Spinal Crap

D. Van Skiver

It’s a given that every band has their Spinal Tap moments. Playing shows is, in its own way, a pain in the ass. You’ve got to coordinate a group of people (in our case, seven of us) and make sure everyone is able to be there. Then you’ve got to get all of them there, plus their equipment, which typically turns out to be a multi-vehicular expedition. Inevitably, at least one of the drivers has no idea how to get there, which means trying to follow each other through bumper-to-bumper traffic on the beltway of a given city. A lane change becomes an ordeal. Someone misses a turn, possibly causing someone else to make the same wrong turn. Dinner winds up being Wendy’s, which runs the risk of giving the entire band digestion complications. One of the cars is low on gas, so everyone has to stop.

Once at the venue, there’s almost always questions about the line-up, or the set length, or who’s borrowing who’s equipment. The drummer from this band needs to leave early, so can we switch places? The guitarist from that band doesn’t have an amp, can we borrow yours?

So you set up, and then there is a whole new realm of potential problems. Bad instrument cables, broken strings, dead batteries, not enough mics, not enough electrical outlets, blown tubes or failing solid-state amps, a forgotten guitar strap, a forgotten tuner, the list goes on.

After that it’s a trust game. All seven people have to know their parts. All seven people have to make sure their instrument is in tune. And even at this point, as we found out at the Metro Gallery last night, all the shit in the last paragraph can STILL go wrong at any second.

How you handle it is what counts. When the lead guitar suddenly refuses to make a sound regardless of what the guitarist tries, it’s up to the rest of the band to fill that dead air, and it’s up to the whole band to keep the situation in perspective. Sure, you’re embarrassed because the guys from the other band are carrying an amp onto the stage to save your set, but there’s a guy sleeping on the sidewalk three blocks away and he hasn't eaten all day.

The key is not to make a big deal out of the situation. Despite all the technical complications, I don’t feel like our set was ruined. I had a great time playing. I met some cool people. I was playing bass for a small crowd at 9:30 on a Saturday night instead of zoning out in front of the TV or the computer. And that’s worth the pain in the ass of getting there, setting up, and dealing with whatever happens onstage.