Every game's got its own rules, some obvious, others that you can only learn by playing. Dreaming is a dynamite game for singles (doubles are a real trip), but even in never-maybe land rules abound.

Let's suppose that your own little dream of wealth, glory and early retirement into a very chic "laid-back" community of already successful impostors has driven you this far. You want it so bad you'll do anything, even read, if it will help you figure out an angle on how to catch The Big One, and you know what I'm talking 'bout. A recording contract? Local Stardom? Nay, Legend!! Immortality!! Good Credit!!!

Now if that's your game, listen up; you may not have to go back to hairdressing school after all. Here are some simple rules that will make you a fortune. To wit:

Rule Number One: ALL GOOD COWBOYS HAVE HEALTHY HORSES. In this instance, the instrument you play is your steed, and if you feed and water it (see "Life on the Pampas", Nat'l Geo. Vol XXXIV, Mar. '46), it'll get you across the river before the sun goes down. However, if you ride it hard and put it up wet, the instrument will begin to suffer and eventually play out. Kaput. O.D. If you are already big news west of the Pecos and have the oats to feed a stable of abused horses, great; waste your money. But on the other hand, if you are just another trail hand lookin' for work, your tools must be in good order. And preferably paid for.

Rule Number Two: A GOOD COWBOY KNOWS THE TRAIL. The trail being, of course, the long and winding path of the pawn shop where you bought your first guitar to the concert stage or studio where you make an indelible impression on the sallow face of rock 'n' roll. Obstacles and calamities which present themselves to you on a daily basis as you meander up the trail to cash in on your chops will include things like insubordinate amplifiers that insist on blowing speakers only on the gig, never at practice, wayward accessories that have a bad habit of walking away overnight, renegade guitar strings that won't stay in tune, irate fellow musicians who complain that your new eight-inch spiked heel platform shoes make them feel conspicuous onstage, a suspicious girlfriend who refuses to believe that you really spend that much time with the boys and, of course, a bewildered mother who can't understand why you quit that good job on the night shift at Firestone. None of these are insurmountable problems, yet the aspiring musician often finds himself confused and shaken by the constant barrage of advice, criticism and just plain bull shit that accompanies every product, every recording, every concert and every move he makes under the bare bulb of public scrutiny.

Herein lies the real test of musicians: endurance and perseverance in the face of impending poverty. Those of you with anything less than fanatical devotion may fall prey to the most devastating mental abberation in the west, frustration. It's the sort of feeling that can pull you down and hold you there if you give in to it. But by keeping in mind a clear idea of your destination, and by being prepared in advance for adversity, you can hurdle, side step, shuffle and otherwise navigate your way around all the obnoxious club owners, critics and greedy promoters you'll inevitably run into on your way up the charts. Speaking of the charts, gettingon them is the sort of backroom politics that makes a lot of people uneasy, but it shouldn't. True, there's many an ornery sidewinder in this business with a smile on his face and larceny in his heart, but many musicians tend to take an attitude of disgust toward the top 40 music machine which, although it may be appropriate from the critics' point of view, only hinders a musician who refuses to accept it and work within the framework of syndicated programming. Too many good musicians burn themselves out trying to play original material to crowds that will only accept what they know is cool, that is, music they've already heard. There's no sense in breaking your back trying to do your own music unless you've had access to recording and promotional facilities which will package and promote your music. Then you can offer your original material up for public consumption. If you do not have a record out, no amount of talking is going to convince a club owner to book your band on the strength of your originals. After you've made the deal with the record people, then you go out on the trail to promote your product by reinforcing what your audience has already heard on the jukebox and hope it sounds as good live as it does on record.

Rule Number Three: ALL GOOD COWBOYS KNOW HOW TO PLAY POKER. You are betting against the house when you go into a club to play. Your biggest enemy is, of course, the Jukebox, that shiny coin-op roulette wheel over in the corner that incessantly spews forth the sounds of the studio into the atmosphere you are trying to control as a musician. The average person (if he exists) in the audience does not know why the guitar tracks that come 'round on the Juke sound the way they do, he only knows that his favorite current tune sounds better on record than your live rendition.

If you go into a club as a serious no-nonsense stud poker expert, some wildcard is inevitably going to come up and beat you. On the other hand, if you are flexible enough to accomodate a listener's request for something other than your favorite "type" of music, you will win in the end. It's no great loss of integrity to play a country tune or disco, or an old rock and roll standard rather than the heavy new material you spent three months working on. You are there to entertain, and it is in many cases just a matter of outsmarting the house by assuming a different pose for three or four minutes. This is bluffing, yes, but it is also called acting, and it is as much (if not more) a part of succeeding in this here show biz than the notes, you play.

Rule Number Four: A GOOD COWBOY ALWAYS TIPS HIS HAT. When your style is sufficiently evolved to the point that you are considered an artist (a dangerous word), you then have license to be moody, introverted, hooked on Ovaltine and given to procrastination and sloth. Until such time as you ' make the cover of Newsweek, however, you are still one all of the plebians, even though youride an appaloosa and have many strong sons following you. And, as such, you are obligated to face the camera and show those pearlies, sell those Chevies and never belch. Audiences on the club circuit level (and I hope by now you realize that's what I'm talking about) do not as a rule pay cover charges to be insulted or sneered at. Only Zappa's audience wants to be shit on, and he does that quite well, so your best bet is to leave that alone. Project an attitude of cheerful obsession and you can't miss. Savvy? .

EPILOGUE

Many of you may never get beyond this last page. It may be your destiny to remain in Antioch playing wedding parties and bar mitvahs, paying your American Federation of Musicians dues regularly, and executing properly all the duties of an honorary city alderman.. .a simple existence, yes, but one that you can be proud of. Proud that you never once succumbed to the temptation to press the accelerator to the floor just to see how fast it would go. Proud that you never once robbed a freight train, rustled cattle, or left someone bleeding on the barroom floor. Proud that you never once took it to the limit.

As far as the big time goes, I have no idea what life in the fast lane is all about. It must be really neat to wear all that turquoise, but I'll bet it's hell carrying an Apache translator around all the time.

More next month about horses... ERRATUM: The special Guide To The Electric Guitar in last month's issue of CREEM was written by Allen Hester, a contributor to the above column.