In which I find my target market

It's taken a while, but my band has finally found our target market. It has not been easy, finding a target market when we have nothing to market--no CDs, no t-shirts, no DIY political philosophy. All we have is us, beautiful us, and a boatload of sonic bombast defined as six or seven songs we play largely at the same time. "What kind of music do you guys play?" people ask us, hordes of people, curious about our musical alchemy. The answer has varied, but I think we've finally got it.

Last night, at rehearsal, our destiny became clear. I arrived at the brewery in which we rehearse (early, because I am nothing if not a hyper-punctual perfectionist) to find that Ernie, a bar patron who'd been there for six hours, really wanted to watch us play. "Fine," I sighed, collecting the three dollar fee for the privilege and handing over our precious CTR 111--a recording device so advanced that only trained professionals may even look at it. In Ernie's case (i.e., the absence of trained professionals) we made an exception. "Press play and record together," I instructed him, swatting his hand away from my ass, "and in between songs, press PAUSE." He grinned a wide, happy smile and sank down into the Sofa of Mystery.

Owing to the great quantities of beer Ernie had ingested, he was an instant and voracious fan of our music. "That was SICK!" he yelled following our first number. "You guys are HIPPIES!" We raised our eyebrows, and he amended it to, "Like, PIXIES hippies!" He nodded with enthusiasm and asked if he was allowed to smoke out. "NO!" I yelled, and we kicked off our next number, a song we call "Thruster," that Ernie pronounced "Sick!" as well, adding that it was "like, some porno song!" The lyrics feature no actual pornographic content, so I felt that Ernie was projecting his long-term crush on Sweetheart, our bass player. Either way, I'll take it as a compliment.

Like many very drunk people, Ernie's critique of our band leaned heavily on his repeated pronouncements of surprise that we even had a band. "I had no idea!" he yelled, 58 times, frequently into the tape recorder. "I kinda added, like, my own comments," he explained, pointing at the CTR-111.

He deemed the subsequent song, Polarity, "a JAM!" and our cover of "Level" by the Raconteurs, "SICK!" again. In between yelling praise and pressing the "pause" button, Ernie rocked out on the sofa, hinting around for permission to smoke out. "I had no idea you played bass!" he yelled to Sweetheart, shaking his head in amazement.

We took a short break, during which I asked what everyone thought I should do during our one instrumental number. "We could make out..." I heard Ernie call quietly from the sofa. The power of the band was working. Our goal--to get drunk people to want to make out with us--was in sight.

When we reached the end of our set, Ernie sat back, shaking his head in amazement. "That was so CREEPY!" he said, grinning. His smile had expanded to a literal ear-to-ear grin. It was so wide, I felt that at any moment, his head would separate at the jaw, and the top fall to the ground.

When Ernie left, the band sat around and discussed this new development. "We have to get as many drunk people at our show as possible," I said, to general agreement. "What about a bus from the brewery to the club?" proposed Sweetheart, "Like, with a keg inside?"
Like all her ideas, it was a great one.

Creepy. We all looked at one another, nodding. Creep rock. We'll take it.



Star of the day. . .SamAnn -- happy A Day!
posted @ 2:34 p.m. on August 15, 2006 before | after

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She lay awake all night,

zzzzzzzzzzz......