How to Bomb at the club!

Jason Lawson, Music critic!

So it’s time for a career change.  I’m not real high on driving trucks
anyway.  I’ve decided to become a music critic.  And why not?  I
complain about everything else.  Why shouldn’t I profit from informing the world about bands that will cause their eardrums to implode and maybe entice them drink too much in an effort to drown out the noise. You’ll all thank me.  At least your ears will…

Last night me and the crew headed out to a club for a few laughs.  We  had a few, at the band’s expense.  I’m not really sure where to start. A woman was singing.  Ok, that’s a bit of an exaggeration.  More like a cross between yodelling, Inuit throat singing and a cat in serious trauma.  Kinda like when you accidentally rock on their tail with the rocking chair. When she hit some high notes I cringed to say the least. I think a couple of people jumped out some windows and even a jar of pickled eggs managed to escape on its own.

The band wasn’t much better.  For all the songs they played the drummer only knew one beat.  He just speeded up and slowed down as needed. Well, what a talent.  I don’t know what his share of the pay was, but they’d save a bundle if they bought a monkey and gave it a couple of wooden spoons and pots from the kitchen.  Not to mention the chimp  wouldn’t drink like the rest of ’em.  Then again he might after listening to the singer. Bananna daiquiris for Ringo.

I liked the bass player.  I think in his youth he must’ve been one of
those headbanging, speaker-jumping types, so in an effort to keep him from hurting himself his shoes were screwed to the stage, rendering him immobile.  What he lacked in leg movements, he more than made up for with his fingers in a barrage of unrecognizeable notes that had nothing to do with the song he was playing. (Playing is a real stretch.)   At first I thought he might have had a jazz background, but then I realized jazz doesn’t make you pull your hair out in handfulls and run from the bar screaming.

 The two guitar players weren’t bad.  Hmm… Let me rephrase that.  The two guitar players weren’t as bad.  At least I think.  The guy with the acoustic guitar could’ve been playing a cardboard box with rubber band strings.  You couldn’t hear him.  And the guy on the electric, well let’s just say Hendrix or Van Halen ain’t got nothing to worry about.  When you put them all together you had a sound that was somewhere between a garage jam and a car crash. 

Even so, a few brave,older souls managed to get up and dance.  Or maybe the irregular rythmn and racket had speeded up their pacemakers, causing then t move about erratically.  Whatever the case, there weren’t any encores.  A lot of the crowd had split before the band finished their last set.  As for me, I came home with a sore head and I hadn’t drank one drink.  That says a lot right there. So there you have it.  Jason Lawson, music critic.  If you want me to review your band I’ll be happy to, just one piece of advice.  Make sure you can actually play…

 

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