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Hours before my SFJAZZ performance at the Great American Music Hall in San Francisco, the stage manager calls and tells me the show might be cancelled. Finally, my big headlining show for SFJAZZ — a sold out show — and it might be cancelled.



Two big transformers had exploded underneath the city. From my Nob Hill apartment I could vaguely see smoke near City Hall. I call the band and tell them the situation. Just be there an hour later, I decide.

Instead of preparing for the concert, I fidget around the house and think frantically about what all this means. If the show is cancelled I probably won’t get a cancellation fee because this is something covered under the "Acts of God" clause. What that means for people not familiar with the business is if something happens that is not under the producer’s control, he is not liable. My husband finds this bit information curious and starts to quiz me.

"Well, what if it was an out door concert and it rained?"

I tell him that that is not covered under the clause because for an outdoor event it is reasonable to expect rain and so the producer is supposed to take precautions such as procuring tents. Tsunamis, bombs or exploding transformers, however, are not to be expected.

Of course SFJAZZ would reschedule the concert, but I had already not booked myself for concerts anywhere near that date at their behest. I was counting on this one concert to be my bread and butter for that month. The rescheduled date probably wouldn’t be for a month or two. I had just purchased a bunch of CDs that I might not be able to sell tonight. I had also flown out guitarist Greg Skaff for the concert. He would lose out on the gigs in New York that he turned down, and I would be out the cost of a plane ticket. I would have to fly him out again. My head begins hurting.

Finally, we arrive at the Great American. The street is blocked off and there are police and PG&E crews everywhere. The entire building is dark, so we can’t wait inside or do a sound check. Greg drops off his guitar, Michael Zisman drops of his bass, and we go back outside to wait.

Naomi Murdach, the owner of Naomi’s antiques, is sitting with a small entourage right in front of the GAMH. Naomi catches about 8-10 jazz or cabaret shows per month and he knows there is cabaret seating at GAMH so he has arrived early to get a good seat.

Curiously, the lights are working at the Mitchell Brothers theater right next door. It turns out they have their own generator. If the city ever goes completely black again I will remember that so I can recharge my laptop.

The hours seem like days, but finally with a big applause the power comes back on. There is not a moment to spare. It is time for the doors to open already and only the most perfunctory sound check is possible before we have to get off the stage as the audience flows in.

Throughout it all, the GAMH staff remains cheerful and optimistic. Most of the audience don’t know how close we came to not having a show that night. I even run into the woman who sat next to me on the plane on the way to New York and wow! she is the one that looks different. On the plane she looked like a young girl; with heels and makeup she looks like a Amazonian vixen.

Hats of to SFJAZZ, the cheerful and efficient staff of the GAMH and the guys working for PG&E! It's showtime!