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HOW TO START A BAND |
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Dege Legg is the main-man in Santeria, one of the greatest rock and roll bands on the planet. Just in case you didn't know. - Sleaze |
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1) Find friends who can or can’t play. Suggest forming a group. 2) If you don’t have friends, place an ad in a weekly. But watch out. You’ll get the range of humanoids calling. You’ll get the dudes who are really cool, but can’t play worth a shit and have no chops. You’ll get the dudes who can play, but whom you don’t really vibe with…at all. And you’ll probably get a visit from an incarnation of the infamous, “Noodley Schadoodaley.” He’s the dude who shows up with nice equipment and noodles all over everything you and the bad boys are playing. And he won’t give anybody else in the room any space to schadoodalize beside himself. |
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| Fucking bitch. He hogs it all to himself. You can’t even get in a fraction of a schadoodle without him yanging all over your chicken scratch. You’re punching in and he ain’t even thinking about punching out. He’s not even looking at you Losers. He doesn’t even know ya’ll are there…other than to keep the beat and make him a sandwich. He doesn’t care about you, man…just the art of schadoodle…and his $2000 amp and his $1000 guitar. Number#1 Rule: Do Not Invite him back. | |
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3) Buy instruments or steal them from a Cover Band’s practice rooms (just
kidding…I think^?<10%?#@!!! If you don’t have a dinky PA to sing thru, do
what most of us do…just sing thru a bass amp. It’ll sound like shit, but
at least the others will have an idea where you’re heading with those
complex introspections. If you don’t have a bass amp, find a Peavey Studio
Pro amp, prop it on a stool, kill the highs, and let it squeal. Number #1
Rule: Make due with what you got…even if it sounds like shit…somehow
create the illusion that’s what you intended. *A Short Note the Number#1 Rule: there are a lot of Number#1 Rules. In fact, every rule upon creation should be known as the “Number#1 Rule”…you forget them all a week later, anyway, so don’t worry about it. There’ll be thousands of them. Way too many to remember or follow. When you’ve forgotten the last one, that is the opportune time to spring a new one on your boys to follow and then forget. It becomes like a game…one that should be abused to the fullest extent…along with everything else in your personal life. You’re a musician, not a bank teller, motherfucker. Now get in there and start fucking up your life…it’ll give you something interesting to write about after you’ve worn out bitching about “society.” 4) Think of a name. Try to avoid mechanical sound names like Wrench Kit or Sprocket Pipe. I hate those, so does most everybody else who had to hear them in the 90’s. And if you’re going to shoot for one of those “The” Names, you’d better get cracking, because in a year or so, they’ll be so played out, you’ll have to change it just to avoid being lumped in with the wash-outs. 5) Drugs are optional…but it’s best to wait until you get rich (if). Motivational problems may occur if drug indulgence crops up too early. 6) Schedule practice. Kill all cell phones at practice. Number#1 Rule: No phones! Nobody wants to hear you squirming like a Squeak Freak to your girlfriend about why you have to practice “with the band.” (Remember, she’s fucking nuts, anyway…why else would she be going out with you?) (You ain’t got time right now to pretend like you care about all that mean shit her boss said to her. You ain’t even got a job. So don’t worry about it, tell her your business is rocking and she’s about to send the stock into the toilet) Ok, back to the matter at hand…Write Some Songs. Quality is debatable—it all sucks in the beginning…anyway, so just roll with it. Of course it’ll sound “awesome” to you and your inner circle of friends. They’re just hoping you get a couple gigs so they get in some place for free. Talent is relative. When you’re just getting out the gate, it helps to have disproportionate self-confidence…often inversely proportional to the amount of talent in the band. Beware; you’re going to be opening up for well-rehearsed bands that are, more often than not, a little better than you and giving you some attitude. They’ve done been smelling their own shit for so long, they think its Irish Spring. Don’t sweat it. Just nod when they start talking shit after the show and commence the transmission of absurd “quips.” For example, refer to all drummers as “Ringo” and say you dig their “thing.” Bands lie to each other all the time. “Good Show, man.” Your Response: “Whatever, bite me.” 7) Record some shit…a demo, concept disc, anything, something you can give to the poor bastards who have taken it upon themselves to book shows (it’s a thankless job, but thank God somebody does it). Give it to them. Call them back in a week. If no answer, leave message. Call back again if no return call. Keep trying. Leave messages. Try to bug them without getting too obnoxious and annoying. 