Why don't you play in a band?
Would I ever do it again?
I think I probably would do it again…
One of my students recently asked me why I'm not in a band. My initial reply was to jokingly tell him that all of the people I have ever played with in bands, have all been domesticated. In all honesty, just about everyone I ever played with has moved on with their lives. Some have gone on to raise families while some have changed jobs or moved far away. Others have long since walked away from music while a few simply haven't even touched their chosen instrument since the last time we played together.
I must be honest - Sadly, right now, I don't even own a bass guitar amplifier. I recently had to sell my last one so I could buy groceries. I do however, teach bass guitar to one of my students. I rarely play my own bass because I simply don't have the same motivation I did when I was younger. It probably wouldn't take much for me to hop back on that bicycle, though. Just like the guitar, the bass will always be an extension of who I am.
Being in a band is like being in a relationship. You put into it what you hope to eventually get out of it. But sometimes, it just isn't enough. It doesn't matter how many rehearsals or gigs you've played, it doesn't matter how many thousands of hours you committed to practicing, and it doesn't matter how many CD's your band sold at your last concert. Without 100% unconditional commitment from every member of the band, the project is almost certainly doomed to eventually fail.
One thing you do learn as a musician - is that every time you try to put a band together and keep it together - in the back of your mind, you are always aware that no matter how many things go right - that band is always on the verge of breaking up at any time.
I think I've been in at least a couple dozen bands in my life. I've played with some incredible musicians. We were like family. Being in a band is like being in a gang. But, that gang is only as strong as its weakest commitment. Life happens, people move on, and bands break up. It's simply the law of averages; and there's nothing that can be done to change that law. What keeps a band together sometimes isn't as strong as what pulls it apart. In every band I have ever been in, there has always been at least two people who insisted on bringing their egos with them to rehearsals, gigs and the studio. This is like a terrible, sometimes unavoidable cancer to a band.
The "Yoko One'' syndrome is a real thing too. Believe me, I have been in many bands where the girlfriend shows up to rehearsal, pissed off about something that has nothing to do with the band - and instead of dealing with the drama after rehearsal, she interferes with the energy of the sessions. This kind of thing happens all the time. Don’t get me wrong, this sort of thing happens with bands with chicks in them too. It’s not always the fault of the girlfriend or wife, but it is a significant issue for most bands. There will always be someone who wants to come in and cause problems. The thing is, being in a band can be a very fragile house of cards. One strong, dramatic blowout can bring everything to a screeching halt. I've seen numerous rehearsals get cut short because of domestic problems being brought into the band.
I'm sure that my age probably plays a factor in my cynicism. Hell, when you've tried to make things work in as many bands that I've been in, only to see them eventually fail for the stupidest reasons, you tend to grow a bit jaded from wanting to put yourself through it over and over again. I loved being in bands. It was a dream I had when I was a kid. I wanted to play rock music on stages and have a great time with my buddies doing it.
There were so many nights loading in and setting up would take longer than the actual gig. Then afterwards, the tear down and load out felt like it took forever. That’s what you did to pay your dues and earn the right to be in a band. When you're a teenager or a kid in your twenties and thirties, this was all part of being in the band. You got tickets for parking in a loading zone because it's pouring rain and there weren't any other places to park close to the venue. I played a lot of free gigs. Mostly, I did it for fun. It wasn't always about the money. If we did get paid, it might be enough to cover the 3 o'clock-in-the-morning breakfast at Denny's on the way home.
Ah, but the shows I played. I've played some incredible music with some incredible band mates. These guys (and girls) were my comrades in arms. We were immortal and invincible. We owned those stages, many times over. Nothing feels as good as when a crowd is clapping and screaming after each song. There comes a rush of adrenaline just before you go on. You take on the personality of a rock star as you step out of your normal personality. You become the glowing, palpable ball of energy that radiates from the stage as the limelight blinds you and the amplifiers render you deaf by the third song. Every eye is on you and your band mates as you can do nothing wrong for the next fifty-five minutes. You are loved and admired. People buy you beers, shake your hands and ask for your autograph. You can barely talk because your voice is shot from screaming all night. You're so high from the energy of the night that you never want it to end.
But, then it does end, and everyone goes home.
You go from such an incredible high only to have it all go quiet - as the chaos of the night wanes seemingly faster than it started. You're so wound up from the entire night that you can't seem to come down from the high. You load out and cram your car with all of your equipment. You stand around in the parking lot behind the venue and divvy up the take for the gig. You talk with the guys in the band as you debate about how good or bad the gig actually went. Then just like that, you find yourself driving alone in your car, headed back home to your apartment. Your girlfriend-dejour already left the gig earlier. Hopefully she'll still be awake when you get home. It's difficult to come down from such a high like that. You don't want the night to end, but it has.
Mostly, I loved being in bands. 95% of the time it was f*%#ing fantastic! When you're a musician, playing music is the air that you breathe. In order to breathe and stay alive, you must play. You have no choice. Musicians are a rare breed of people who live by the rhythm of the beat and the harmonies of the melody. It is a language only a few can truly understand unconditionally. We play for the crowds who pay their hard-earned money to come hear us play. Those are our diehard fans. Those are the people who came out and supported us and bought our CD's. They came out to the gig even though the thunderstorms soaked them to the bone. I am forever grateful to anyone who ever came out to see me and my band mates pour our hearts out on stage.
Do I miss being in a band? It goes without saying that it's probably the one thing I miss the most in my life. Would I do it again? I think I would, if the circumstances were right and the stars were aligned just so. It takes a lot to get a band together, and even more to keep it from falling apart.