We played a private gig last night, our first with the new drummer and bassist. (McFly and Chewie both had too many time demands and needed to reclaim their lives.) Musically, it went really well — a little sloppy as expected, and I forgot some lyrics — but generally a great party vibe overall. The new rhythm section really brings a different feel to the band — it’s a lot looser and more energetic. We’re also playing some old songs that we haven’t done for literally years and adding new songs that we’ve wanted to do for a while. Hopefully you’ll come check us out yourself when we play Great American Music Hall August 24th, or maybe Cache Creek in early September. Get your tickets (or your hotel rooms) early!
I prefer the casino and local nightclub gigs to the private stuff. Last night’s private show was rough because the partygoers simply didn’t want to hear us. Three hours of rock, roaming the crowd with wireless mics, choreography, big hit songs — literally, no reaction, as if the radio was playing. It happens; you just do your best to give ’em what they paid for anyway. But at the end of the night, they were tipsy enough to dance. When we refused to play after the 10pm sound ordiance, the drunk guys in attendance hatched a cunning plan: We’ll steal their instruments and keep on rockin’ as soon as they leave the stage! Kat was on guard as our sound engineer, so she thwarted the public debut of Chester and the Molesters.
Those of you who know me know that I take my guitar nonsense seriously; I’m a firm believer that some guitars “fit” some people, and there’s an emotional bond between player and instrument. I don’t think you can do your best — no matter how bad your best may be — unless you feel that connection. So a drunk guy thinking it’s time to play Guitar Hero II with my precious Lammy is pretty offensive.
Just to drive the analogy home, I considered fucking his girlfriend the next time he wasn’t looking directly at her, but I figured that would be seen as unprofessional.