A river )of crap) runs through it

Sometimes I would love to be able to shoot a flamethrower through the internet. That would be sweet. Anyway…

There is a hierarchy to playing in bands that is rarely discussed amongst band Doodes as it runs counter-intuitively to the “bonds of musicianship” that these (me) hypocritical ego-maniacs profess to have for each other. While in reality just about every musician thinks all other musician’s bands are the crap they all profess to love each other totally and absolutely. This is the bond of madness and deceit that ties people that hate each other together and leads to all the craziness that comes with being in a band.

When it comes to actually playing shows the hierarchy reveals that there are definite rungs to the ladder and this revelation leads to many uncomfortable moments in bars, on the phone, via email, etc. It occurs when a lower band in a desperate attempt to raise their profile mans up and asks a higher band to play a show together and the higher band’s hand is forced to tell them to go fuck themselves. While it is a mean process the skill at avoiding a straight “fuck-off” that is shown by the higher order would make Scott Petersen green with envy, (if he didn’t have other things to think about like getting beaten to death with a broomstick that was just recently implanted squarely in his ass by a guy named Hound Dog).

You see it goes like this. Let’s take a fictional band….mmm…and call them, I don’t know….the Pants Stretchers. Now, this band has been out gigging for a while and gets decent shows but not the total A-list shows that they would like to have. Still, there are lots of bands that would like to play the shows they play. So the Pants Stretchers are in the middle of the ladder. This leads to conversations like this –

Lower Rung Band Doode - Hey bro!
PS – Yo!
BD – I got an idea I want to run past you!
PS – (uh-oh) Uhhhhh….OK.
BD – I think if we played with you at Club Meathook on a weekend it would kick ass. Don’t you have a show coming up there in a couple months?

This is where the Pants Stretcher starts his most creative endeavors. Screw the stupid rock and roll songs, this is the inspired art right here boys and girls!

PS – (On the fly) Yeah, that would be cool man, but you see, Meathook has this weird thing where they are real sketchy about who we play with and man it would be totally rad to do the show with you guys and we would totally pack the place with you, we both know that but the guys at Meathook said we had to do the show with this like LIST of bands they have and I totally was hoping you were on it bro but you weren’t and it sucks because you’re so much better than the bands on there bro but you know, my hands are tied so I can't really get you on there man and if I ask the owner will totally chop my hands off man because he's crazy and he does shit like that all the time man so bro I don't know what to do man because I can't go getting my damn hands chopped off bro and he would totally do it man because he's crazy like that for real!

BD – Damn dude, for real?
PS – Yeah bro, for real.

So the Pants Stretchers are off the hook right up until BD calls Club Meathook to demand (because his band is so awesome) that they be put on the mystical BAND LIST. Of course Club Meathook denies the existence of said list because no such thing actually exists. BD is befuddled and while every rational part of his brain tells him that PS has just totally lied to him he refuses to believe his bro is capable of doing something like that. So the next round begins –

BD – Hey, the dude at Meathook said he doesn’t know anything about that band list….
PS (totally panics) – Ummm…man, that’s how they do stuff. It’s totally weird man. Yeah, uh, tell you what man, we’re kinda all up in the air anyway man and shit you know our bass player is not sure if he’s going to get a sex change so we might not do the show anyway man and shit I tell you bro that ummmm….

BD – I got you bro. Don’t worry about it. *click*

And as the light goes on in BD’s tortured and saddened little nugget of a brain the Pants Stretchers have, through no fault of their own other than being uncharitable selfish pricks like all musicians are, gained a mortal enemy. Forever more they will be hated by BD and his crew more than ex-wives and cheating girlfriends and the IRS all put together. They have broken the Bro-code. Unforgivable.

Don’t feel too bad for the Pants Stretchers though as they totally hate all the bands above them that tell them to fuck off all the time in the same situation. In contrast to the workings of the rational universe in the world of musicians dealing with other musicians shit always flows UPHILL.

I gotta sign off now, I’m calling my super good bud about opening up for them at the 9:30 Club.

Later Bros!!!