Saturday, November 17, 2007
Playing in a one-off cover band with a bunch of much older dudes at a bar in who-knows-where Pennsylvania. My parents are there, and Roby. A girl I had a crush on senior year of high school shows up and I greet her. The drummer of this band I'm in is really tall and really serious about this show. He has long, meticulously-styled hair that's dyed dark black and he spends a lot of time setting up his drums and a mic for his vocals. I'm the lead vocalist of this band, but besides the first song (The power of love) I don't know what else we're supposed to be playing, and I don't know hardly any of the words to The power of love as it is. Of course, I don't consider the ramifications of these facts until the set has started and I'm mumbling into a microphone. The song begins and I feel that sickening feeling in my stomach that I've missed an obvious vocal cue and the audience knows it. Luckily, the front of the stage is covered in stacks of huge speakers and monitors. I waste some time trying to climb them, but they're too wobbly and seem like they might want to come down. Also luckily, we're playing first so hardly anyone is committed to watching us anyway, the audience are mostly either outside or sitting down on couches against the far wall of the room. The room is dirty, too. I can sort-of hear the drummer singing in the monitors, and he sounds pretty into it, which is fine with me. I do some silly flourishes on what I hear him say, then make my way to the front left corner of the stage and try and do Noel Fielding's Mick Jagger impersonation. The crowd seems more confused than amused, but they're not getting burly or anything. Four old punks (2 male, 2 female) walk in and stand right in front of the doorway-- deciding what they think of this band, I think. I tell one of the guys who is holding 2 home-made purses that he's got two purses made out of the same material my wife made a purse with.
Posted by St. Januarius at 5:19 PM