Crushing Krisis

Comic Books, Drag Race, & Life in New Zealand

rehearsal

i love it, it’s perfect, now change

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As I gave Gina and Jake my third “we only have to change this one thing” note on a song last night, I wondered if they were starting to hate me.

I’m always the one giving the most notes in rehearsal, whether it be with AC or Filmstar, so wondering if people hate me isn’t unique just to rehearsing with AC.

Why do I do it? It’s not that I have the best ears – Gina and E are much better than I am. It’s also not that I’m the one not making mistakes – I make plenty, sometimes the most! And, I love getting notes – I’d be happy to get some.

So why am I the one Simon Cowelling at the end of every song?

Mostly, because someone has to do it. That’s not to say that every song requires a critique, but they at least all require a moment of consideration before moving on or else rehearsal turns into going through the motions. If you hear things to tweak while rehearsing and don’t tweak them then you might hear the same thing against next time.

Tweaks aren’t always bad things. Jake plays a lot of high, melodic bass lines in counterpoint to my rhythm guitar work and my backing vocals. Last night I realized this was my “problem” on “Real End” – our parts totally matched, but after years of playing with Gina I wasn’t used to the new harmony they created. The fix is simply us both playing our parts with confidence so they’re distinct from each other.

However, I think the real reason for my litany of notes is that my musical super power doesn’t lie in melody or blend, but in being a fan. I make music that I love to hear. Just like you would know if someone singing your favorite song at karaoke sang the wrong melody, I notice when a song doesn’t sound like itself.

I might not be able to articulate what’s wrong (though I certainly do so better than Randy “Pitchy” Jackson), but that’s why I have bandmates to help me! I simply know when something’s up.

I’m pretty sure that Gina and Jake didn’t leave my house hating me last night, just like I know we managed to make improvements on almost every songs in our repertoire.

How many of those improvements came from my notes? Possibly none, but would we have improved without the notes?

I don’t know.

Better (excerpt) – Arcati Crisis, Live @ Rehearsal

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I keep crowing about how we have a new bass player in Arcati Crisis, but what I have been slightly mum on is that Jake the Bassman is also a formidable singer. He was the other baritone in our erstwhile professional acappella group, and one of my go-to companions for heading out to open mic nights.

Gina and I being the hardcore harmony freebasing addicts that we are, it was only a matter of time until we used Jake to upgrade one of our duets to three-part harmony.

Behold, our first successful attempt on “Better,” with harmony as arranged by Arcati Crisis with the help of my dear wife, E:

When I first started learning to play music I had a free guitar tab notation program, and I would spend endless hours entering my favorite songs into it. In many cases I was notating them in ways that would be unplayable by one, two, or even three guitars.

I didn’t care. I wanted to hear the harmony. I would set the midi patch on “vocal oohs” and pretend that a group of singers were crooning the song back at me. How amazing, I thought, that people could make chords with their voices like I do on my guitar.

(This perhaps explains my obsession with acappella groups.)

That version of Peter barely knew what notes were portrayed on a treble clef, and couldn’t hit one if his life depended on it.

Fifteen years later, three part harmony, exactly like my speakers sang to me back in the 90s.

I love making past versions of me proud to be grown up :)

so many songs, so little time

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Tonight we held a marathon acoustic Arcati Crisis rehearsal with the addition of our old friend and new bass man, Jake.

As we learned last year with Zina, it’s not the easiest thing to onboard a new band member – even when they’re the most instinctual player and consummate professional. As the bandleaders, we have to know our stuff cold. Every rhythm, every transition. Anywhere we’ve developed a bit of sloppy shorthand with each other will fall apart when the new instrument hits it – especially with the force of Zina’s drumming!

As opposed to Zina (who started from just two songs that had drum arrangements and learned our entire repertoire in eight months), Jake has the benefit of existing fully-notated arrangements that imply a certain amount of bass action. Sounds great, right? Yet, Jake has both Gina and I competing with him on low end rhythm, because at many points we act as each other’s bass player.

Two steps forward, two steps back.

(No, that does not mean we’re covering a Paula Abdul song. If only. I’ve proposed that cartoon cat action at least once a year.)

(Also, FWIW, bass isn’t as obvious as drumming or adding harmony. A new bass part can sound perfectly fine for weeks until it’s turned up just a touch, and you realize it actually clashes with everything.)

