NP: Bill Bruford's Earthworks, Earthworks

Always be worried when musicians call you before noon. Yesterday, it was Tony, to inform me that Fado had apparently double-booked the evening, and we weren't playing after all.

Of course, I'd figure that a good chunk of our e-mail list involves work addresses, and it was Saturday, but I sent out the retraction anyway. Given that we weren't actually playing, it stands to reason that the pre-show reaction had been abnormally positive. My normally bar-averse roommate was actually planning to come out to the show, along with some co-workers who had never seen me play before, and a smattering of friends who had expressed interest.

I went down to the bar anyway, just in case anyone didn't get the message, but if anybody I knew was there -- save that one guy who recognizes me from Fire games and would seem to be stalking me if it weren't equally likely that he just goes to a lot of Irish bars -- they didn't make themselves apparent.

Obviously, this wasn't my fault, but I fought during the day with various amounts of responsibility toward my friends, in particular. I don't like letting people down, regardless of the circumstances, so the fact that I'm the guy telling them to come out and then I'm also telling them it's not happening makes me feel at least transiently crappy about it.

The irony of the whole situation, though, is that now noone is going to believe me the next time we're playing Fado. Not just because I didn't get it right the last time, but the date of that gig just happens to be April 1st.