On stage in a rock band for the first time. |
On stage for the first time, me a bass guitar player in our Head Down band, playing for the masses, teens, groupies, tattooed young men, shirtless lads whooping and hollering, gearing up for rock and roll and eyeing females for eventual union of sorts. Nervous me, like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, conditioned by heavy amps decibel incredible. Oh the loud, oh the riot, the audience in scream, an auditory froth like lager suds or ocean shore white, the anticipation, me, a hair-to-the-shoulders Peter Frampton wannabe in tight jeans and black tee, pick placed forthright in right hand to strum a riff, to add to this heavy metal beat, to shuttlecock a cord or more for virgin appearance proximate to tall and shiny microphone. This is what we practiced for--those arduous garage and basement sessions fretting until my fingers bled, the neighbors calling the cops ad nauseam, the spill of talent like a lake in spring when snow is warmed to leaving... ...but here I am like Bob Seger turning the page on stage once again, almost in boredom he, but nay, I shall not simply turn the page and yawn, ‘cause this is new, like screwing for the very first time, and any ennui is not to be considered. It comes easier now, amid the clamor, amid the deafening voice box booming far beyond the Emmy clapping or the tintinnabulation of any set of bells. I am into it now, with ease I slide, I feel alive, my instrument a writhing tool to satisfy with manic rock, the stage a lighted mistress. How sweet this consummation, as I arrive at every smoke-on-the-water orgasm. I have come to play. 40 Lines Writer’s Cramp 2-24-16 |