The sound of one man clapping IV

Garage Band

I don’t think we got paid for our first gig. Not even in beer although, like all the other high school graduates that night, accommodation was provided. We were permitted to pass out wherever we pleased.

It was the Grade Twelve after-party.

We set up in the shed. Extension leads, gaffa tape, a carpet off-cut to stay the kick drum and floor tom. We had to unplug the CD player to be able to power Jake’s bass amp, but left it to the last minute so as not to kill the mood.

We were spectacular, kinda like an overfilled shopping trolley tipped to one side. Or like a homeless man shouting. Or a homeless man who has lost control of his trolley.

Maybe not that exciting.

Mostly, people stood with one bent elbow and one hand in their pocket. They were watching. That was something. But they didn’t get us.

They just didn’t get us, you know?

Perhaps it is a feeling unique to artists and the mentally insane, that sense that everybody else is wrong, that everybody else is missing the joke, missing the point, not seeing the light. They’re just not listening to the lyrics, man, or they’re too uptight and middle class and mediocre.

But we knew we had found enlightenment.

After the gig, we found inebriation. Jake told me I fell asleep sitting up, like a teenaged Buddha.


~ by Daniel Townsend on May 15, 2015.

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