Last week we learned out of the blue that we’re responsible for a three hour long acoustic spot next Saturday in Collingswood, so Zina got the night off while we attempted play every song we can even vaguely claim to know – which turned out to be 30 – with Jake playing bass on as many of them as he was able.

To put that in perspective, on the current never-ending U2 tour that boasts different setlists every night to date they’ve played a total of 61 full-length unique songs, along with a vast number of medley’d snippets.

Three hours later and I am completely spent – mind, body, and voice.

I fundamentally don’t understand how bands keep more than 30 songs in repertoire. Even rehearsing two or more times a week, it’s just a monstrous amount of material to keep fresh.

Of the 30 songs we eeked out around 25 solid versions – most with Jake. The giddiest success was “Better.” After weeks of misses and curses-under-breath, we nailed 11 out of twelve three party harmonies. We finally clicked on “Brother John,” “Real End” has transformed (again) into our best pop song, Gina and I delivered a close to note-perfect “In My Life,” and Jake made “Under My Skin” giddy and new again.

(What were the seven bum tunes? Mostly covers, though we fell apart repeatedly on “Hyperbole.” Specifically, we bombed “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” and I was overwrought and flat on “Across the Universe.”)

We have one more three-hour rehearsal left, and then our show. I’m sure we’ll be fine – after all, we’ve done this three-hour thing before, and we had a lot fewer songs back then. But it will also be our first trial-run with Jake helming our low end. It sounds fine in our parlor, but who knows how it will turn out in the wild?

Also, it makes me wonder how we’re going to achieve on of our big goals for the 2011-12 season of AC – learning a new song every month. Are we really ready to be rehearsing 44 tunes by a year from now?

I guess we’re about to find out.

rock band sweaters

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Tonight we had a sweaty Filmstar rehearsal.

Sweat is one of those unglamorous parts of rock star life that I feel is not sufficiently advertised by bands to aspiring musicians and parlor-bound Rock Band addicts, along with writing lead sheets and receiving constant electric shocks to the face from your microphone if your instrument isn’t properly grounded.

(Seriously, do you want full, pouty, Jagger lips? Just play a shoddily grounded bass and sing right up on the mic.)

No matter what sort of sweater you are under typical life conditions, when you are flinging a sixteen pound bass around while also doing some form of the frug and singing backup vocals, you are going to develop more than a healthy sheen.

Add to that the heat generated by your equipment or a low-hanging stage light focused on your neck and rocking out for an hour is roughly equivalent to spending the same amount of time in a sauna. Which makes 2.5hr rehearsals a marathon of perspiration.

I think I was experiencing all four aspects of band sweat at this gig. What you can't see in this photo is the stage light positioned about eight inches from my face.

We’ve all seen bands sweat, right? So what am I bitching about? Here are some aspects of band-sweat you might not have previously considered:

Sweaty vision. Sweat can sting in your eyes to begin with, but if you are a perfectly coifed rocker you are gradually sweating all of your chic hair product into your eyes, causing a stinging temporary blindness.

This usually takes three or four songs to get underway, which means you’ll be struck blind just as your set is heating up, typically during the most intense and difficult-to-play section of a song.

Which leads us to…

Sweaty hands. Either your hands sweat, or you get sweat (and dissolved hair product) on them trying to restore your vision. Shockingly, neither holding on to a plastic pick nor plucking bass strings in a regular rhythm is made easier.

Which means…

Sweat accessories. You need them, and I don’t mean Olivia Newton John style headbands. When planning your killer stage outfit, some part of it has to double as a hand-towel – and, let me tell you, leather pants do not fit the bill. Now I understand why so many singers wrap boas and scarves around their microphone stands.

Of course, then there’s the problem of…

Sweaty clothes. Once your set is over you want to reap the rewards of being a rock star – namely, adoring fans, and possibly a cold beer. Except, you are soaked through to the skin as if you had been standing under a fire hydrant, and with the rush of performance and the baking stage lights behind you your body is suddenly cold and clammy.

(My father has for years pointed this out to me about strippers; I did not realize he was telling me a parable that would assist in my rock star life. Sorry, dad.)

