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For the next week I
did nothing but play the bass. I practiced for a
few hours everyday until I could play the Creamy
songs as well as could be expected. We had a show on a Tuesday night at a place called Arlene's on the lower eastside. It wasn't a well-publicized gig, more of a showcase for the record company. A showcase, I began to figure out, for the new bass player. The place was crawling with record company types (like that creep I met when I worked at Purgatory). It was hard to hear the opening band over the chatter of A&R dudes on cell phones.  When our turn came, we took the stage. I always thought being in a real band would be glamorous, but there's nothing glamorous about carrying your equipment around and setting it up yourself. Anyway, we rocked. We like totally fuckin' rocked, man. At least I managed to get through the set without hitting too many wrong notes. And the ones I did screw up I covered with my patented Sassy Styler. | |
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