Cash Till / Kidd Ickarus
: This was the worst band experience we’ve ever had
; so bad in fact, that we are collaberating
on this journal entry. Maybe you'll get a chuckle out of this.
I’ll set it
up. So let’s start from the beginning. Shall we? Last year's Metrotimes
Blowout was quite conceivably the greatest show we’ve ever played. When
the Cobalt Party Revolution hit the stage, it was pandemonium on the
dance floor. Everyone in the building was on their feet movin’ and
groovin’ to our tunes (see video here
So, when we were asked to play THIS year’s blowout we jumped at the
chance. With new tunes, a new vibe, and unstoppable momentum coming off
of last year’s monumental performance, we were certain this show would
be ever better than our previous. Upon arriving at the venue there were
a few things that caught our immediate attention. For example, the
unnerving pitch of Bruce Dickinson
’s vocals. This was via the Iron Maiden
CD which was being played at a volume level where any communication was
futile. Okay, Clue #1 that this was not a place for a hiphop group.
Clue #2 was the fact that those listening to it, REALLY ENJOYED IT.
However, our third clue came in the form of Ray Street Park; a band who
reminded me of a mix between Disturbed
and System of a Down
with just enough intensity to break down walls. Though good at what
they do… Their rabid fans were not in the mood to hear two whiteboy
hiphoppers kick fresh rhymes. This became obvious before we even picked
up the microphone. After Ray Street Park obliterated the stage, Kidd
and I swallowed hard and began our preparation. (this involved a last
will and testament to friends and family via my camcorder).
We approached the soundman with our usual speech, “We just need two
microphones. All you need to do is push play on this CD. We’ll do the
rest”. To which we are often returned, “What?!?! I don’t understand”.
We’re quite conceivably a soundman’s dream but somehow more often than
not, we’re their worst nightmare. This gentleman was very understanding
and did what he could despite never dealing with a band of our unusual
size. (two). Now, onto our performance. I believe it was during
the first few words of our opening song, “Who wants to Party?
” that I realized this crowd did not come here to party. They came to ROCK
(and rock… we did not). Not only getting blank stares from the
rell’-type onlookers, but our
sound sabotaged in all sorts of creative ways.
all, at the end of our second song "Slave to the Groove", all the bass
that was in the song was eliminated (don't ask us how!). Secondly, the
bass on the cd came back... with a vengence. So much so that our vocals
were drowned out. Thirdly, the sound-guy turned our music so low, we
could hear the chit-chat going on at the bar over us. Nobody was paying
any attention to us.
I felt like we were singing karaoke instead of playing a show.
applause from the audience was one of two things: 1.) PITY- maybe they
just felt bad for us. 2.) CONDESCENTION- I really can't fathom a fan of
"Balls to the Wall
" giving us a sincere round of applause.
conclusion of our set, we were ready to chalk this show up as a loss,
and enjoy the Bomb Pops when a strange sound of feedback began
tearing through the club. Not knowing where the sound was coming
from, the staff began shutting down the P.A. system, the stage lights,
the pinball games, and dart boards. They even resorted to turning off
the breakers, one...by...one.
wasn't a sound that could simply be ignored. It was loud and abrasive.
The worse part was that there was no way of pin-pointing where it was
coming from. It was bouncing off of every wall in the bar. People were
standing on seats as well as the bar to possibly find the source. Cash
and I were even getting involved in trying to find the sound, because
we wanted to see the Bomb Pops. Eventually, people started to spill out
of the bar due to the horrendous
squealing that was defying any and all explanation!
went on for at least a half hour! So, Imagine sitting in a room with a
relentless high-pitched scream for that length of time. It's the kind
of sound that made people angry. The scene was getting really ugly. The
staff was hitting their boiling point. We kinda laughed, because it
seemed fitting, considering they butchered our set.
(unintentionally... but they did). I decided to grab our merch
tub and head out. (it was driving us insane as well). However, when I
leaned down to pick it up, my worst fear came true. It was coming from
looked to me in a state of terror. He simply said, "Dave...". And I
knew immediately what he was going to say to me. Only one thing in our
merch tub could make that kind of noise. My heart sank, and my
testicles got sucked up into my stomach... "it's coming from the
across the room to see if anyone knew my horrible secret. Now, the
surly individuals that occupied the club hated us to begin with... if
they found out WE shut down their bar... we were done for. I had to act
fast. My heart was pumping out of my chest. I peeled away the lid of
the merch tub tyring my hardest not to let too much of the sound out.
The pitch then changed to an even more abrasive tone. Then the
unthinkable happened. Someone in our party caught on to where the sound
was coming from and tore open the lid revealing the source of the
horrific sound for everyone. All eyes were on us. The jig was up...
boy, was my face red. To ease the tension that was already so thick in
the room, I erupted in FAKE laughter.
I think you would call it "nervous" laughter.
was quickly interupted by jeering. Needless to say, they celebrated our
departure. (which was in great haste... in under 15 seconds). Quite
honestly, That was the most embarassing moment of my life. These words
don't even begin to explain the dread that we both felt even though
everything that happened was completely unintentional. Thank God the owner wasn't there; he would have killed us.
is the lesson, children? Never leave a megaphone on in a rock'n'roll
dive when everybody hates you to begin with. This is Kidd and Cash
tucking in our tails and signing off.
- Show went good, Logan taped it.