-Trouble Getting Here-
The band made it, most of them. The bass guitarist, himself a sub riding with a another band, did not.
The first act tried to help, staying on stage as long as possible, and finally loaning a single snare drum and cymbal to the "abbreviated" band's otherwise unequipped drummer.
The boys are clearly crestfallen, nevertheless. Their audience is small, and dwindling. So now, as they set up, I look at their sad faces and wonder how well they can wing it.
After all, that's what this situation is; taking the pieces - if there are any - and putting them together, drawing on that innermost resources of personal charisma and moxie to make good on the performance you'd promised despite the interference of outside forces.
Every theatre company should have "Waiting for Godot" in reserve, rehearsed for the day the light cue computer fails, and only the house lights operate. Every presenter should have an alternative to powerpoint, in case the building loses electricity.
They're on.
"Radon Home Test Kit" had better work - the sullen barmaid leaning on the counter behind me trashes band number one, and they sounded good to my ears. "Radon Home Test Kit" garners a five-second applause; despite my loyalty to my friend, I find myself wishing someone with a growl sang their songs.
They finish with "Holland 1945" from Neutral Milk Hotel, complete with trombone. The second band is here by now. They approve of this choice, and the barmaid grudgingly claps as well. It is not a complete success, perhaps, but at least their trip ended on a high note.
At this point I try to remember when I last showed up to support a friend's band. To my knowledge, this is the first time.
Remarkable.
The band made it, most of them. The bass guitarist, himself a sub riding with a another band, did not.
The first act tried to help, staying on stage as long as possible, and finally loaning a single snare drum and cymbal to the "abbreviated" band's otherwise unequipped drummer.
The boys are clearly crestfallen, nevertheless. Their audience is small, and dwindling. So now, as they set up, I look at their sad faces and wonder how well they can wing it.
After all, that's what this situation is; taking the pieces - if there are any - and putting them together, drawing on that innermost resources of personal charisma and moxie to make good on the performance you'd promised despite the interference of outside forces.
Every theatre company should have "Waiting for Godot" in reserve, rehearsed for the day the light cue computer fails, and only the house lights operate. Every presenter should have an alternative to powerpoint, in case the building loses electricity.
They're on.
"Radon Home Test Kit" had better work - the sullen barmaid leaning on the counter behind me trashes band number one, and they sounded good to my ears. "Radon Home Test Kit" garners a five-second applause; despite my loyalty to my friend, I find myself wishing someone with a growl sang their songs.
They finish with "Holland 1945" from Neutral Milk Hotel, complete with trombone. The second band is here by now. They approve of this choice, and the barmaid grudgingly claps as well. It is not a complete success, perhaps, but at least their trip ended on a high note.
At this point I try to remember when I last showed up to support a friend's band. To my knowledge, this is the first time.
Remarkable.
posted by Benedict | 5:53 PM
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