Campus Bands Must Be Destroyed

AStudiousLife By AStudiousLife, 19th Jul 2010 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL http://nut.bz/84bdbodx/
Posted in Wikinut>Humour>Funny Stories

This gig was so memorable because it was so fucking dreadful.

The Worst Gig in the World

You know me, I love music. Really, madly, deeply love music. I spend most of my days soaking up the rich harmonies and luscious melodies of great artists that are inspired, talented and original enough to make me want to come back for more. So I am just the sort of guy that, when presented with the question "Do you fancy coming to a gig in town tonight?" would be very likely to answer "Yes."

The only problem is, my town, like most towns, is a musical graveyard. It is a place that reminds me of the fact that if there really is a God, he has a brilliant sense of humour and seems like someone I could probably get on with. Because what other explanation could there be for the cacophonous plunks and wails and the unintentional feedback and singers standing too close to microphones other than that it's just some kind of celestial 4chan deliberately trying to make everyone have a bad time?

But how was I to know? We are responsible for all the decisions we make and so just as we are quick to revel in and boast about our triumphs, it is imperative (perhaps even more so) to learn from one's mistakes, even those that could not have been foreseen and were completely unintentional. I was not to know that the gig would turn out to be something so tremendously bad as to inspire night terrors, but I have to learn from what transpired. My lesson? All those people that say you should say "Yes" more often are complete fools.

I enter the darkened room just in time to see the band begin their set under a dirty green spotlight. "We are SKA TISSUE!" screams the singer. "And we FUCKING LOVE playing gigs." He seems confident about both of these points and I'm almost caught up in his passion and excitement. Unfortunately, I am brought straight back down to Earth by the fact that this man is wearing the most unique ensemble (I am being polite) that I have seen in a long time. I'll start at the top, because each aspect of his clothing bears mentioning:

Hat

A little number that would be fashionable only in the Americas pre-1700s, buckle and all. I have no idea where the fuck this guy manged to get this. Is there a shop somewhere that sells prerevolution attire for latchkey ska wannabes?

Hair

Remember Screech from Saved By The Bell? Like that, except blonde.

Shirt

Just standard black and white stripes. Nothing offensive here.

Dungarees

This aspect bears a separate category in itself. I can't remember the last time I wore dungarees (I doubt I'd reached double figures) and I can't remember the last time I saw someone else wearing dungarees that wasn't in a farmer girl fantasy porn movie, but this guy has reminded me of their existence. I would like to be able to say that this guy pulled it off and maybe without the ridiculous pilgrim hat that would be true, but the juxtaposition of charity shop throwaways with puritan imagery goes so far round the irony wheel that it actually ends up being ridiculous again. This is further exascerbated by the fact that his dungarees are full-length and tucked into his

New Rock Boots

To complete the ensemble, this guy has betted on the worst kind of shoewear imagineable. Right now you should be getting a pretty good picture of a guy that looks like he's been assembled through cutouts of various bad style magazines that have been given the kiss of life by some deranged voodoo shaman intent on giving me something to laugh about.

I hate to labour the point about fashion, because I know it's unimportant, but it serves to create a bad impression on a band that's yet to play any notes (I don't think the feedback from the guitarist turning on his amp really counts as a played note, does it?) So when they launch into their first song, I am already suspicious, it's kind of like placing an order in McDonalds after just having accidentally drank out of their toilet - you know the two things are in the abstract unrelated, but you can't help make the connection, you know?

"This song is called 'Jordan and Peter Andre...Suck My Ring!'" Not a good start, I think. A song about some niche reality TV stars that everyone already knows are ridiculous and can therefore glean no new insight on them coupled with the impaerative to suck the singer's ring doesn't sound to me like a number one hit. I'm tempted to offer you a critique of what the music is, but I don't know where to start and I'm not sure if that would be according it too much dignity. Let me just say that each individual person seems to be playing something but they don't really seem to be playing anything with each other. For a brief moment I think that maybe I'm actually watching a very ironic piece of contemporary free jazz and that really these guys are just big fans of Coltrane and perhaps even have time for moving around with the Dadaists, but then I remember the dungarees and the hat. Reality smacks me in the face. I'm watching a bunch of teenagers single-handedly destroy music and it hurts.

Thankfully, they only play a twenty-minute set, but each moment of it is as searingly awful as the last, in fact even worse as the bad feelings engendered by the whole performance accumulates into a pile. For a while I'm tempted to scream "eureka!" at these guys because they've actually come close to creating a state of perpetual awfulness which increases exponentially and infitesmally with each microsecond that goes by. If these guys could keep playing, maybe they'll open up some kind of wormhole into Hell.

The Aftermath

The band are now through with playing and I feel like I've just had a one-night stand with someone who was exceptionally pushy with me when I was exceptionally drunk. It's not quite a rape, but you still feel a choking guilt in the morning that stops you doing anything that day aside from eating yoghurts and taking hot showers. There is a kind of dirty feeling that the memory of those brief twenty minutes has been permanentely stamped into my mind and will latch onto my memory and never let go, always reminding me that there is evil in the world and that some of us have the misfortune to experience it. I need to get out of here, so I go downstairs.

Before me, I see an angel. A beautiful white dog is sitting right in the middle of the pub and needing some kind of affection after that experience, I go to stroke her. She lies down like all dogs do and revels in the attention lavished on her by all the people surrounding here and for a brief moment I feel empathy for her ecstasy, but then one of the bands' fans (even Cthulhu had followers) walks into the room and I realise the horror is inescapable. "Awwww, she looks just like a girl being fingered for the first time." She says. I'm puzzled. I don't know whether to laugh, frown or run home crying now because I'm so confused. Luckily, the girl excuses herself "That was a weird thing to say, wasn't it?" she giggles, nervously, and jitters away as quickly as she came.

I decide that I'll walk home. I'm not sure which way to feel about the whole ordeal. I was always led to believe (and still do) that music is a beautiful thing which can potentiate emotional highs and lows in profound, often life-changing ways. For a while it was thought that only classical music and possibly some jazz had the harmonic and melodic sophistication necessary to draw tears from those with a high emotional stake in music, but the 1960s showed that bands like The Velvet Underground and The Beach Boys were capable (perhaps more so) of evoking meaningful and realistic emotional responses.

But that night I was reminded that there are some bad people in this world. Nasty people who have no respect for musical forms and conventions and seem intent on inflicting suffering and misery on the world. What kind of sick, demented mindset actively invites people to endure such a shameful display? I reach my front door and still in a daze, I have trouble fitting the key into the lock. I climb the stairs, reach my room and go straight to bed. After a few moments of darkness after turning off the lights, I feel the tears coming. I turn to face the pillow, hoping it will stop my rhythmic sobs being heard by anybody else in the house. I'm not sure how long this goes on for, but I wake up the next morning feeling exhausted and with a very wet pillow.

Next time, I'll just go to the cinema.

Tags

Bad Music, Bands, Music, Musicians, Student

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author avatar AStudiousLife
Just a few humourous anecdotes, I guess.

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author avatar DiRaega
20th Jul 2010 (#)

Yeah I've been to a few like that, they just make the whole evening that special bit shitter!

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