How this show avoided becoming a complete disaster escapes me. I'm still bamboozled. Okay. The night started off like any other given night we perform. The place is essentially dead. It seemed that the people of Traverse City had better things to do that evening. No biggie... we've had these kinds of shows before. 12:00 midnight rolls around, and we are ready to hit the stage when H.C. says...
"Dude, my bass isn't working!" (a needle scratches across a vinyl lp)
And in unison the rest of us calmly ask, "WHAT!!!"
He then repeated himself, sending us into a panic. This normally wouldn't alarm us. We would simply ask the bass player from another band if we could borrow his bass so we could play the set. However, there was a hitch to this seemingly infallible plan... none of the other bands had a bass player; hence, no bass guitar. So there we were, scrambling like the proverbial headless chickens, trying to figure out how to remedy the situation. We dismantled and reassembled the bass faster than an Indy 500 pit crew, but to no avail. His bass was fucked. Somehow during our collective panic attack, we happened to avoid noticing that the Loading Dock was no longer a near deserted bar. To be honest, it was jammed. And we were perfectly content with not noticing all the people in the place... that was until they all started chanting, "Cobalt! Cobalt! Cobalt!" That got our attention and subsequently intensified our anxiety. We HAD to play for these people. There was no skirting it.
Now prior to the show, H.C. and myself had a few cocktails. Okay. We had ALOT of cocktails. It was because of this fact that, instead of packing up and not going through with the show, H.C., with very uncharacteristic reserve, agreed to perform using a regular ol' six-string guitar (a Gibson SG in fact, later dubbed the "Bassuitar"). We threw caution to the wind and decided to go for it. It didn't sound pretty, but it got the job done.
For what we lacked in precision sound, Cash Till and I more than made up for in energy. We had completely lost our minds on the stage: there was no other choice. The crowd, in turn, went unanimously bonkers, and no one was the wiser about our little debacle. So we chalked this one up as a win, even though we had very little to do with it. I think we should give thanks to booze for this one. However, this was just the beginning.
We ended up hanging out with the sister of Danny, the guy who set up the show. Her name was Gina, and she was really nice. Unfortunately, she was hanging out with a bunch of morons. As soon as we got back to the motel, H.C. passes out, and Chubby launches into an uncomfortable line of questioning. For example, "Do girls like it when guys rub their [the girls'] butts in a circular motion?" Keep in mind, ladies and gentlemen, that Gina was essentially a stranger. I know that this was not Chubby's way of "flirting"; he is truly interested in these kinds of things. He was being completely analytical about it. Nonetheless, it was still kinda weird. To make a long story short, it was the ever-amiable CASH TILL that seemed to drive her away with the statement, "It must suck to be an attractive high school teacher." As he said this his voice inadvertently (and unnaturally) dropped to a "sexy" register. Yet again, there was no flirting, just a vocal malfunction. She soon left after the remark, leaving us to question whether or not Cash was at fault(She later emailed us saying she had a fun night). However, the drive home was as equally confounding as the previous night.
As we were heading down route 72, we all noticed a dark shape coming at us from the side. Sure enough, it was a deer. Smack!!! The bastard went head first into the side of our trailer (that was recently paid off, as Chubby might add!). The side was dented, and the fender was nearly taken off. The deer was on the road about an 8th of a mile away. We hoped that it was only shaken up and not dead. We named the deer Regina (Not to say we thought of Gina as a dead deer. Certainly not. I think we just still had her on our minds.)As it turns out, the deer caused irreparable damage to H.C.'s already dysfunctional bass, putting several cracks in the body. Was that the end of this pilgrimage?
NO! With his keen but tardy eyes, H.C. noticed that the needle on the gas gage was under the E mark. Cash made a valiant effort to reach the next exit, but alas, he was too late. We stalled about 3/4 of a mile away in the middle of zombie country. Okay, maybe the whole zombie thing isn't true, but H.C. and Chubby went to make the hike for gas. They got the gas, and we were heading home. I bought everybody Krispy Kreams, and I wound up eating them all. I'm such a tubby bitch. Anyway, that was one nightmare we (and I speak for everyone) would GLADLY have again.
Next time Gadget, next time.
...show went good, Logan thinks that Dreamtheater is NOT a jam-band!