Ted imploding?

My band, Ted From Accounting, had its worst performance this past weekend. It was "embarrassing," "breathtaking" and a "train wreck." And I'm quoting other people, not myself. The first quote was from another member of the band.

It should be noted that I started the night on a very wrong note. I opened for the band, and there were less than a dozen people listening to me at the time. The low turnout is not atypical, especially when the majority of the audience is still bowling.

I had the cojones to perform "Everybody Here Wants You," a fantastic song from the late Jeff Buckley. No one has pipes like him but I tried my best, and I thought my performance of it was pretty good, including all of the falsetto parts. Unfortunately, I didn't get the crowd reaction that I had hoped. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great. It wasn't anything. Just basic applause which didn't tell me how it was actually received.

But I decided to follow it up with "Valerie" by the Zutons. To say that I'm in love with this song is a vast understatement. It only has four chords and lyrics that don't solve any mysteries of life, but it's endlessly catchy. I LOVE this song. It's the song that I desperately want to do with the band. (The previous song was "Reptile" by The Church, but it never got done. I think I've discussed it here before.)

So I start the song, and suddenly no one's listening. Not that anyone left, but every member of the band started talking to others instead of listening, even turning their back on me. Halfway through, Eileen puts her fingers to her ears.

I was already upset by Paul cranking the reverb on my vocals after a few songs. To me, "extra reverb" is synonymous with "can't sing." At the old open mike in Virginia, the reverb was called tongue-in-cheek by the host as the "talent button." He claimed that it wasn't too much reverb, but yes it was. Margie agreed, but what is she to do? Tell Paul that he's wrong?

When Eileen put her fingers to her ears, all I felt was rejection. So I played very quietly for a few seconds, then went back in and threw a curse word in there, staring at Eileen with anger in my eyes. She saw it and looked miserable for the rest of the song. As I went on with the song, the beautiful song that would sound so much better with a full band and with me singing it, I felt more and more upset over my actions. But I was still angry and ignored, so I put down the guitar upon completion of "Valerie" and said I'd be back in five minutes. Someone asked why. I said that I was pissed off about something.

I stood by the front doors of the bowling alley with a beer and a grimace. Margie came about two minutes later, asking me what was wrong. No one knew why I was upset, including her. Of course no one knew why, I thought. No one was paying attention to me in the first place! Anyway, I wanted to go back and finish the set, but I needed Margie to get me and save face.

Then Paul had the balls to get on me for leaving the stage when I returned. He was about to put music on as background noise. Of course, he could've put the music on three minutes prior, but I'm guessing he was unaware that I had left, seeing that he was already drunk off his ass.

The rest of the set went without incident. Eileen figured out why I was upset and explained it to me: Dan (aka Gumby, a hanger-on and unusual but interesting guy who occasionally plays drums for us when I need a break) was talking blue and Eileen put her fingers to her ears as a sign to Dan that she didn't want to hear him. So I overreacted. I know. I do that a lot.

John also came up and said that I "really sang that song," as a compliment. He also said that he didn't like the song, so the overall impact was negative. I'm trying not to overreact. But if the band won't play "Valerie," is there a reason for me to even be in this band? If they won't give me some decision-making power, maybe they'd be better off getting a drum machine.

Anyway, I didn't set the best example to start things off, and I feel terrible about it. Margie ripped into me the next morning in a way she never has before. I don't know how to stop being so sensitive. I can't help that I feel the need for positive feedback, and I feel like I get none of it. Not enough of it, anyway. It would be nice if Paul complimented me in any way, but he doesn't. Then again, he doesn't compliment anybody. Guess I shouldn't care what he says as much as I do.

So the band then came up. We sucked. I mean, we were abysmal. Paul's lack of sobriety really had a negative effect on the sound. He started songs that we weren't going to play. He screwed up his lyrics. He cut an entire line of "Comfortably Numb." Somehow, his guitar playing was still solid, and his solos were still great.

I don't know why Digger played so poorly. For the second straight attempt, he had no clue what the first note of "White Rabbit" was, and since it starts with him, that mistake is inexcusable. He's continuing to regress, though he claims he's practicing. Too often, it sounds as if he has no clue what the key is for the song, and he's trying notes until they seem to fit. But on "You Really Got Me," he played the entire song a half-step too high, and he may have been the only person in the place that didn't hear how discordant it was.

It was reminiscent of a situation in my teacher band from Virginia, where the singer started a playing a self-composed tune with the capo in the wrong place, and the bass player started playing his part, unaware that the key had changed. Neither of them heard how bad it sounded, so I smacked the snare drum a bunch and yelled "stop" to get us to start over. I came off like a jerk, but it would've been three minutes of hell otherwise.

For "You Really Got Me," it was nearly impossible for me to stop the pain. Paulito played another killer version of "Eruption," the preamble for "You Really Got Me," and after he started to play the opening riff of it, there was no way I could interrupt without it looking REALLY bad. And I'm shoved in the back, so I can't get anyone's attention. If they don't look at me, they won't hear me yelling at them. Drummers can't wander. Digger sang lead on "You Really Got Me," so he never wandered back to me. Why no one else in the front of the stage, which is everyone else, didn't tell him that he was off is beyond me. John did look back at me with a "wow, this smells" look during the song. Eileen might not have been on stage at the time. And Paulito was in his own world.

The night was a real embarrassment. Eileen stormed off the stage during the second set, yelling "I'm through" to me, but she came back two songs later. This was before the "You Really Got Me" debacle! Believe it or not, I spent some time later that night consoling her. Since my dramatic moment early on, I was able to laugh most of the band's issues off, trying to be less serious about everything. But I got the strong feeling that, if we suck that hard again, Eileen's gonna quit. And I can't say I'd blame her. Right now, we suck.

John and I discussed how bad the night was. But it wasn't discussed with Paul and Digger. Are they even aware of how bad we were?

The day after a gig, someone usually sends a band email discussing the night. By Monday night, nearly everyone's chipped in their thoughts. But as of this Monday night, nobody's written a word. Unless the discussion doesn't include me, no one wants to start the difficult discourse about our new-found level of suckitude.

As I was packing up the drums, I wondered if this would be our last show. I sincerely don't want that, but I'm not sure how to approach our current regression. I've already sent enough thought-out emails that have been completely ignored. Someone else needs to step up.

I'm pretty ashamed of my tantrum during the opening act. I did it because my emotions were going to boil over if I continued playing. I needed that moment away. Maybe this lack of email correspondence is everyone's moment away.