Being in my band was an uphill struggle!

CHRISToPHER BRooKES’S story about his car wheel going runabout reminded me of a time when I played bass guitar in a band. Any dreams about mega earnings and trophy girlfriends soon faded as the reality of life as an amateur musician in my first group kicked in. A typical gig for us, as a lowly covers outfit, would start after work with a meal before loading the gear into our van and driving to the venue. There, we would set up and play for three hours, the audience gradually becoming more raucous on the amber nectar. Afterwards we would dismantle the gear and load the van again. I would eventually get home and sleep for four or five hours before getting up for work. only a few dedicated musicians survive this apprenticeship and, as I soon found, I wasn’t one of them. our drummer drove his parents’ ancient van and would pick us up and drop us off at our homes, which meant he was the first on the road and the last to get to bed. Fatigue was starting to make him grouchy. Being the most junior band member, I sat on the floor next to the van’s back doors. one night, after a difficult gig, we turned a sharp corner on the way home and began climbing a steep hill. Suddenly, the van doors burst open and the bass drum flew out, followed by my amplifier. Through the pouring rain I could see my poor amp smashed on the road and the bass drum bouncing merrily down the hill and into the pitch-black night.

We all got out and the drummer finally had a meltdown. ‘That’s it, I’ve had enough,’ he screamed, followed by a tirade of expletives. It was the last straw for me, too.

There was no search and recovery: the doors were slammed shut and the band drove home in total silence, never to play together again.