One Month To Go

...until life, as I know it, is over. While most of you are caught up in the countdown until college football season, I've been dreading the end of August. Why? Because it's the end of my 30's. I will be turning 40 freaking years old one month from today. I don't want to hear any comments about how it really isn't that bad because you know what? It is. Just ask my mother - I actually yelled at her recently for reminding me for the 1000th time that I'm "about to turn 40." So bring on the ball busting and the old person jokes. I might as well get used to it as I enjoy my final month of youth.

TT's Guide To Starting A Cover Band, Part One

Having played in many bands over the years, I’ve gained much experience and knowledge in the area of performing. And while I had a couple of stints in bands that worked on “making it” with original material, the majority of these years (especially the past decade) has been spent whoring myself in countless cover bands. Wanting to set your mind into starting a cover band? I think U better close it and let me guide U…

Know the song, don’t learn the song

“What’s the difference?” you might ask. Many people make the mistake of concentrating solely on playing the song – the chords, the lyrics, the ending, etc. But if you aren’t familiar with the song, you’ll forget the little things. Is the solo section 4 bars or 8? Is the bridge after the second chorus or the third? LISTEN to the damn song all the way through over and over without an instrument on your lap, without listening to YOUR part. KNOW the song so when you’re playing it, you automatically know where to go when.

T - - E - - M - - P - - O

If your drummer can’t keep a beat or plays too fast, you’re screwed. Might as well just forget it and quit before the first practice is over, because he’s gonna lead you down a path of putrid aural chaos. Having played with some of the best drummers around, I’ve been spoiled. There’s nothing more frustrating than a sucky drummer. Too many yahoos spend an inordinate amount of time playing badass fills and rushing to the next cool section of a song. Mr. Jackson said it best - Relax your mind…lay back and groove with mine.


Be versatile

Don't be a band that just plays between the lines. Find some guys who have an ear for music and can play requests on the fly. There's nothing wrong with saying no to requesters or at least asking them to show a tit or two, but be prepared when the hot girls make requests for gay songs you wouldn't necessarily be caught dead performing otherwise.

Leave them wanting more

There's nothing more pathetic than a band who plays an overly looooong third set in front of four drunks who keep asking for "Sweet Caroline" or "Sweet Home Alabama". Know when the party's over and step away while the fire's still hot. There's nothing wrong with leaving the audience wanting more...

I'll offer more hot tips in a future post.

Kids With Mohawks - Why?

This is a phenomenon that is growing like a weed, because I've noticed several of these poor children on the beach this week. I'm not talking about teenagers but small children! For the love of everything good and holy, why would any parent allow their child to have a freaking Mohawk haircut? Not only is it classless, but it's just bad parenting. And yes, I know I'm not a parent. But, by God, I know I'd be better than any schmuck who'd let their kid out of the house looking like a Travis Barker mini-me. What's next, tats and piercings? Serenity now!

Beach Tools

When choosing a spot on the beach, I like to be fairly isolated - I like my own space. Earlier this week it was pretty easy but as the week has winded down, more folks have shown up and set up camp in their own spots. There are now more umbrellas and chairs, including a tall pole with an American flag and a Univ. of Alabama flag underneath it.

Yesterday, I walked out and discovered that a group of tools had erected their own Neverland right next to our stuff. There was a 10x10 LSU tent with a bunch of chairs and towels strewn around it. A group of douchebag clones were gathered - twentysomething guys holding beers (along with their dicks), wearing visors, standing around talking about intellectual topics such as NASCAR, animals they've killed and what they bought on their last trip to Home Depot. Their shitty music was blasting from underneath the tent, deafening the other beachgoers around them.

I decided to relinquish my space and move a few feet beyond our original spot. That's when one of the tools walked over with a small orange flag and said, "Hey man - is this yours?"

"No, but it was here yesterday. I don't know who it belongs to," I said.

"Yeah, we ought to use it to cover up that Alabama stuff over there."

I wasn't sure I had heard him correctly. "What?"

"We need to cover up that damn Alabama flag over there."

"Um, yeah, I went there,", I said, making my annoyance obvious to this jackass.

"Oh, well we're all all Auburn grads and our wives went to LSU," said the genius.

I looked past him and scanned his buddies shooting the breeze next to their tent.

"Nice pairing," I snickered, with conspicuous disdain. I picked up my stuff and proceeded to relocate to spot a good distance away, making it clear that I didn't want any part of their group or any pissing contest over SEC affiliation. They spent the rest of the day tossing the frisbee and frattin' it up with their Tigerettes in tow.