Friday, November 17, 2006

Friday Nite Flashback-ack-ack-ack...

Blogger was all broke and shit last night, so I couldn't post anything. I had a post ready, though. It was an excerpt from a "journal" I tried to keep back in October of 1990, when I was in my old band and living in Los Angeles. I was totally depressed living out there, hated the whole music scene bullshit, and was ready to murder the other three guys in the band, who I was living with in a one-room apartment. The bedroom had two sets of bunk-beds, for shit's sake.
Anyway, this entry was from 10/17/90, and it was apparently written at 1:38 a.m., after a "showcase gig" in LA.:

"The Coconut Teaszer gig was tonight. I'm probably more pissed and frustrated right now than I've ever been in my life. Fucking D [our lead singer]! We started the set and I made a fairly sizeable blunder by counting off the wrong song -- I caught myself, obviously, when no one joined in, but fucking D fumed onstage like a shitass over the mistake for the whole show. What an inconsiderate asshole. I'm sorry, but the days of putting up with his bullshit are over. He's fucking inconsiderate, has zero compassion, and is one of the most selfish fuckers I've ever known. And to top it off, after the show, he storms by me saying nothing and proceeds to inform everyone we know there of my blunder, just in case they missed it themselves. Overheard to J.W., 'I was so fucking pissed, he starts the wrong song, I couldn't believe it!' That's the way to build great PR for the band, ya dick -- and it really draws us together as a unit, doesn't it. Fuck, I've never felt like I've ever wanted to leave the band, but tonight I could easily pack up and go. I think he's completely lost sight of what we're here to do. I'm here first and foremost to have fun -- to enjoy my fucking life. He's become Mr. Network-Schmooze-money-buzz-business-put you in your place asswipe. What a dick."

Hm. Guess I was a little angry. Of course, I stayed with the band for another three years, almost quitting another 237 times. What a fucking shitty time I had out there. I remember one meal I used to make back then -- I'd boil a whole bag of generic tri-color rotini and then mix in about a cup of mayonnaise and then eat the whole thing in one sitting... actually, standing. Then I'd wash it all down with generic beer (the bottle caps had little rebus puzzles underneath them, which helped take your mind off the fact that you were eating pasta and mayo and drinking GENERIC BEER).

Interestingly, that was the last post in the journal. Either I resolved all my problems with the guys in the band after that night, or I passed out from mayo poisoning.

Yep... good times.

1 comment:

nora said...

Wow, that makes you want to be a rock star!
Don't you wish you could read the journal of the guy running the showcase that night? I'll bet it would read something like "D, the leader of ____ was totally unprofessional on stage--never hire that asswipe"
Ironically I'm working on a piece for NUVO (Indianapolis version of City Paper) about a local music promoter who's moving to LA.

I used to book music and still see a ton of music (two or three shows a week). The view from the stage is so different from the audience perception. I'm always way more impressed when a band can recover than I am when they pout.

Okay, back to writing my column...or maybe I can do some dishes...or clean the litter box...I'm not feeling very inspired.