Virtuoso duo works hard to avoid attention

SANDPOINT — This is the story of two men who try to become invisible. They attempt this feat by doing something that, in most instances, would make them more conspicuous — playing music at an inordinately high level of artistry in front of a crowd of people.

Every Sunday evening through the summer, the two reconnoiter on the deck at Trinity at City Beach to play through a songbook that runs the gamut from jazz standards to song classics in various other genres. They do so surrounded by diners who, if they’ve achieved what they set out to do, remain unaware of their presence.

“We’re intentionally not drawing attention to ourselves,” said bassist Drew Browne. “It’s kind of like saying, ‘Don’t look at what I can do.’”

The whole invisibility thing started with guitarist Bruce Bishop, who has been blending into a corner of Trinity virtually every Friday night since the restaurant first opened about 12 years ago. He even has a CD titled “The Invisible Guitarist” to prove how dedicated he is to staying squarely in the background.

Asked whether they have a band name, the men look at each other as if struck. A series of hems and haws is followed by Bishop’s best effort — more of a hanging question than a definitive answer.

“How about The Invisible Guitarist and his Imaginary Friend?” he queried hopefully.

Met by silence, they shrug off the lackluster reaction. Browne breaks the impasse with an explanation of his own.

“If we’re doing our job right, you don’t even know we’re there,” he said. “So it stands to reason, doesn’t it, that we haven’t bothered to come up with a band name?”

Things like band names, applause and accolades are antithetical to what these musicians seek to accomplish. Think of it as an artistic safari where Stanley at last finds Livingstone in the heart of the jungle. They shake hands, exchange pleasantries and plunge merrily into the wild for further explorations together.

Their aim, they say, is to make every song a high wire act of improvisation, defying artistic death while drawing nary an ounce of notice.

“Part of the fun is seeing how far you can go out on a limb,” said Bishop. “And the more danger one of us gets himself into, the more the other eggs him on.”

In that spirit, Bishop and Browne eschew rehearsal before their gigs, preferring instead to show up, flip to a chart and forge gamely ahead.

“A song we played last week is completely different this week,” Browne said. “We love to never play the same thing once in a row.”

A musical language has formed between these two, complete with declarative statements, hidden innuendo, humorous asides and outright gags. That they can bring themselves to laugh-out-loud moments without drawing audience attention is a marvel of obscurity.

“That’s why this thing is so satisfying,” Browne offered. “I’d rather make him chuckle once in a while than have a diner notice me.”

Sometimes, the laughs come from the choice of notes, or the insinuation of a musical idea that, by rights, has no purchase in a particular song. At others, the giggles might be the reaction to watching the other guy plummet earthward, Wile E. Coyote style, when the limb breaks.

“The reality is, I make mistakes every night,” said the bass player.

“I make more mistakes in the first song than Drew makes all night,” the guitarist quickly interjected, not to be one-upped in that department.

“But then again, we’re playing live, unrehearsed music,” Browne said. “We make music — in the moment.”

Before you get the impression that this is some kind of member’s only club — a fraternity of inside jokesters — keep in mind that both musicians aspire weekly to a level of playing that would drop jaws in other venues. On the rare occasion where someone actually walks up and compliments their work, the men smile politely and, according to Bishop, hang their heads once the fan has left the area.

“We’ve failed when that happens,” he said ruefully. “We’ve got to regroup.”

The guitarist embraced invisibility early on, once he realized that playing a supper show was akin to “talking to someone who never answers.” Musicians, though, see through this cloak, as was the case with both Browne and ace singer-songwriter Beth Pederson, both of whom first encountered Bishop as they watched him ply his one-sided conversation.

Browne was on a date, where he lost points for paying more attention to the guitarist in the corner than the lady across the table from him. Pederson — now another musical partner of Bishop’s when he provides instrumental backup for her popular concerts — simply walked up and asked the question any veteran performer might ask.

“Her first words,” Bishop recalled, “were ‘How can you stand to do this?’

“The best ‘head maintenance’ for me,” he went on, “is to continue to grow as a player.”

Adding Browne to the act has catapulted that effort forward, according to the guitarist, who said working with the bass player is like “being able to play with a psychic.” And it is at this point, shrouded in this alternate universe where virtuoso musicianship is meant to go without notice, that the tributes start to fly.

“It’s really a selfish thing for me, because Bruce is the greatest guitarist I’ve ever played with,” said Browne. “He’s given me an opportunity to express myself like I never have before.”

“My imaginary friend is full of wisdom,” Bishop said, nodding sagely. “And he knows all the right things to say.”

Invisible or not, Bishop and Browne will be playing tonight and every Sunday night this summer from 6-9 p.m. on the lakeshore deck at Trinity at City Beach.

“Come on down and miss us,” Browne said.