(This is a limited weekly series wherein the author dredges up painful memories of getting thrown out of bands.)
I’ve been tossed out of every band I’ve ever been in, going all the way back to elementary school, when the band teacher asked me to pretend to play the slide trombone during the Christmas Spectacular. I got thrown out of that band for sucking, but the rest of ‘em are kind of a mystery to me.
In Middle School, me (drums) and my two best friends, Rosey (Bass), and Brendan (Guitar, Vocals) started a band called Bitch Possessed. We all lived on the same dead end street, two doors down from one another, and were ace #1 homeys. We practiced in Rosey’s cellar. We could play two songs: Zeppelin’s “Dazed and Confused”, and a catchy little punk number Brendan wrote called “Bitch Possessed” (Chorus: You’re the greatest fuck from the east to west, I’m telling you baby, you’re a bitch possessed). We sucked ass, hard. We were 12 years old.
Fast forward to Junior year of high school, the three of us have all taken lessons on our chosen instruments, we’ve got the basics down (Brendan actually had a little talent). So we recruit our boy Matt to take on vocal duties (he had a shit voice, but genuine punk rock ‘tude), and signed up to play our school Battle of the Bands competition. We name our band Right On!, and practice three songs: “Higher Ground” (Chili Peppers version), Sly and The Family Stone’s “Thank Ya Falletin’ Me Be Myself”, and our grand finale, a sort of original funk jam we wrote called “Robot Man” (it’s not totally original as we stole the bassline from Rick James’ “Give It To Me Baby”.) We practice in my basement for a week, during which time we come together like a tight viking commando unit of soul brothers ready to unleash hell on the B.C.H.S. gymnasium.
Okay, night of the show, we’re loose, calm, and ready to kick out some ass-blistering jams. Not only do we sound the part, we look the part. Rosey’s wearing red white and blue bell bottoms, a wool Knicks hat from like 1979, and a stone washed denim jacket that had “Hollywood” written in glitter on the back. I’m wearing some tighty whiteys and my grandma’s fur coat. Matty sang the whole show with panty hose over his face. I don’t remember what Brendan wore, but I do remember he’d taped a naked picture of his ex-girlfriend, Debbie, to the front of his axe, just to piss her new boyfriend off.
We played the shit out of that set. We were cold blooded. We had this dude, Mike D, come out with like 10 girls and do the robot dance during the grand finale. Everybody went ape-shit, it was beautiful man, (gimme a sec here, I’m savoring the memory)…. You gotta understand, this is 1992, nobody in our sleepy little upstate town had ever seen any shit like this. Girls were listening to New Kids On The Block just a year before, and now we’re moisturizing their panties with Rick Motherfucking James!
Long story short, we lose the contest. Trust me - the fix was in. Shouldn’t have even been a question, the other bands were complete tards. Our guitar player had been thrown out of school the year before, the vice-principal didn’t like us, they were using one of those shoddy sound measuring devices to measure the crowd noise. IT WAS BULLSHIT.
Okay, so six months go by and our High School decides to put on an outdoor festival called the Delmarpalooza. What’s that? Don’t ask. The school asks a few student bands to perform, including Right On! Except, no one told Right On!’s superstar drummer. Instead, the rest of the band accepted the gig, replaced me with this weaselly little shitcock of a non-drummer named Gavin, and changed the name of the band to Secret Sauce. I only found this out when flyers promoting Secret Sauce’s appearance at the Delmarpalooza start showing up all over our high school.
Gavin Shitcock
They say bands are like girlfriends. Right On! was my first girlfriend. Now imagine your first girlfriend, the one you’d dry hump for months on end, never pressuring her to go any further because you really loved her and you didn’t want her to do anything she wasn’t ready for - even though your balls are so bursting with love butter it literally makes you sick to your stomach. Can you see her in your head? Now, remember how you felt when you found out she blew some older kid just because he was cool and had a car, and all you had was a ten speed bike. That’s how I felt when I would walk outside and hear Secret Sauce practicing in Rosey’s basement.
Of course I played it cool. Pretended like I had bigger shit to think about. Never let on to the feelings of betrayal, inadequacy, or rage. Just buried that shit under my prostate - like a man.
Here’s where the awkward comedy begins. Here’s where I finally confront my friend and former bassist, Rosey, with this most egregious breach of brotherhood in the hopes that maybe we can all learn a little bit, and love one another a little more lovingly.
_________________________
Me: Yoyoyo
Rosey: Dude, you’re out!
Me: Let’s cut to the nitty gritty, man, wha’ppened?
Rosey: The simple answer is that Brendan wanted to be in the driver’s seat as far as the music and image of the band went. You didn’t fit into his vision. Right On! was really more influenced by our (me and your) passion for funk and R&B. Secret Sauce was playing Jane’s Addiction and Alice in Chains covers.
Me: Yeah, but what happened when he was like “Yo, Kevin’s out, Shitcock’s in!?” Why didn’t you say “Fuck that shit, we’re supposed to be brothers!”
Rosey: I was certainly guilty of desertion, no denying that. However, I was caught in the middle of two of my closest friends. Characteristically, I tried to make amends by quickly trying to find a guitar player to take Brendan’s place so that we could play Delmarpalooza as well. I tried to get Noah, and I even tried wooing your older brother to play the gig. Neither option panned out. I was very upset over the disintegration of Right On!, but at the same time felt committed to Brendan.
Me: Why’d Brendan want me out so bad?
Rosey: There was one day in English class when Brendan showed you, me and Matt a drawing he made of us. I recall that he was in the center of the picture. You told him that it looked like the picture should have been called “THE BRENDAN _________ EXPERIENCE” and he got really, really hot over that remark. I think that Right On! ended then and there. ALSO there’s the aftermath of the notorious Delmarpalooza (captured in a documentary that still holds strong) where our crowd ditched us and all we were left with was three freshman girls! Somehow I was left feeling that canning you brought about that pathetic conclusion to the RIGHT ON - SECRET SAUCE intrigue. Of course the musical quality probably played a role as well, but the guilt in my heart told me otherwise.
Me: I always kind of thought it was Brendan’s doing. Cause you and me were still pretty tight even after THE BETRAYAL.
Rosey: You did a good job acting more angry than hurt from what I recall. But I remember a time a few months afterwards when you were talking about the whole split-up and I realized just how much my betrayal hurt you. Made me realize how badly I messed up.
Me: So you’re sorry?
Rosey: Of course I regret hurting you like that bro. And I’m sorry for forgetting the drum/bass alliance. Women, children and rhythm section first!
Me: I didn’t know you tried to do all that other stuff. Trying to form a whole other band for me was pretty righteous… I still love you, man.
Rosey: …
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