I am a Los Angeles-based twentysomething. I have a profession, and I have a secret life in music, and this blog isn't about any of that. I like Blogger because I can't read what you're thinking.
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Wednesday, October 28
MAKING THE BAND
Another session; this time the rehearsals are being tracked for the lead singer's EPK (THAT'S LINGO FOR "ELECTRONIC PRESS KIT," YA DIG?)
The guitarist, who I'll call The Idiot, has never been in a session before until last night. He was a last-minute catch for a part we needed to fulfill.
ENGINEER: Take three.
*The Idiot plays his introductory guitar line*
*The Idiot all of a sudden throws his guitar down*
THE IDIOT: HEY, MAN. I UNDERSTAND IF I FUCKED UP, BUT YOU DON'T HAVE TO GIVE ME A FUCKING LOOK, ALRIGHT? THERE'S ENOUGH PRESSURE AS IT IS, AND YOU GIVING ME A FUCKED UP LOOK WHEN I MESS UP JUST PUTS PRESSURE ON MY PRESSURE.
THE DRUMMER: ...It's not your playing. The PA just went fuzzy and it distract--
THE IDIOT: LISTEN, I KNOW I'M NOT THE BEST, I KNOW I DIDN'T GO TO MUSIC SCHOOL LIKE THE REST OF YOU, AND I KNOW I'M NOT AS FUCKING GOOD AS ALL OF YOU, SO JUST --
*The Idiot storms out of the studio*
HUGO: Uh, err, OKAY!
*Hugo plays "Charge"*
ENGINEER: Did he really leave?
Yeah, he left. I couldn't wait to document this when I got home 10 minutes ago.