Scene: the band's rehearsal space. It's in an old auto parts warehouse in Oakland, converted to a warren of rehearsal rooms. The property is permeated with the odor of pot smoke. The room we use has been done up in a "shrine to Sinatra" motif, complete with a ginormous photo of the Chairman of the Board on the wall behind the drum kit.
Players: Doug, Patrick, Zack, and me. Plus my son Geoff, home for winter break. He has his bass with him, which is good because Doug got stuck working late and couldn't get home to grab his bass. When Doug arrives, Geoff becomes a spectator.
We work on a few songs, struggling a bit to remember ones we haven't played for a while. We're also doing without Joe's vocals. We get a pretty good laugh out of one stretch where we play the songs at double-time, realizing we could really maximize our rehearsals if we could play 4-minute songs in 2 minutes.
At the end, we're just fooling around, dragging songs out of our collective memory. We find ourselves smacking out the power chords on "Smells Like Teen Spirit", and I notice Geoff is into it. He busts me for not playing the song with enough power. He knows it's an anthem, and I'm not measuring up.
And then Patrick says, "Did you ever think you'd be sitting somewhere watching your dad play Nirvana?"
Geoff pauses a beat and says, "Not really". Ditto from me.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment