I played my last gig as a full-time professional musician on Saturday, March 7th at an art gallery in New Smyrna Beach, FL. There were no masks at the time, but the signs that something isn’t right were everywhere. Hand sanitizers in discreet corners, an unspoken reluctance to shake hands, uneasy jokes about the new Chinese flu. The show was an enormous success. We played a couple of encores, the crowd loved the mix of jazz and gypsy music my band, Swing Boutique, plays. After the gig, we received a couple of future bookings in the area - always a nice way to end a show: see the income stream continue. The whole band went to a pizza place around the corner. It was crowded and boisterous and had a weird end-times feel, as if people were eating more, and drinking more, and laughing louder because of an unnamed dread that was lurking just beyond the horizon. Or perhaps I am just projecting backwards. I do remember eating too much and feeling queasy on the drive back.
The next day, Sunday March 8th, I peeked into the Fire Restaurant, a nice joint in downtown Winter Haven, FL, for whom I acted as a booking agent, in addition to playing a Wednesday residency with my other band, the Fire Jass Trio. The place was far less busy than usual, and the owner told me that if the trend continues (we were still hopeful it would not), further bookings would be canceled. At the end of that week, starting Saturday March 14, all the gigs in my book - I was usually booked about three months in advance - started folding. By the end of the third week in March, everything was gone. People vaguely hoped we would resume in late April, perhaps in May, but no one knew, and no one really believed it.
Strangely enough, though my income had plummeted to zero (not just my gigs, but also my work as a session musician at Full Sail University in Orlando was halted), I felt a certain amount of relief. No rush to get my gear ready, no long drives to all corners of the state, no flights to Toronto where I also performed regularly, having been a presence on the Toronto jazz scene for years. My time was my own. More than that: the roads were my own! To be able to travel from where I live to Orlando in 50 minutes was great. Normally, it was a 70-minute drive at best, often way more because of Disney traffic. On the other hand, there was nothing to do in Orlando but to visit family, walk our dog who lives with my stepdaughter much of the time, and drive back. The days dragged on. Shopping for groceries was the highlight of the day. Of course, in those very first days, we wiped off grocery bags with rubbing alcohol and generally behaved like manic hypochondriacs. By mid-April, it was obvious that something was badly, badly wrong. Wouldn’t I know scores of people falling ill in a deadly pandemic? I knew absolutely nobody who got Covid until October 2020, and then only a couple of friends of friends. Florida hospitals were never overwhelmed. No one wore a mask in those early days but of course, the MSM and social networks kept broadcasting wave after wave of overpowering doom. One thing I couldn’t understand was the sway President Trump seemed to be under. It was as if those two obvious grifters, Fauci and Birk had hypnotized him. I was sure that he would put his foot down and re-open the economy come hell or high water. But he did not. It was the one and only time I witnessed Trump blink. We had already seen things were odd and incongruent with what the TV tried to convince us was reality, but Trump’s surrender put a final stamp on it. I remembered Fauci form the days of the AIDS panic in the late 80’s and I knew that if he was allowed to steer this vessel, a shipwreck was inevitable.
May through October 2020 were the saddest days. Work was not coming back, that much was obvious. I kept getting calls from Full Sail – we will re-open, perhaps in June, perhaps in July, perhaps in August. By August I would not have gone even if they had re-opened. By then, everything was contingent on masks and distancing and the outside world had become disgusting to me. I wanted no part of it. I discovered amazing scientists, doctors, attorneys, and other professionals who saw through the Pfize-scam and started spending an inordinate amount of time on Twitter. It was time well spent. I learned a lot and made tons of new friends, some of whom I have now met in person and talked on the phone with many times. Just as well, because most of my old friends, some of them life-long, were no longer on speaking terms with me. I was now a conspiracist, an idiot, hoodwinked by fake science. As far as the world was concerned, America’s Doctor, Tony Fauci, was the only human with a valid prescription for this new disease. But of course, if you happen to know that the new disease is not Covid but rather mass hysteria, Fauci would be the last person to trust (he’s the last person to trust for ANY disease, but, as they say, “it is what it is”)
Some gigs started to come back by December 2020, but I had changed. I was no longer “George, the guitar player/singer/composer/producer”, my persona for many decades. I am still not him and probably never will be again. I play the occasional gig now, but my heart is not in it. I love practicing, composing, and writing. Not much money in it yet. Perhaps one day there will be. But even if there isn’t - I’m 68 now, and Covid was just the push I needed to retire. I had never admitted it to myself before but the long nights, the night driving, the delayed flights, the three hour shows…they had become exceedingly tiring. I simply could not admit it to myself because - even though I have a graduate degree in linguistics - I have always been a working musician.
There are millions like me, I imagine. I have the advantage of living in a mortgage free house, having two grown daughters who are, thank God, financially independent, a lovely wife who takes care of the house and caters to my needs, the spoiled lazy brat that I am, cooking fantastic meals and keeping the house spotless and beautiful. She is also an artist – an added bonus! I still have a few students and enjoy teaching more than I ever have. I started writing my memoir…it’s a real slog but I’m hoping to have it ready by mid-2022 – fingers crossed.
In one way or another we must all transition. 2019 is never coming back. I’m happy to give up flying, not just because of the tyrannical mandates. I cannot stand to have a mask on my face, and I get nauseous and panicky when I see other masked people. No one can force me into an unwanted “jab and I don’t need to drive long distances. Everything I need is within 3 miles of my house: supermarket, a couple of nice coffee shops, a great library and superb dog walks, not to mention the 16 lakes in this city.
I will continue to fight for liberty in any way I can. I do it mostly by writing and by confronting people who are deaf to the truth. I realize it’s a tiny little contribution. I’m not clutching a pistol and standing on a barricade - though I’ll happily do it if called for - but I will defend liberty, reason, science, and our western liberal way of life as long as I live. Our government’s cowardly and stupid handling of the pandemic has been brutal in terms of lost liberties. Yet this odd time has also opened new opportunities for me, afforded me new friendship and fresh knowledge. Oh, and I became an American citizen in August. A lifelong dream come true.
The transition isn’t easy. But please fight on. TRUTH SHALL PREVAIL
(pictured is Jan Hus, aka John Huss, the 15th century Czech philosopher and church reformer, whose last words, as he was being burned at the stake, were “Truth Shall Prevail”)
Every single word you wrote (except the retirement bit!) resonates so much with me George. I feel exactly the same as you. The same about masks....the same about the whole thing. My life as a live performer is over, for the foreseeable future. I will not participate in the farce. Thank you for these words, it helped enormously to know that another musician feels as I do. Kind regards, Caitlin