Guest post by author Paul Bahou
Paul Bahou is the author of Sunset Distortion: The Pyramid at the End of the World. He holds a degree in Political Science from Cal State University Long Beach with a minor in music. He began his career writing grants while playing in his rock band, eventually moving out of music and into the sustainability sector. He lives in California with his wife Melissa and daughter Sophie, with son Harrison due in early 2021. He writes fiction, music and the occasional dad joke in his spare time.
People only get half of the story when it comes to being in a band.
I’m not talking about cover-band, playing ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ for the five-thousandth time at the tail end of your third set, please tip your waitress, shout out to the drunk cougars in the front, type band experiences. No.
I’m talking about writing and recording original music, arguing about who gets pushed higher in the mix, get the tub of merch in the van, driving to new cities just to play on an off night, shout out to the sound guy and the guitarist from the opener who loaned us his amp, type band experience.
I’m talking about the less than glorious aspects of the rock and roll lifestyle of the yet to make it crowd: Hustling to get people into the door, nerding out over the obscure band you’re going to be opening up for and the unfiltered joy of finding the perfect tone.
The band life can be rewarding and hit you with a level of satisfaction that gets you right in the soul… or maybe it’s just the oxy receptors in your brain. Regardless, few things top being immersed in music you had a hand in writing, while performing it in front of a crowd who reciprocates that energy.
It’s in those moments that you hit a level of clarity in your life as the absoluteness of your dedication flowers: The thousands of hours in the practice room, the lost battle of the bands, the hopes hung on an A&R rep who never showed up…
It all melts away in the show. Not all of them of course. Some are downright abysmal. No one wants to get up on stage in front of a room full of people when you’re battling the stomach flu, or your gear is breaking, or your dog just died, or the crowd just plain hates you. But sometimes… sometimes… it’s pure magic.
It’s this way regardless if you’re playing the one AM set on a Tuesday at a dive bar, or are at a music festival with bands you idolize, the melting of self into performance enraptures you. Its why people stick with it even when it no longer suits them, even when it’s the very thing holding them back.
Such is the story of Lazer, the protagonist in my debut novel Sunset Distortion. He plays guitar in a heavy metal cover-band at a dive bar on the sunset strip. He is so enmeshed in what it is to play music, that the rest of his life has fallen away from him. It’s a story about a man who is unabashedly all-in on the rock and roll lifestyle, despite what he’s lost along the way… but then on page five he gets abducted by space aliens and all bets are off.
Sure, most people’s experiences with playing in a band don’t include space pirates, inter- dimensional brain leeches or cloned replicas of famed soviet cosmonaut Laika the dog, but the baseline experiences are all there: the joy, the agony… the hearing loss. But in the end what it really comes down to is the energy you get back from your connections forged in the moment. The kinetic exchange between artist and fan. Short of holding your baby in your arms for the first time, there’s nothing else quite like it.
You’ve been a wonderful audience. Thanks for sticking around. Please tip your waitress. Buy my book and shout out to the cougars in the front.
