PART 3.
Let me begin by saying: ‘NAMM is BLOODY MASSIVE’.
It really is – it’s like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, but with every musical instrument you could possibly imagine instead of plastic lollipops and fake chocolate rivers.
It’s awesome.
There were floors and floors of stuff you want to buy, even if you would never play them. I wanted to buy a banjo, violin, snare drum, endless guitars with one string, ten strings, a Uke, a harmonica, etc. etc. etc. If I’d had any money, I’d have boarded the plane home like a one-man band with a bass drum on my back, playing Duelling Banjos on a double-necked Uke, crashing two cymbals jammed between my butt cheeks. But, I didn’t have any money…
After finally coming clean to Paul that we were ‘up the creek and never mind the paddle, we haven’t even got a canoe’, he took it well. By ‘took it well’, I mean, he shouted at me for a bit, called me some names, and then he got really drunk on some orange liqueur stuff before vomiting on himself (Sorry Paul, but you and I know this is not the most embarrassing part of the weekend, so we’ll leave it at that…).
Anyway, Paul came up with a brilliant plan:
- Attend the breakfast sessions and stuff ourselves with powdered eggs, streaky bacon and flat, round sausage patties – the free breakfasts in the hotels that hosted the sessions.
- Buy a PayDay bar (for those UK readers, this is the most delicious candy bar in the world. It’s peanuts and fudge, and way superior to a Snickers. They also keep hunger at bay until 6 pm, when…
- Buy something hot from the 7-11 for a dollar, and…
- Bum alcohol, or attend parties with free alcohol.
So, on Friday evening, we had something that looked like a burrito from the 7-11 and bought a small bottle of Jaeger from a dodgy liquor store, before heading to the Big Heart Slide party. I am a huge fan of Delta Blues, so for me, this was Heaven, in a garage, in LA. Live blues, Jaeger and a few free cans (which I later found out were alcohol-free).
We were a little tipsy later on, so we headed back to the hotel with Steve (Paul’s mate). Something funny happened, but Paul (fun sponge) made me promise not to mention it (there is a video and it’s truly magic). We had a drink at the bar because Steve had bunked in our room for a few dollars, and then we all hit the hay. Yeah, we were hungry. Yeah, Friday had been crappy. But, you know what… I was in Los Angeles, surrounded by musicians and I was still pretty proud of that.
Saturday began with breakfast meetings and a full belly. On the way to the booth, we picked up the exhibition magazine – NAMM daily and had a browse through while sharing a Flat White. Right in the centre of the magazine, there was a full-page spread on Woodie’s Invisible Guitar Hanger! All of my pre-exhibition quotes, press releases, conversations with Frank… It was all there. The photos looked great and on the next page there was a spread on Woodie’s G-Band, our single and two-string capos.
I was blown away. This was it… Surely now Saturday would be the breakthrough day when Guitar Centre ordered 10,000 units and Sam Ash offered to buy the company, or Hercules came knocking to ask to licence the hanger… Surely this was the moment?
(just for the record, 13 years guys… cough, cough… ‘We don’t think you’ll last. Too gimmicky’… double cough, cough).
But, no, it wasn’t the moment. In fact, nobody came to see us all morning, even though the hall was pretty busy. Brian from St Blues Guitar Workshop kept us entertained and a visit from the guy from Canned Heat kept the spirits up, but the lack of visitors was pretty demoralising, so we decided to desert the booth and get some air while discussing running from the police.
Outside, I saw one of my heroes – Stevie Wonder – sitting in the driver’s seat of a 4×4. I made a comment about it and Paul pointed out that Stevie probably doesn’t drive his cars. Around an hour later, the revelation that steering wheels are on the opposite side of the car in the USA hit me and I had just fluffed my chance to meet an absolute legend, whose music I listen to every single day. NAMM had reached a new low for me, and I admit, I had a few tears behind a quiet bongo booth.
Miserable, hungry and not entirely convinced that Woodie’s was the wonderful invention that Scott, Colin and I had envisaged, Paul and I opened a bottle of beer at the booth (Heineken export, I believe?) and thought about shutting down for the afternoon to accept our fate (Disney bus, airport while avoiding hotel staff and police) when a moustached guy in a trucker cap suddenly began shouting at me.
“WIA,” he yelled, pointing at our booth sign. WIA was our original company name. It stands for Woodie’s Instrument Accessories, and we live on the river Wear – they’re pronounced the same… clever eh? (In Sunderland, these days everyone does this. Copycats). “WIA,” he shouted again. “Heeeeeyyyyyy, WIA.”
I was mildly concerned.
The guy can read – I thought. But maybe WIA is offensive over in the ole US of A? Maybe this guy is going to shoot me, or I’m gonna be thrown out?
However… This guy was not offended, nor was he angry and ready to kill…
This guy was about to change our fortunes at NAMM for good!