Friday, January 13, 2012

Trust Issues (A Rant)

Before I start ranting, something has been brought to my attention: since I started this blog, there has been something slowly corroding its insides, turning them to a viscous, jelly-like substance and making a general mess of things. I am of course referring to the one pixel wide red dot that has been hovering over the letter m in "Coma" up above.

You bastard.

It's gone now, but the terrible memory will remain and forever haunt the darkest recesses of my mind. Good riddance I say.

Now the rant: Let's talk about trust. I have a small, tight-knit group of friends that I would trust with my life. In the last month, that group has decreased by two. Strangely enough, my band, Sinistry, also broke up in the last month. I wonder if those two events are related?

Up until November, things were going great. We were touring a small, three-county-wide area, vanquishing the foes of rock, and generally kicking ass in every direction. But most importantly, we were getting paid to do something we loved doing. Not a lot mind you, but we would've done it for free. 

Now, this is where it gets dicey, and to protect the names of the accused those involved, I'm going to use their band nicknames: America Jane, and The Norwegian Jackhammer.

Mine was Falcon. And I was graceful!

These two band members moved roughly an hour away in late October. That was all fine and dandy though. We still found time to practice and weren't hindered very much by it. Until they started insisting that I and our bass player (let's call him The Bassman) drive an hour to practice there. Every. Single. Time. 

I'm the drummer. He's the bass player, and he also owned the PA system. Everything: the PA, my drum set, his bass and amp, all of it was at Bassman's house-- only five minutes from me. The only thing America and the Norwegian Jackwagon had at their place was the guitar and amp. So Bassman and I were forced to haul 80% of our equipment in my tiny ass car to every single practice. If that wasn't okay with us, that was cool: we just didn't practice. And they didn't even offer to give us gas money for a little compensation.

Plus, I don't think you realize just how awkward it is to transport all that equipment and two people in my car.

About this awkward.

This was irritating, but Bassman and I dealt with it because, hey, we love making music. But then we found out that America had been taking all of the band money and spending it on God knows what. All we know is that it disappeared. This was a problem, since that money was supposed to be spent on band things like replacement drum heads, guitar strings, or I don't know.... transporting band equipment.

But that's all trumped by the Craigslist ad that I found in December. America and The Norwegian Douche-Hammer placed an ad looking for a new drummer. I only found out about it because they were stupid enough to link the band email that I had access to with the Craigslist ad. Hell, maybe they wanted me to find out that way. Maybe that was easier for them than confrontation. 

But here's the shittiest part of it. They weren't going to tell me until they found someone else. I waited a couple days, and the band kept gigging and practicing like usual-- and scheduling even more gigs. All without telling me they weren't planning on having me in the band any more (which is bullshit since I was around longer than two of the other members).

I talked to Bassman about it and we both abruptly concluded "Fuck this," and quit. America "I'm A Huge Cunt" Jane and The Norwegian Cockhammer (my anger isn't showing-- is it?) even had to cancel a gig that they had lined up, which felt fantastic.  I won't even try to deny that their pain brought me pleasure at that point.

Pictured: Me immediately after finding out about their evil plans.

I'm just glad that period of my life is over now. I had some great times in Sinistry, but now it's all tainted by that shit that went down at the end. Bassman and I are working on some new stuff with another friend of ours, and Dr. Cocktopuss and the Anal Jackhammer are presumably working on their own thing as well. Whatever. I don't care.

But whatever they do, they had better name their new band Dr. Cocktopuss and the Anal Jackhammer. It definitely suits them.

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