I have a couple of stories to tell about singing in bars.

The band decided to go out for a beer, or two, after the show. So, not knowing our way around the town, and where the good places were, we asked the promoter who was local where we could go. She thought awhile, and finally said that there was a place out on the highway called the Bunkhouse. Well, we found it all right. It was one of those classic roadhouses made of cinderblock and hardly a window in it. Pickup tricks with gunracks were parked outside. I said "Well guys, tuck your hair up under your hats. They kick hippies' asses and raise hell in here."

We went inside and found the gunfighter's table. That's the one way in the back against the corner, away from the doors so you can watch everyone in the bar, and no one can sneak up on you.

We ordered up whatever was on tap and began to laugh and enjoy ourselves. Soon enough we were singing some sea chanteys and having ourselves a little party in the corner. We figured that no one could possibly hear us over the jukebox.

But we figured wrong. Just then the jukebox went quiet and this large presence loomed over our heads. "What are you guys, some kind of band?" demanded the Large Presence.

Says I in my most polite midwestern manner "Yes Sir, we are."

Large Presence then said "Well why don't you fellas go out and get your instruments and play and sing us a few numbers. And I'll buy you your beer and turn off the jukebox too." So we did. Had a pretty good time, too.

The next time we found ourselves in a bar we were the locals. We were in our favorite local microbrewery and started singing the same ol' sea chanteys. The waiter came up and said that he'd buy us all a round if we'd sing to the crowd. I think he did that to shut us up. Little did he know! We sang, and the house bought us a round.

Any of you from accross the pond want to emigrate, I suppose we could find a way to get you over here. Jim