Minutes into our first performance we lost our guitar player. That would have spelled disaster for any other rock band out there, but it was just a blip on our radar screen. You know, because the guitar player is 6 years old, and she felt that playing Temple Run on her iPad was preferable to being a rock goddess.
Oh well. The 9 year old drums player more than made up for the guitar’s absence by nearly breaking her sticks pounding the heck of out of the drums to the tune of Bon Jovi’s “Wanted Dead or Alive.” That’s just how we roll on a slow Sunday afternoon.
And me, I’m the singer. Maybe I would have been the guitar player if Madeline hadn’t staked her claim to the job early (and then threw it down in favor of Angry Birds… I mean Temple Run). Besides, Alexa wanted me to be the singer, even if she spends the majority of most of our jams yelling at her drums, or the screen, or both, saying “DON’T FAIL ME. DON’T FAIL ME.” She reminds me of a young Phil Collins wailing on the drums with wild abandon, and the same sense of ferocity she brings to every single endeavor. Sometimes I wish I had more of that in me.
Our first song was “I Think I’m Paranoid,” by Garbage, chosen solely because it’s the song I know the best, and Alexa didn’t want us to have a poor experience right off the bat. Thanks, kid. I’m sure some parts of it were not quite good anyway, though, as evidenced by the neighbors looking at me awkwardly through the open window. I’m sure I would have heard some boos if I wasn’t screaming so loudly and so out of tune. I’m starting to rethink my application for an audition on The Voice. That thought was totally unrelated to my performance, of course. Alexa claims I was amazing.
That’s the glory of Rock Band, though, isn’t it? When you play with your kids anyway. Because even somebody like me, who loves music but has absolutely no sense of how to sing in tune or with good pitch (okay, sometimes I can sing okay as long as I’m not trying to match anyone’s tone or pitch) can front a Rock Band and feel good about doing it. Okay, so I’m no Bono, but I’d like to think I can still kick Vince Neil’s ass Beavis-style. Even if I really can’t. And now I’m nursing my voice with a little bit of Earl Grey tea because even a rock star needs a little pampering after a strong gig.
Oh yeah, and the former guitar player is still telling me to be quiet long after I’ve stopped singing. Maybe that should tell me something. It’s telling me that I should sing Radiohead’s “Creep” next. Yeah, that’s it.