Completely irrelevant but amuses me nonetheless. |
For me, the worst performance(s) of the night came from the house band - supposedly an accomplished group whose purpose was to keep the night moving along nicely. Chuck in a few slick numbers here and there when nobody else feels like playing to keep the crowd happy. Obviously that wasn't the case. Hopefully I will be able to articulate why I feel they deserved my scorn more than the other artists on show over the next few paragraphs - I think it'll be difficult to put it in to words, but I like a challenge. In fact, that's a lie - I'd actually rather be confronted with things that are easy and require minimal effort. A coaster.
I feel I should start by excusing the drummer who was a competent musician and did nothing to really bother me - of course I could find something if I really wanted to, but now is not the time. And anyway he's only banging some skin isn't he? You'd be hard pressed to name a band that is utterly ruined by the drummer (but I'm sure some exist), but saying that you'd also be hard pressed to name a drummer that defines a band's sound and is the main reason for their success (although, again, I'm sure they do exist - suggestions are welcome). Usually, it's because they rarely have a significant enough role to play. After all, the div kid playing the part of a tree in the school nativity play is unlikely to ruin the whole performance (as a bit of trivia, at age 6, I played 'Tree 3' in my Infant school's nativity play. I was cut down and became Baby Jesus' manger. Oddly enough, I had a small speaking part. Talking snakes, talking mangers... what's the difference?). The same could have been said for the bassist as well actually. He was a simple, yet solid member who did what was asked of him and nothing more. The two of them weren't flamboyant but were dependable so probably don't deserve to be verbally crucified for their part in The House Band's atrocities. Some, however, do...
Oi oiiiiiii!! |
The Nerd - kindly sent in by one reader! |
Cedric and Cyril Sneer of The Raccoons. |
Ginger Baker: Pretty as they come. |
Technically he was proficient, but melodically... well I'd say he sounded like the nascent attempts to try and write a computer program that composes music. Comparing his playing to that of an actual musician would be like comparing the likes of Jeff Buckley or Tracy Chapman to a pissed up Stephen Hawking singing karaoke. Notes came at a relatively fast but metronomic speed - like an exercise in warming up the hands rather than an art form. Letting a woodpecker loose on a glockenspiel would have produced more emotive sounds. I was subjected to the same relentless barrage of garbage again and again as he attacked the strings with skeletal hands. Each note chased the last in a bid to get as far away from the source of noise as possible, their fleeing, stuttered cries offending not only my ears, but irritating all my other senses as well. The malodorous discordance left a bitter taste in the mouth and the repetitive phrases scratched at the inside of my eyes.
It was bad enough that he acted like some kind of guitar God (with the face pulling and power stancing etc.), but the rest of the room echoed his opinion and had no problem showing it. And it was the sheer duration of the songs as well. The other members of the band would play these interminable 10 minute [attempts at] jazz or the blues and give free reign to The Nerd to play whatever he liked - and that he did, regardless of the beat or tempo of the back line. He regurgitated the same old shitty patterns in formulaic and obviously heavily rehearsed fashion; algebra with a voice. The people in the crowd would go nuts for it, clapping and whooping, shouting the standard, "Oh my God" and "You're awesome" etc. (including his hag of girlfriend who would easily provide enough ammo for me to write a whole encyclopaedia as to why I hate her), which sickened me to the very core. But what really got on my nerves was that they were a desperately poor band, and yet themselves and the other morons in the room were willing to allow each other to believe they were the next Zeppelin. The whole mutual adulation and back slapping, regardless of reality, really left me feeling uncomfortable. It was a group of people that wanted to live in their own little bubble and tell each other how great they were using a couple of hundred watts of power - and all this hiding behind the facade of an open mic night, masquerading as something it wasn't. The thought of them sitting around planning it is almost worse than the night itself. It pains me to imagine them privately licking each other's arses while brainstorming ideas as to the best vehicle for them to publicly lick each other's arses at high volumes. You know, just so they can hear every last slurp as tongue meets 'five-pence piece'.
Honestly, if it had been a true open mic night where the same people played the same crap, but with a different attitude, I wouldn't have had a problem and wouldn't be writing this now. But these people weren't there to share some music they'd written or what they'd recently learned to play. They preferred to use playing some dismal song as an excuse to have their egos massaged by their peers for the evening.
Inexcusable |
As a side note, anyone that fancies illustrating The Nerd is more than welcome to do so as I'd love to see how you see him based on the description I've given - I'll even post the picture online as an extra incentive. I'm sure it could be useful as well, maybe to scare away cancer or something like that.
That's enough from me for now. Good Day.
* some people are worthy of hatred based on looks alone - Phil neville and J Leno from the last blog entry to name but a few