Thursday, October 19, 2006

Angels, devils, a thorn in my pride

A quick comment: Lest ye think I have some type of musical delusions, rest assured.

I have never played anywhere but a living room or a porch, and never to a crowd of more than five.


Who I had to pay to be there.

In fact, the average Mitten gig draws 2 people, and one is 20 months old and is kinda in the band. (He's going through a Syd Barrett-type reclusive stage, but he is our visionary, really.)

And the other is his mother, who is really only there because 20 month old visionaries need constant tending-to.

I only started singing because one of us had to. At least until Aden is old enough to form sentences.

Side note: Bells actually sings quite nicely, but he will usually only do it in front of me. He does some lovely quiet, acoustic songs. In fact, after everybody left Saturday, he showed me a really cool, ultra-mellow version of Don't Be Cruel.

Yeah, Elvis.

The Mitten prefers the Fat Pill-Popping Elvis era, replete with excessive sweat and karate moves.

Because, since the Mitten's early days, we have always incorporated excessive sweat and karate moves into our gigs. And fat. And pills, when we can get them.

Well, and we started the singing thing because of a huge rift, after our second drummer died, and Bells stormed offstage in the middle of a gig. See, we started as a Norwegian Death Metal Band, but nobody knew Norwegian, so we didn't bother with singing.

How it unfolded is that Bells insisted that in order to be a true Norwegian Death Metal Band, we needed to have someone sing about death, dying and decaying in Norwegian.

I lied and told him I could do it. Halfway through the tour, someone told him that all my Eee-york Byork Byork Borks! were lifted from the Swedish Chef on the Muppet Show.

I would have gotten away with it for the whole tour, except I didn't realize we were actually in Norway at the time.

We eventually patched things up. Sort of.

Don't tell Bells, Aden, Stanette, Tony and Carp (all in the band, but Tony and Carp only fly in for the really big gigs), but I may go solo and finally write my 7 part rock opera detailing the rise and tragic fall of Vic Tayback, a largely misunderstood American Hero.

So worry not, internet people.

It's just for shits and giggles.

And once Stanette knows the songs we know, believe me, I ain't opening my mouth, unless I am eating a cheesesteak onstage while Bells does his 20 minute drum/xylophone solo on the hydraulic platform that carries him over the audience.

OK, over Aden and Alicia.

And also, if we get someone in the band who can actually play guitar, I will follow my true dream of becoming a sexy, black, female backup dancer.

A boy can dream, can't he?

Don't doubt me.

I've got the money; I've got the desire; Lord knows I have time; and dammit, I've got heart!