Somewhere
I say island, because two days ago a torrential rain flooded the streets temporarily blocking egress in all four directions. Although it’s not the first time I have slept on the floor of a rehearsal space, it was definitely the hardest.
The latest drummer just left, I think hiding tears. Not because, we scolded him and certainly not because of his playing; he was rather good. But because the requirements state;” session/tour drummer needed for 3 – 4 month stint, must be well versed in rock and funk with studio experience. Rehearsals then recording with short tour to follow. Apply at, the island on 10th.” However as we were running through the first chart; Bill broke into a John Zorn piece and started to careen wildly about, waving his sax like a madman. Bill’s ax smashed the cymbals of our rental kit with the fury of a truly crazed bastard and left the cheap cymbal stands leaning this way and that. The previous drummer laughed, but this guy didn’t. I could see in his eyes that this was probably his last stop before selling his trap kit and heading back into the real world. At that I felt bad, I guess I am writing this to say I’m sorry. But this stuff isn’t for the weak of heart. Unlike women, music requires a true commitment. It’s a real ‘death do you part’ thing and I am afraid most people just don’t get it.
Twenty five years ago, putting together a band of malcontents seemed much easier. The kids now, they are clean. They do good drugs and listen to bad music. Or worse, they listen to good music and don’t do drugs at all. Since when did anything recorded with no drugs involved at all make any kind of impact on someone? I tell you the kids these days, what kind of future are they looking at living like this?
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