Well… actually… I’m gonna mention a few of them.
After last week’s blog where I listed some of the deeper, darker parts of myself, I thought I’d continue along that line for a moment.
I’ve made a lot of friends over my years in this job. I’ve also made a number of enemies. Well, not so much enemies. That’s possibly too harsh a word. Mind you, they may consider me that way. I would hope not. That hurts my soul.
I’m talking, of course, about exes. In my case it’s mostly ex-drummers. Sometimes singers, other guitarists, bass players, keyboardists, horn players of all descriptions, etc but…
I’m not sure what it is with me and the percussive set. I love them dearly, value what they bring to the musical table and realise the absolute truth that a good drummer is pretty much everything to a band.
I kid you not… indispensable!
If your drums are there, you can get away with murder on some of the other instruments.
I know I need them and want them to be part of my life both within and without a band.
But sooner or later, no matter how good the relationship, I will piss them off royally about something or other. Not necessarily about the band directly but always somehow.
Dozens of them over the years.
I’ve just not called them back when I’ve gotten over them, I’ve managed to become involved in some bitch-slap fight with them over something completely unrelated to the band, I’ve argued the ol’ “These are my songs and, although I value your input… to an extent….” carry-on or I’ve just gone all passive aggressive about some shit or other.
Hell, I even slept with one and totally screwed up the band dynamic….
But that’s another story.
Each and every one of them, I regret… terribly. These wonderful, magical, rhythm making beings that no longer share my life.
I’ve shelved entire, really good projects over them or I’ve sacked them and replaced them. I’ve been at the point of not ever speaking to them again, nor them to me.
Not in all cases. Some of them just kind of roll their eyes when they see me and we act cordially but you can tell they’re still kind of pissed off.
You know their feelings are hurt and they think you’re an arsehole. In most cases they are probably 100% right and I deserve their disdain. If any are reading this (and they probably wouldn’t grubby their eyeballs with it), they may take some small satisfaction in the fact that I feel like crap about it.
To you drummers… I love you and I’m sorry.
I’m human. I screw up. I’m not sure what it is that leads me to do it. I kind of fall in love with you and what you do with my music is ….“intimate”.
I don’t know about the rest of you but to me, jamming is a lot like sex. When you’re in the middle of a band that’s humming, don’t tell me it doesn’t make you… umm… musically erect? …So to speak.
In that moment of physical, psychological, spiritual, and magically harmonious-ness, when you’re swept away in the music.. not just playing the notes.. I mean “inside the wave” kind of thing…
So it’s a mine-field for the rest of your relationship with that person.
You know when you’ve had that sexual partner that blew your mind in bed but when you were making breakfast you kind of wondered how you could possibly be in a long term relationship with them? And you really wanted to make it work because the sex was just sooooo good but sooner or later you knew you were headed for the rocks because as people, you had little compatibility.
Or sometimes you have those ones where everything seems great for quite a while and then they say something at a party.. in front of relatives or close friends… that just boils your blood and… you….
It’s really not their fault. It’s all mine. It’s my issue.
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
I’m sure there’s some deep psychological reason behind why I do it. (my wife has some theories… and I’m sure y’all might have some too.)
It has always hurt me to part ways with any musician on a sour note. (pardon the pun.) It’s like any loving relationship breakup.
Actually, I hate the feeling that I have over any conflict. I avoid it at all costs. Definitely, I’m a sensitive musician. And shit keeps me awake at night. Each drummer (and those other musos too) have left a deep scar on my heart.
But you can never go back. Sometimes you can “just be friends” but most often not. They’ll say hi at a party and you might fake your way through a chat about “the good ol’ days”. Keep a conversation going about some gig you played that really went well…. And there was that time when you…… “whatever’d”
you’ll both sigh and look around the room for a way to escape. Eventually, one of you will have drained that beer you’ve been holding and will say, “I’m just off to get a fresh one.” And won’t come back.
Others might just stay… “facebook friends”.
Sometimes I wish I could get them all into a room together with me. Have a big, full on hug fest. Get it all out… have a cry… blast through the anger and resentment. Make the accusations out loud. Get past it. Accept and love one another again as the brothers and sisters we are. You know, like an intervention.
Then play some wild music together in a joyous orgy of passion.
A carcophony of rhythmic… umm…
I want to say… “coitus”?… no. I don’t think that’s the word I’m looking for..
….Anyway, I fear it’ll never happen. If invited, there’s a fair few of them who’d tell me to go f**k myself.
And I wouldn’t blame them.
I think the best I can hope for is to meet new drummers and try not to foul things up with them. Though I’m pretty sure I’ve said that before…
yes. I’m almost positive I’ve said that before.
Do you wanna know the worst thing?…
I’ve still got recordings of them…
And I still sneak a listen every now and then.
I wonder if that’s like masturbating over pictures of your exes….. Even when they may have all but put an AVO out against you.
And then having the thought that you might just post those pictures on the internet… cause… you know?…
They’re kinda hot.
Okay.. possibly not the image we want to put out there.
I’m just not that guy.
I mean…. I might show them to my mates… I know they’ll be discrete about it.
But only the really close ones.
Okay… maybe I’ll show it to this guy that I only just met but he showed me some porn on his phone as soon as I met him and it just seemed like I needed to mirror his trust.
I played him a couple of songs.
So kill me!
It was no big thing. It’s not like he kept copies of them or anything.
And it was all very tasteful.
You were only ever shown in the best light possible.
Damn! No wonder they hate me!