I was at a live music show. I think we were watching Reverend Horton Heat, and this fellow local bass player came ripping up to me. “You know what, Eve?” he was acting like he was mad, but he wasn’t; he was just full of energy. “I could not wait to jam with the legendary (a drummer I used to work with).”
I raised my eyebrows, gesturing that he ought to continue. “Ah, yes, good dude”
“Yeah, he’s a good dude, totally fun, but holy shit is he ever difficult to play with! His tempo is all over the place!”
“Oh yeah, he kinda lets that get away from him sometimes,” I laughed and clinked my glass against his.
“Nah nah nah, do not shrug this off!” He bellowed, “This is not the first time this has happened,” he continued. “You make people look better than they are. You sacrifice your playing so that others look better. So fuck you, you legend. No one knows it’s you, but I do, I’m on to you!”
I thought that was pretty funny. Some young, punkish kinda lad who was fake-furious at the old-lady bass player but gave me a pretty sweet compliment.
Eve Di Potenza 
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