FOR A FEW DOLLARS MORE: I AM A BOUNTY HUNTER

 

I am a bona fide bounty hunter.  And I have the Clint Eastwood bounty hunter creds.  At thirteen years of age I was shot off a horse while riding over a bridge on the Notekeu Creek, one mile south of Vanguard, Saskatchewan.  At 15 years of age I rode across 26 sections of Turkey Track Ranch to meet a girl at a rodeo in Herbert, Saskatchewan.

Yes.  I am a bona fide bounty hunter.  A bounty hunter is a private agent working for bail bonds who captures criminals for a commission or bounty.  I am a private agent; I am a guitar-slinger on hire for the BUSHWAKKER BREWPUB, Regina, Saskatchewan. 

I am a bounty hunter.  But I do not carry a gun – I carry a guitar.  As for the criminality in my profession, I deem it only criminal if the quarry that I seek never gets the chance to play on the Bushwakker stage.  I deem, too, be it criminal for the Brewster-drinking public never to see, never mind applause any such raw singer-songwriter talents.  

Factoid:  The art of the capture is a win, win, win situation.  The first win is the Bushwakker stage gives opportunity for fresh singer-songwriters to grab their fifteen minutes of fame.  The second win is that a live audience has the opportunity share the experience, even offer applause for the performance.  And the third win is for me, for a few dollars more than just a bounty of beer.

I am on the hunt day and night.  During the daytime I scour the streets searching for guitar-slinging gritty buskers who front the bars and liquor stores.  At night I stakeout the open mics in the downtown taverns.

It takes a busker to hunt a busker.  Whenever I venture into the buskerlands, I comport a shock of hair messy, don a white tight t-shirt and a pair of faded blue jeans, and trod about in heavy leather work boots.  (I dare not present as priggish, prim, or prissy, for that would only hinder any attempts to interpenetrate the quarry that I hunt.)

Quite unlike those duster bounty hunters on television who ride into Dodge City or Tombstone or Santa Fe or Deadwood on their Appaloosa and Arabian horses, I am the pale rider of an Acura RDX having 272 horses under the hood.

For my profession, my skill set needs to be impressive, and it is! My curriculum vitae boasts extraordinary investigative skills (I was a university professor for 22 years leaving no question with regard to my research proficiency), Brobdingnagian communication skills (university degrees in English Literature and Psychology), and whopping self-defence skills (martial arts training in Karate, Tai Chi, and Muay Thai).   

Over the years I have captured the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Fortunately, most of my successes have proven more than their worth, whereas the bad and the ugly comprise only counter-patterns. Knock on rosewood – so far so good.

Here are some thumbnail sketches of the guitar-slingers that I last captured.  These singer-songwriters, in particular, really personify the type of bounty I am seeking for that on-stage aplomb.

Top row left to right:

CORI, who I collared by happenchance whilst picking up my bounty from the Bushwakker Brewpub one fine evening, is the perfect blend of Joni Mitchell and Mary Travers. (I grew up in the ‘60s and so speak with authority when I make the comparison!)

Next to Cori is moi.  Though my thrumming skills can best be described as adequate, and so too my basso profundo vocals. My only calling card is the quality of my song writing. 

NATHAN responded to my note that I posted at B-Sharp: “If you are a singer-songwriter wanting free beers and extra cash, please Neil at (306) 591-7131.”  Nathan is a professional musician with at least three new releases to his credit.  

Bottom row left to right:

TRENT is a guitar virtuoso.  Trent is a super talent on whose coattails I have ridden for, literally, hundreds of gigs.

ALBERT is the quintessential busker.  Albert, with uncanny musical ability, channels ‘40s legends, such as Lead Belly, during every performance.  I snatched up Albert while he was busking with his dobro in front of a downtown liquor store.

JOHN was a jackpot win. This multi-talent instrumentalist, guitar, flute, and keyboard player was referred to me by Albert on a plea deal.

CECIL continues that time-honoured folk tradition of writing and singing protest songs.  Cecil was plucked from a community service open mic night.

Like most trades, being a bounty hunter has both lagniappes and liabilities.  I will mention first, the fame and fortune lagniappes:

Having performed 50+ folk gigs, I have become a known regular strummer at the Bushwakker Brewpub. I regard this recognition as fame.  And my bounty for having performed 50+ folk gigs on the Bushwakker stage, I have imbibed endless pints of free beer, and boodles upon boodles of bucks.  I regard these consumptions of beer and money as fortune.

And now for the laborious liabilities:  As a bona fide bounty hunter, I make it a daily regimen to do downtown walkabouts.  Whenever I happen upon a guitar busker strumming unfamiliar songs, I stop and listen.  If I like what I hear, and the songs are originals, and if the busker is neither smarmy nor in need of lavation, I snare that busker for the Bushwakker stage. 

And why would this be a liability, one may wonder.

Factoid:  I would much prefer a walk or run around Wascana Lake, or better yet, a hike in the country.  Singer-songwriter buskers are not commonplace, and to uncover these outliers, I need to be always on the hunt, need to be always at work.  Such toil!  And so arduous!    

Another liability is when I must sit at a barstool and sip bourbons for evenings on end at downtown open mic nights.

Factoid:  I stay the entire performances to make sure I listen to all the players, most of whom are not singer-songwriters.  And I also make a practice of focusing on the quirks and quiddities of all those that I like, culling who are worth the capture for the bigger stage at Bushwakkers.

To close, I am always hunting for that million-dollar baby to collect more than just a fistful of dollars.  And until I apprehend such a prize, shall I ever be unforgiven.