What Would the Setbacks Do?

Email questions to advice[at]thesetbacks.com

Guy-Think

July 6th, 2004

Anonymous writes:

Hiya Setbacks!


I have watched a few of your shows when I have been in Ottawa visiting friends and I look forward to the next time. Anyways, I noticed your advice column and I decided to give it a try with something that has been bugging me for awhile. While partying in Yorkville for New Years, I ran into a guy acquaintance-friend who I run into maybe once a month. We had a good conversation and hung out for most of the night. Then, he offered to let me crash at his place and I accepted. We fooled around a bit and then went to sleep. It was weird in the morning. He got really defensive. Now whenever I see him things are awkward. From the perspective of guys who hang out with other musicians (this guy is a blues musician), what can I do to make the situation as normal as possible? I don't want a relationship with him. I just want to get rid of the awkwardness because we do see each other quite regularly in the Toronto music scene.


Trevor		 The first thing you need to look at is the type of musician you are macking here. A blues musician. He's not looking for love, he's not even looking for a friend, he's fishing for heartbreak. All leading you on, playing you some sweet Eric Clapton love songs, but lurking just below the surface is his desire to right the saddest, bluest, dirtiest Delta blues song ever written. And he can't do that if he's riding high with The Love in his heart.

If you're looking for love, I suggest hanging out with the Luther Vandross/Barry White/Englebert Humperdink type musicians. But if you play your cards right with Robert Johnson Junior here, you can become a famous blues song. Everyone would love to be immortalized in song, even if it is for being the heartbreaker.

Just look what it did for that dude Edmund Fitzgerald.

Steve		 Boy - this is a dilly of a pickle. As a major player on the Ottawa music scene (most of the band groupies in the city can attest to that) I've had my share of females who loved me for the ol' 12 inch "rock"... if you catch my drift.

One time, after playing a killer open mic set at the Elbow Room - probably my best ever cover of Hootie's "Hold My Hand" - one particular female in the back of the bar caught my eye. I could tell by the way she was getting off during my set that she meant business and as I put away my acoustic guitar DI our eyes locked briefly and there was instant chemistry between us. I proceeded to roll up my faux leather guitar strap as she made her way to the stage. Now I'm not going to lie here, when I'm really into my open mic set I give 125% and after a solid set I have the sweat stains to prove it. This night was no exception. But luck was on my side, as this girl didn't seem the least bit intimidated by my "warrior after battle" appearance and proceeded to break the ice by asking me if I knew the chords to the Counting Crows' "Mr. Jones". I told her I did. She asked me if I could show them to her. I told her it was a relatively simple song and I'd be happy to write out the tablature for her. She gladly accepted and I made sure to also write down my name and room number at the Business Inn on the scrap of paper. Our fingers touched briefly as I handed it to her and our eyes met a second time - this time was easily twice as captivating as the first. My Gary Wright's "Dream Weaver" style trance was broken by a stabbing pain in my bladder. Yes, I remembered, those 3 pints of Strongbow I had during my 15 minute set wanted to get out... now. I hurried down to the bathroom and by the time I returned she was nowhere to be seen. I wasn't worried though, because I knew she felt the same sparks that I did and she'd be making her way up to my room shortly. I finished packing my gear, gave out a couple of demo tapes to some of the veteran open mic-ers on hand, and headed over to the Business Inn to wait for love to arrive at my doorstep.

Not five minutes after I had checked the placement of the humidor in my guitar case, there was a knock at the door. It was her. We had awesome sex for several hours and fell asleep in each other's arms. When I awoke she was gone and all that was left was what appeared to be her demo tape on the pillow of the bed. I put it in my Tascam portastudio and pressed play - it was the most beautiful rendition of "Mr. Jones" I have ever heard. Sigh.

Sorry, did you ask me something?

Paul		 Went to the bar one night.
I was lookin to fight.
Drinking sambuca and rye.
When a pretty lady caught my eye.
Talked for a while, such a pretty face.
Gettin a little randy, went back to my place.
Fooling around going well, had my mind on the goal.
Until I see on her back, a big huge mole.
I say, to be polite, "we should be cautious"
But really the mole was making me nauseous.
I boot her out of my house the next day.
Every time after that I don't know what to say.
Now she is whining about me ignoring her at all the shows.
She is lucky that I haven't told anyone about her growth.
Got the drunken-can't-take-back-that-night blues...

Chris		 Blues musicians usually are looking for heartbreak and Dear John letters, so I'm inclined to agree with Trevor here. Don't think it weird. It isn't at all. You had an opportunity to have a good time...he had an opportunity to have a good time, and we're all having a good time. If you didn't sleep with him, it's even better than it could have been in terms of the level of awkwardness. If he is acting weird....then he should get his head in check. All it was was some nookie. Some nice and fun nookie and poonani. Oh wait...you said no sex...ok...so just nookie.
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