Allow me to enlighten you to the fact that fans are way less interested in fawning over you and hugging you when your entire ensemble is a massive sweat stain. And, despite what your Almost Famous dream fantasy looks like, until you are past local levels of fame most green rooms do not include fully appointed bathrooms with showers so you can make a quick change. I’ve played exactly one gig that has had one.

There you have it: my band sweat exposé. Maybe next I’ll address the practical issues of selecting attractive footwear that does not hinder your pedal-stomping.

For all my rocker friends: what other unexposed pitfalls of band life should the aspiring rocker be aware of before turning up to 11?

sing

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“Do you want to sing?”

Is my answer ever not “yes”?

I’ve heard people say that your willingness to sing has a reciprocal relationship to how good you are, and that the best singers will be the first to gracefully retire from the room when the topic is broached.

On that I call bullshit, and not just because it implies that I am a crap singer.

If you love to sing, you love to sing. Gina sings her way through life. E is singing beneath her breath at all times. Whether it was yowling teen in my high school hallways or increasingly lithe rocker of today, I sing on any occasion, so why would I decline to open my mouth and emit a joyous noise when someone specifically wants to hear it?

.

“Do you want to sing?”

I fielded that query at two o’clock on Saturday, and my relative skill as a vocalist aside it was a rare moment when I clearly did not want to sing.

I was in weekend bum mode, unshaven and in a t-shirt from my drawer of t-shirts that are explicitly set aside to never be seen outside of the house. The night before Gina and I had one of our longest rehearsals ever in that very living room with our new aider and abettor Jake, and we sang our voices right down to the quick until at the end my harmony on “Real End” was a mere squeak.

No, I did not want to sing.

This askance came from our little brother – not mine, actually, but E’s, except he is for all intents mine, for half his life and a third of mine. He was in our living room, moving out the next day, with his friend in tow, her first time in our grown up kids house, and if I was going to be in unimpressive weekend bum mode for her instead of lounging around the living room in rock star mode wearing nothing but sunglasses and vinyl pants drinking champagne from the bottle at least I could do some singing.

(Please note that the reality is more often than not me lounging around in low-rise jeans and drinking lemonade from a tumbler, but let’s not disabuse anyone of their glamorous illusions of your author.)

Of course I said yes. Is my answer ever not “yes”?

I said yes and hollered out Weezer and Lady Gaga and sang harmony on Maroon 5 until I was singing on fumes, and I know enough about myself to know when graceful retirement is the best option, so I finally excused myself from the room to wallow in the air conditioning upstairs.

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“Do you want to sing?”

The night before E and I moved in together I wrote a song rather than pack – a song with the line, “I’m a little bit sick and tired of getting put on display,” though afterwards I quickly counter the sentiment by confessing, “I guess I shouldn’t have listed that skill on my resume.”

It’s funny how little that describes my relationship to E – we’re never putting on a show for each other’s benefit. If anything, we are the show. The line was never meant to describe us – it was more about being thrust onto the stage in every social and occupational situation because I’m the only person in a room who’s both a consummate professional and a professional ham (a skillset shared entirely by Gina – but I digress, that’s another post entirely).

Bro and I both have that skill on our resume, and it’s become a big part of our relationship to each other. I brag to people about how he got upgraded from sometimes extra to general ensemble understudy at the oldest theatre in the country. He brags to his friends about living in my recording studio. I show my friends how he can hit Freddy Mercury’s soprano A in “Under Pressure.” He shows his friends how I can sing “Love Game” with no hint of hipster irony.

Is this what siblings do – a constant gladiatorial battle that is half one-upmanship and half hero worship? I have no frame of reference, having promised at an early age to smother any suddenly appearing siblings in the cradle.

(I was an intense child.)

So I sang, because it’s on my resume, because it’s what I do. Bro sang too, and just like with E or Gina we weren’t putting a spectacle on for each other – we were simply being the spectacle that is us.

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“Do you want to sing?”

Yesterday bro moved out, bound for yet another theatre production and then his first apartment.

We never hug, not out of some unspoken bro code but because neither of us ever seem to have the urge to hug the other one when instead we can whoop and sing in harmony, but he gave me a hug before he got in the car and drove away to be the spectacle in some other show while I go on starring in my own.

I will not deny the presence of a tear in my eye as I returned to our suddenly quiet house and opened my mouth.

In the list of things E, bro, and Gina and I all have in common, at the top of that list is that even on our worst day our answer is secretly: “yes.”