Aug. 17th, 2010

Day 7

Aug. 17th, 2010 02:26 am
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Day 01. Your favorite song - Peg, Steely Dan
Day 02. Your least favorite song - Takin' Care of Business, Bachman Turner Overdrive
Day 03. A song that makes you happy - Donkey Rhubarb, Aphex Twin
Day 04. A song that makes you sad - This Woman's Work, Kate Bush
Day 05. A song that reminds you of someone - Flakes, Frank Zappa
Day 06. A song that reminds you of somewhere - City of the Angels, Wang Chung
Day 07. A song that reminds you of a certain event - Stick Your Neck Out, Dot 3
Day 08. A song that you know all the words to
Day 09. A song that you can dance to
Day 10. A song that makes you fall asleep
Day 11. A song from your favorite band
Day 12. A song from a band you hate
Day 13. A song that is a guilty pleasure
Day 14. A song that no one would expect you to love
Day 15. A song that describes you
Day 16. A song that you used to love but now hate
Day 17. A song that you hear often on the radio
Day 18. A song that you wish you heard on the radio
Day 19. A song from your favorite album
Day 20. A song that you listen to when you’re angry
Day 21. A song that you listen to when you’re happy
Day 22. A song that you listen to when you’re sad
Day 23. A song that you want to play at your wedding
Day 24. A song that you want to play at your funeral
Day 25. A song that makes you laugh
Day 26. A song that you can play on an instrument
Day 27. A song that you wish you could play
Day 28. A song that makes you feel guilty
Day 29. A song from your childhood
Day 30. Your favorite song at this time last year

Oooo, really opening up here.

Everyone my age who grew up in San José claims they were there when The Laundry Works closed, but really, I was there. In fact, we were the first ones there; Jeff and I showed up several hours early, the first and third nights, and chatted with the waiters because we weren't old enough for the bar. We had no idea, but The Laundry Works had become a Thing, and we were bearing witness to an Event.

Jeff and I had a band, but we were too young, too inexperienced, and too crap to even seriously audition at The Laundry Works. By the time we got our musical shit together, the scene was over, and we had other problems. And we hated the Cactus Club, which was about the only place left to play.

We joined a fledgling band with no name, and auditioned for Muzzie's, which turned out to be a complete waste of time. Anyone could play Muzzie's. Seriously, they had a hobo open-mic night. They just wanted to see if we'd show up.

When he asked, we told the booker that our band was called Evil Dead Part 2, because we were retarded and thought that was funny. Then we drank two pitchers of beer, changed our minds, and waved the booker back over to our table.

"We just voted on a new band name," we told him, snickering behind our hands.

He glared at us, lifted his clipboard, and scribbled out our old, now stupid, name. Then he looked at us sadly.

"We changed it to Zombie Butt Fucks," we said. Alcohol makes us pretty.

"I'm not going to say that," he said. "How about ZBF?"

"ZBF! Yes! Perfect!" we cried. "Another pitcher please!"

Several, several beers later, we told him that we'd changed the band name again— this time, to The Trouser Pilots— but he announced us as ZBF anyway. And suddenly we were on.

Do I need to tell you how hard we sucked? Do I need to tell you how embarrassing this whole episode was? Every musician is his own worst critic, but holy shit, we sucked on it. Even if you measured us with The Shitty South Bay Band yardstick, we sucked. I should have stopped playing, held my bass out for the audience to see, screamed "What is this? Get it off me!" in horror, thrown it down, and run from the stage crying, just so we could claim it was performance art. We were outplayed by a band called The Skidmarks that night. The Skidmarks, dude.

The next day Chris, our guitarist, quit. Then he started playing horns for Dot 3, who we liked a lot, so we couldn't fault him. Dot 3 was rad. We loved Oingo Boingo and Red Hot Chili Peppers, so we liked Dot 3, even though their bassist looked like a fuzzy smurf.

This is the closest I ever got to being a rock star. Oh, and fuck I'm old.

Runner-Up: All Dead, Frontier Fuckin' Wives, for the same exact Laundry Works reason. (I was friends with Scott Long, but intimidated by the rest of the band, who I thought hated me. This is obviously not name-dropping, because you just said, "Scott who?")


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