "people" were beginning to talk. Their careers resembled a stairway to the stars as they rehearsed their buts off for this Saturday's most important gig yet. This could be their breakthrough. But something bad had happened--real bad. On Friday night, the lead guitarist was rushed to the hospital with appendicitis. He was their best and most important musician and he could not go on. An integral part of the band was missing and the consequences were calamitous. But this chance could not be flubbed. They had worked for so long and so hard, some way out had to be found.
In desperation, Terry put out the pleading calls for a sub to fill the void. On such short notice, the pickin's were expected to be very lean, just castoffs whom nobody wanted on the big night of the week. The dudes who could play were locked up and had been for weeks. Nobody worth anything was available. The phones were manned through the early morning hours, but to no avail.
At about noon on Saturday,Terry got a call from a drummer with whom he had worked in Vegas many months ago and stayed in touch. Drummer-boy knew a cat who, in his prime, had stepped back from the playing scene because he wanted to, of all things, write music. As brilliant as he was on the guitar, it was time for him to see where and just how far his talent could take him. His name was Skip. Terry got the contact info and wasted no time in getting on his knees to explain how desperately the band needed him.
"Listen, Skip--we're right there, just about ready to go over the edge and now this happens. I've seen you play and dig your reputation so I know you can help us. Whaddayoosay, man? I'm beggin' ya.)
Skip was completely unruffled.
"It's cool, Terry. I'll do it and we'll get through it just fine.. You'll see."
Terry now began to pant a bit. "Do you want to see our charts, Skip, and jam with us beforehand?
Skip's blood pressure stayed where it should be. "Not necessary, Terry, I'll just crash for a few hours and meet you tonight before showtime. You guys start playin' and I'll blend in and do my thing. O.K?"
There were no alternatives on the table for Terry, so he agreed and arranged to pick Skip up to insure he'd be on time.
The band walked onto the stage where they were greeted with roars of enthusiasm and slammed into their first number. A third of the way through, Skip, who had been listening intently, began to
join in and play, but it immediately became apparent that he had not signed up merely for a supporting role.
He left the lads in the dust as he played the sounds of music that made the crowd roar and dance and scream and applaud all at the same time, while he continued to augment the song to heights never before known.
When it was over and they were engulfed with yells of amazement and appreciation, Terry, with a wide-eyed look at Skip, said,"Wow! You just blew me away! What was that?"
Skip calmly replied,"Just something of my own. It fit in nicely, don't you think?"
Terry, beside himself with excitement, drooled, "Oh, Man, oh yeah."
The band broke into its second number and the same thing happened again, only more so. Skip dominated the audience as well as his fellow musicians. His music was of pedigree quality. Terry could not restrain himself.
"That was out of sight!"
Skip, ever the ultimate of cool, casually replied,"I wrote that years ago. Never gave it much thought. Just threw it in my closet with my other songs."
When this phenomenon occurred once more after the third offering, the crowd lost all aspects of self control and went vocally nuts. As the group stood there, acknowledging the over-the-top receptive reaction, a guy standing at the stage, yelled out at Skip.
"Do you know there's a hole in your pants and I can see your ball-sack?"
Skip, not missing a beat, shot back: "KNOW IT? I WROTE IT!"
One cool cat, that Skip.