I recently sought a way to expand my musical/social horizons in the humdrum town of Brattleboro. I spoke with a townie friend of mine and she recommended I try the Mystery Band event that has been annually held in town, hosted by some artistic hippy collaborative known as The Future. I asked her to describe the event and what it would entail, though I already had a basic idea after nervously considering participating in such a thing.
She informed me that I would provide the host of the event my name and contact info, and this info is put into a figurative hat. The info is randomly assorted and then picked out of the hat; I get matched with three other people who are also participating. We have two months to collaborate and then put on a show in which we play several songs in front of what sounds like a pretty large audience.
So, townie friend, you’re saying that I get to meet up with three random strangers, try to figure out how to incorporate an accordion or violin into a group consisting of probably three guitars, and then induce massive amounts of stage fright upon myself? This sounds like a wonderful time!
I signed up, sent an email to the host of the event, and he matched me up with three other dudes. We exchanged some emails before our first practice, and I was almost right: two guys play guitar, and the third plays the keyboard. I would soon come to find out that the third guy doesn’t actually “play the keyboard,” but more on that later.
We exchanged several emails and decided that practice would be held at 5:30pm.
I have a propensity to think of safety and security before participating in any peculiar situations (thanks, job!). And I determined that it would be best to invite the strangers to my own house, where I am familiar with where I keep the firearms (thanks, Sun Tzu!). My place has plenty of space in which to practice, which was also another important factor.
I spent a while considering whether or not I should tell these people that I’m a cop, and I decided against it. Their reactions would be entertaining, and I like entertainment as much as the next red blooded ‘Merican.
Anyways. The first car pulled into my driveway at around 5:40pm on the first practice day. The driver saw the cop car, and slowly backed away. I figured that would happen. A subtle wave of relief washed over me and I realized I may not have to do the Mystery Band thing. I can say I at least made the effort to go out and meet other musicians, but it just didn’t work out. Hurray, back to my peaceful solitude.
But alas, the car returned 15 minutes later and stopped in the driveway. Surely, the driver, whom I later learned was Jon, had gone somewhere and confirmed via GPS or some sort of mapping that the driveway which he previously visited was certainly the house in which he would practice. Yes, Jon, that was the house, there’s also a cop car in the driveway. Face your fears, hippy!
Face his fears he did, but not without stuttering and tripping over himself as he walked toward the front door.
He entered the house and avoided eye contact at all costs, and wouldn’t really talk. Can’t say I entirely blame the poor bastard. He had a nice guitar in one hand, and a shitty Carhart jacket over his back. Due to the fact that I am a purveyor of all things awkward, I’ve learned how to diffuse the situations; a skill which comes handy at work.
This was definitely one of those awkward situations. A guy I met from the internet showed up at my house with the intent of forming a band with a cop, and two other mystery people. Holy fuck, this is weird, and the other guys need to get here. Jon is about to shit his pants, and I’m running out of lines to avoid awkward silence.
A loud banging came on the door, just in time. I opened the door and encountered a mad scientist. This fellow had a collection of oscillators and synthesizers and looping devices tucked under both arms, along with a guitar. He seemed completely unfazed by the cop car, which was nice, though he later said he was quite nervous.
The third guy, the keyboard wanker, did not show up because of a *cough* family emergency.
We played disorganized and chaotic music for an hour and parted ways, it wasn’t too bad after the initial mountain of awkwardness. We had another practice scheduled and the keyboard guy showed up this time, several days later.
This keyboard of his isn’t used as a piano. Instead, he uses the different sound effects to make my living room seem like a studio for the Nickelodeon of 10 years ago. It got to a point where Jon, the quietest of the group, said, “Just…please, no more of the clown noises or race car sounds.”
Good job, Jon. Use that voice.
This Mystery Band thing is quite alright, for now. We’ll see how it progresses, and I’ll update on the Mystery Band experience after the performance.
We still don’t have a name…. or any real songs put together, but hey, fuck it.
Nader 