23 april 2000
postperform

Sometime yesterday, I wrote...

I know this is gonna be a really good show. It's just something I feel.

So much for "something I feel" ...

The gig was shit. No, "shit" is being too kind. There's no word in the English language to describe what went down last night

I guess we were due for a bad night. Or maybe the heavens looked down upon us and decided things were going a little too well. Either way, I'm fucking embarassed to have been on stage.

What went wrong?

One. The script. The fucking drama. The stupid crap we put between songs. I never liked it to begin with, but it worked really well at the Roxy. And that put me off guard. I knew the script sucked for this show, but I didn't say anything. "Rock-u-drama," they call it. It's our catch. Not a bad idea, if executed correctly. Last night it was executed like a preschool production of "The Merchant of Venice" (and I don't mean venice, california). It was a prime case of Murphy's Law. What _could_ go wrong _did_ go wrong. Lines were flubbed, forgotten, audio cues were missed, and the band looked completely perplexed throughout. I called Angel today, and she broke down crying over the whole thing. I told her I'd take a stab at the next script ...

Two. The stage. Our lead singer, Ice Dog, was stuck where no-one could see him. It's bad enough to have your lead singer behind the drums. Even worse is having him set up ten feet behind the lip of the stage, blocked from audience view by three front-people. Not good. The stage wasn't wide enough for us, so we had to take advantage of its depth, to our detriment. So Ice Dog was the invisible singer for most of the night. What a great identifier for the audience. It was also to be the night where I debuted my strap-on MIDI keyboard. Oops. Sorry. No space on stage. I had to play the whole fucking song from the audience, which was interesting in itself, until I had to do backup vocals, at which point our announcer rescued me with his handheld microphone....

Three. The club. The PA was way too loud for a room that small. The room was long and narrow, which gave the band no eye contact with the audience, no energy level, nothing to work off of. It was like playing in a vacuum. My roommates had warned me about this place, how it was a lousy place to see a show, but I ignored them, having heard so much about the "awesome sound system." I doubt we'll play there again.

What went so-so?

One. My new tune. From the drumstick clicks I knew it was too slow. But I got through it, despite being distracted by Casanova and Mojo sliding over to share my mic when I was trying to sing lead. They made me forget the words. But they meant well, and it didn't hurt that much. My voice was straining, due to the lack of volume in my vocal monitor, but I later heard the house mix was ok. It wasn't bad for a first-ever performance, but it still needs a shitload of work.

Two. The band/music in general. We played, I think, very professionally, but the intensity/energy level/groove just wasn't there. Most of the time we were just going through the motions ... maybe this was a result of the bad drama/script getting in the way of the music, maybe not. Either way, we've played a helluva lot better.

Then again, we've played a helluva lot worse. Just not in public.

What went right?

One. Only about sixty people were in the room for the show. Normally I would consider this a bad thing, but in light of the performance, the less people that saw it ... the better. Damage control.

Two. My new stage outfit, for the most part, was received well. I got over my fear of exposing my geeky upper body to the public, and while I may lose the baggy shorts in favor of longer pants, it was refreshing to actually get up there and "be someone else," so to speak.

Three. Meeting new people. As much as I would have never wanted anyone to see our band under last night's circumstances, I met a couple of people who took some of the post-gig angst and helped me bury it for a while. Coming off stage, full of adrenaline, I'm not really myself. It's almost like the show doesn't stop until I leave the club and find myself in my car, alone with myself and my thoughts. I was all smiles when I got off stage last night, because that's how I needed to be. Inside, I was neurotic and seething, but on the surface ... well....

Lordy, has Los Angeles turned me into a _fake_ person?

On the flipside, would it have done me any good to have been walking around the club pissed off and complaining after the show?

Someone I met online showed up last night. (if I could rewrite history, I'd somehow postpone her showing up until our next show, or maybe turn back the clock to the Roxy gig, more to save myself the embarassment of last night's bad performance than anything else -- selfish? yes, that's me). And she introduced herself to me just as I got offstage. Threw me for a loop. I didn't know what to say, and I think I made a complete fool of myself, making mundane conversation, and asking redundant questions to which I already knew the answers. I had so many people grabbing me and trying to talk to me, and I was in such a morose state, but trying to act happy, which wasn't too hard considering the adrenaline level in my bloodstream (since I've learned how to 'tack on a smile' since moving here, is that sick or what? maybe it's just LA, but then, it's still pretty sick), and I didn't really get to talk to her aside from sounding really stupid and making an imbecile of myself (forget how I was dressed), or at least that's how it seemed to me.

And I found myself wishing that the meeting would have taken place under different circumstances. I'm just not myself right after a gig. Too self centered. Too "fresh off the stage" -- or something. I'm not used to being the center of attention, and when it happens, everything and everyone is peripheral. It's like I need to step outside myself to be myself, but of course I'm not being myself. Instead I'm this person that everyone wants to talk to, and that's not me.

I'm a loner, I'm shy, I never say the right thing, I'm self-centered, geeky, too skinny, etc.... And on top of all of that I've managed to put my entire emotional energy into this musical project which has me so worked up and dejected right now.

She was cute too. And smart. And she smokes the same brand of cigarettes as me. And she might be reading this right now, which makes me even more neurotic about the whole thing...

If anything, I'm hoping a friendship might come out of this.

Helicopters overhead. Shining their spotlights through my window. "Ghetto-birds," my roomies call tham. Reminds me of "Boyz 'n the Hood." Moving to Malibu should be a good thing.

Speaking of which, I called the boss tonight and asked for tomorrow off, to finish throwing all of the shit out and reducing my possessions to something that will fit comfortably into a $19.95/day U-Haul van. I'm gonna try and do this move in a single trip, but that may be asking too mcuh.

As for now, I'm falling asleep as I type, anticipating a busy day tomorrow. Band practice should be interesting, to say the least. It's "Come to Jesus" time, as they used to say at my old job. "Shit or get off the pot," as my mom would put it. In my mind, it's just taking an enormous fuck-up and learning from it. It won't be easy, but I sure-as-hell hope it'll be worth it.

Failure isn't about falling down, failure is staying down.

Credit Marillion with that little lyric.

23 april 1999: the friendly skies: Why do people think they can artificially inject history into the newly constructed present? Steinbeck must be rolling over in his grave.

23 april 1998: wrapped up in another...

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