Piece of a Novel....

"That AMP is TOO fucking LOUD, man!  I have to SING over that shit, dude!  Come on!"

 

Rehearsing with my cover band, my patience is rapidly shredding along with the earsplitting, overblown noodling of the relatively-new lead guitarist. 

 

This is a real thing:  The Singer/Songwriter vs. The Lead Guitarist Thing.  It has a genuine lifecycle, a distinctive dynamic unto itself. 

 

This is how it goes:

 

Lead Singer (with drummer and bassist already on board) starts auditioning for Lead Guitarists.  Some are good, some are not so good, and then this one guy is GREAT.  THAT'S THE SOUND.  The dude is a total pro, a perfect fit.  The whole band is beaming, jamming, feeling like The Beatles.  By the end of the audition, everyone's excited about the prospect of working together with this added element of proficiency.  The perfect puzzle piece is FINALLY in place.

 

The first few rehearsals move along really well.  Lead Guitarist may as well be wearing a shirt that says: TEAM PLAYER.  He's considerate, easygoing, collaborative.   He rocks.  He has a sweet girlfriend (usually, unless she's a cunt but thankfully that was only with one or two of them), so he's tastefully flirtatious, harmlessly so but still it's kinda nice.

 

MUSIC is the GREAT HEALER of any and all of Life's bummers and AIN'T IT GRAND! 

 

Bullshit.

 

By the 2nd gig (sometimes even the first gig, by the end of the first set.  No, make that the end of the first song.)

 

Smiling, but not with his eyes, Guitar Man mumbles: "You can sing over this, Lena. I've heard you belt."

 

O my god.  My mind starts racing with resentment that I don't bother voicing for the umpteenth time: I pick out the songs, I provide the sheet music, I front the band, I book the rehearsals and the paying gigs.   I do everything but WIPE your ASS for you and STILL you're an obnoxious lunatic to work with…yet another one…

 

"Listen, I know I can belt but are you tryin' to make me HURT myself??   I ask you to turn it down, I look away for one second and - what - you just JACK IT right back up?  That's like a big FUCK YOU to me, don't you think?"

 

I had a particularly nasty argument with my husband just prior to this rehearsal.  I'm drinking too much beer and frankly I am getting sick of working with this cover band.  It's gotten to the point where it's not worth the time, effort or the haggling with bar owners.

 

I make a mental note that it's time to narrow down my projects and just work on my original project.  This upcoming cover gig is going to be my last.  I'll tell them this right after we get paid.

 

In the meantime, I pop open another BUD ICE, I'm also supposed to be at my desk and fully operational at my day job as an office manager in about 4 hours. 

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