Tipsy Otis Says:
Your Band Sucks
Attention all rock star wanna bees, aspiring musicians, young and old bands toiling in the world of Tuesday night opening slots. I have a message for you. Your band sucks.
You might think that this a little harsh, perhaps just the jealous rant of a failed musician. Maybe a little bit but in reality it’s just math. I came to town several years ago and have seen thousands of bands. I used to go out every night. It was an exciting scene but it took me a few years to figure out that the excitement was the possibility and not the probability that you might see and hear someone awesome. Maybe only one in fifty bands left me thinking, “Wow, we have got to see these guys again.”
One in fifty, that is a 2% chance that your band doesn’t suck. I’ll lay money down on that.
I was thinking about these odds while waiting for Shooter at The Portal. We were to meet for a few warm up beers then head out to see a band that my coworker Glenn had recently formed. Glenn‘s a part time mailroom dude who pushes a cart around the building and spends half his shift talking to me about guitars. He’s been begging for me to see his new band and tonight I bite the bullet.
On the Uber ride to Central square Shooter asks me to describe Glenn in order to guess what we’re about to hear.
“Umm, let’s see, lots of tattoos, shaved head and one of those billy goat type beards.”
“What kind of guitar?” he asks needing more info to formulate his prediction.
“I think he said he just got a Dean”
“Really?” he says, chuckles and continues, “O.K., got it, fuckin’ cookie monster band, super heavy, maybe even a double bass drum. The singer is also bald, shitty beard and probably fat and will scream growl every lyric. At least once between songs they will give a ‘fuck you’ shout out to someone we don’t know.”
As we enter the club we hear they have already started. We walk around the corner get our first glimpse of the band. Shooter shouts in my ear, “Fuckin’ nailed it!!”
In between songs Shooter screams one liners into my ear:
“I think he just needs a hug”
“They’re awfully full of hate. I guess it must be rough living in your mom’s basement.”
“I think this guy goes to my church…….OF SATAN!”
“Wow he really doesn’t like those hounds from hell. They must also live in his mom’s basement.”
“I used to hate when my mom forgot to trim the crust off my sandwiches, pissed me off, wrote a song about it. “
“How does he find time to write shitty songs and work part time?”
After about the fifth song the singer says, “A big ‘Fuck You’ to the meter maid who gave us a ticket when we were loading in tonight, fuckin’ bitch!,1,2,3,4…”
Shooter looks at me with a shit eating grin as if to say, “Who’s better than me?”
After the set the club sound system kicks in at a volume more conducive to conversation. I make my way to the stage while the band unloads so that Glenn will see me and I’ll get credit for coming. Getting credit is important. It will allow me to blow him off for a few more gigs before he starts begging again.
I introduce him to Shooter who says, “Nice set man”. Glenn shakes his hand and says thanks. I suppress a chuckle knowing that’s Shooter standard compliment when he can think of absolutely nothing positive to say.
Thirty seconds into the second band and it appears we are in for more of the same. We finish our beers, sneak out and head back to The Portal.
In the Uber Shooter says, “I tell you one thing. Our band won’t be singing about hounds from hell”
“How about kittens from hell?” I ask. “Better yet, our band name is Kittens from Hell”
“Yes!” Shooter pumps his fist, “We’ll do a hardcore cover of the Josie and the Pussycats theme song. On our album cover we will be tied up in yarn and tormented by giant mice.”
Walking into the Portal we are singing our new theme song. I see Chloe let out a smile as she prepares to deal with her to favorite assholes.
“What up guys? She asks.
“Well babetender, it’s been a long night of chasing balls of yarn and coughing up fur balls. Won’t you fetch us a couple of Hello Kittys? ‘
She shakes her head as she pulls out the bottles for our drinks. “You guys are such pussies” she says and grins, proud of her pun.
