The Bass Boss is a bit depressed.

The drummers defection had a delayed effect - and the loss of a mate, a place to rehearse and a great P.A. aren't small beer either. He's spent the last couple of days feeling miserable and wondering whether he ought to give up on the band and just take a bass player job with someone else.
It's understandable; but he went through all this once (and more) before. He hates being "the bass player"...that's why we call him Bass Boss. He hates doing other people's music, meeting other people's deadlines, playing other people's games.

I'm planning to leave him quietly in his funk for a few days and hope he recaptures the first fine free careless rapture of band-leadership. Running a band is a big, big job but its a satisfying job and allows you to put together the whole product.

Right now he's watching a Music Max documentary about the Beatles and restringing a 12-string. I heard less than a minute of the soundtrack but I came away with the same amazement I always get about the Beatles music - seeming-simplicity hiding clever-complexity with a clean, satisfying output...damn: I wish we could achieve that just once on our best day. In another life I'm something of a Lit-Chick and I get the same envious satisfaction from the writing style of Virginia Wolf. Even her LETTERS set my best writing efforts to shame.

So, we're in a lull. Paul Hester is dead. The pope is dying. The band ain't dead, but its got a bit of a sniffle and a temperature. I'm sending it to bed with a hot toddy. Tomorrow is another day.