Sometimes when I am driving alone and Journey comes on the radio, I remember in another life, I'm in a cover band where instead of guitar, I play the drums. I am the benevolent lead singer and drummer, which has never before happened in all of rock history, but that's what makes our band so great. We like boundaries just so we can make them into our spittoons. I pretend I don't want to, but I engage in the worst kind of gossip about the other cover bands in our league. Their Bananarama bangs. Only in it for the free bar drinks. The dignity of channeling the very gods who first took hammer and chisel to our souls, vaporized by these chumps.
I am a leader of much bounty. I use my sticks to point back to you the audience, "You! And you! And especially you, Uncle Spicy!" and we have a good time. My mom calls it a "jing-bang" time. "Gala time" sometimes. "Shit show" is what we say in these parts, but you can't break your mama's heart, so we devise special set lists for when we expect family to show up. We do a nice four-part harmony of "Go Away, I Can't Stand You" by The Untouchables, and I think it is very, very poignant. There's a moment when we all sustain this diminished chord and gasp at the same time-- and whoosh!--as if Thor Himself is goosing them, the audience jumps up a little. It gets to the point sometimes when we sound too good, like when the bartenders swat away the customers and the line for the Ladies' room snakes around the stage for a hot second. I wail, oh yes I do, on the drums. I can wail on just about anything you can hit. Shit, I make bales of hay sing. You might be thinking I would save some room for Wailin' Wes and his sweet Gibson, but Wailin' Wesley can eat my dandruff ever since he took up with Tambourine Tilly. (We don't need a tambourine, but Wesley wailed at me to let her in, and as his certified band-best-friend I kind of had to, so's not to appear jealous. Most people can just barely handle a girl on drums. But vocals too? And not many people want her sharing the spotlight. I will try, though. I will.)
Life is good, here in my car. I am mostly honest to people I mostly like. When I am dishonest, I wear sunglasses and whack the dashboard, as if I'm waiting for someone to pull up next to me at a red light, peer inside my car-- the sight of a tiny girl hitting so hard, and so rhythmically complex!-- to say, "Wow. Sometimes you know talent when you see it."
And that will give me enough time to snarl over in that direction and say, "Take a picture! It lasts longer!" but what I say when the light turns green is, "Tip your waiters! I'll be here all week!"
I am a leader of much bounty. I use my sticks to point back to you the audience, "You! And you! And especially you, Uncle Spicy!" and we have a good time. My mom calls it a "jing-bang" time. "Gala time" sometimes. "Shit show" is what we say in these parts, but you can't break your mama's heart, so we devise special set lists for when we expect family to show up. We do a nice four-part harmony of "Go Away, I Can't Stand You" by The Untouchables, and I think it is very, very poignant. There's a moment when we all sustain this diminished chord and gasp at the same time-- and whoosh!--as if Thor Himself is goosing them, the audience jumps up a little. It gets to the point sometimes when we sound too good, like when the bartenders swat away the customers and the line for the Ladies' room snakes around the stage for a hot second. I wail, oh yes I do, on the drums. I can wail on just about anything you can hit. Shit, I make bales of hay sing. You might be thinking I would save some room for Wailin' Wes and his sweet Gibson, but Wailin' Wesley can eat my dandruff ever since he took up with Tambourine Tilly. (We don't need a tambourine, but Wesley wailed at me to let her in, and as his certified band-best-friend I kind of had to, so's not to appear jealous. Most people can just barely handle a girl on drums. But vocals too? And not many people want her sharing the spotlight. I will try, though. I will.)
Life is good, here in my car. I am mostly honest to people I mostly like. When I am dishonest, I wear sunglasses and whack the dashboard, as if I'm waiting for someone to pull up next to me at a red light, peer inside my car-- the sight of a tiny girl hitting so hard, and so rhythmically complex!-- to say, "Wow. Sometimes you know talent when you see it."
And that will give me enough time to snarl over in that direction and say, "Take a picture! It lasts longer!" but what I say when the light turns green is, "Tip your waiters! I'll be here all week!"