8) Save cash and buy a van to stick all your shit in and truck to gigs. Rentals will eventually run you dry. Used vans are everywhere, but be careful, lot of shysters out there. They want to rip you off and send you running. The best buys are used church vans. They usually buy a new one every 10 years or so. Hit them up. Tell them you’re a “Christian brother,” looking for a good deal…saving souls with RocknRoll or whatever bullshit you can cook up. 9) Book gigs. *(See Above). It’s a drag, but it’s got to be done. Call clubs between 5-9pm. Before that, they’re usually closed. After 9pm, they’re stocking the bar and/or already listening to a bunch of jokers like you, making a gang of racket in their club. They can’t hear shit what you’re saying, so don’t ever bother. It’s annoying on both ends. Number#1 Rule: Always be real polite with the dude/chick who does the booking, even if they’re pricks. They got the power, so you deal with it. It’s like asking someone out on a blind date…and you want him or her to Pay You. In the beginning, you’ll have to play for free a lot, till someone decides you’re worth $50-100. Don’t get bummed about the Small Cash; nobody makes shit in this business, unless you’re on a decent label…and even then…it’s questionable *(see: “shysters”). 10) Vibe. Try to get along with one another. Respect and friendship is the key. It’s best to rock with dudes who you have a pre-existing friendship with, that way a commonality is already established. Doesn’t matter if you have opposing music tastes (everybody does, in some way or another, you’ll soon find out). If you vibe personality-wise and you’ve been friends awhile, it’s a lot easier to forgive each other for all the fucked up things you’ll do and say, in anger, at one another later on. If you’re strangers, it gets a little touchy and weird when you chuck a mike stand at him/her, narrowly missing their head. Plus, you have an idea of what they are “made of.” As in, will this Joker want to tour? Is he gonna crack like an egg when the van breaks down in Nowheresville? Am I going to be able to handle being in a van with him/her for a month straight? Momma’s boy/girl? A good example is my buddy, Jay, the old bass player from Santeria. He wasn’t the best bassist on the planet, but he was my good friend and we shared a really fucked up, tweaked sense of humor, so it made everything way more tolerable. Sure we got in fights…and used to throw stuff at each other, but 15mins later, we’d decompress from the Cro-Magnon Shenanigans and laugh about it. Some dude or dudette—you’re not tight with—is not as likely to forgive/forget. He will likely walk—quit the band—and go home crying to his girlfriend about what a dick you are. You don’t need that shit; you’ve got enough enemies…even in your own family, that is, if you’re a true, card-carrying Anti-Hero of the Highest Order. So ditch them…and go on about your business of making new enemies…and rocknroll. 11) Send Out Shit (SOS). And lastly, mail some of them fucked up demos you recorded to a whole slew of labels that fit your profile. Don’t send spazz-jazz to Relapse. Don’t mail Math Metal to New Age Records. You’ve got common sense? Use the shit, man. Don’t go jumping into the Indy 500 if you’re sleeping at the wheel, you know? Obviously, check to see if the bastards are even accepting demos. If they aren’t, it goes in the trash or comes back looking just like you sent it. And don’t mail them a small phone book full of press clippings and shit. Nobody cares about all that shit…a few quotes (made up or not) will do. Just send the One Sheet. If you don’t know what that is, look it up or ask some Joker like myself who’s been around the block so many fucking times you can barely see his head from the rut. He’ll tell you and he’ll even teach you how to sleep on the floor of a shitty room with four other dudes who snore a lot (i.e. wear ear plugs, sleep in the bottom of a closet, and crash with a ski cap pulled down over your eyes to block the morning sunlight). Works every time. You’ll be the first one snorting like a pig, the last one up, and the best one rested…leaving you more energy for hardcore-clowning sessions in the van…which are important for keeping up moral. 12) Write more songs. But good ones this time, way better than that shit you put on the first demo…the one that you don’t even play for people anymore…because you wince when you hear yourself squealing like a stuck-pig over all the metaphysical introspections. You and the Jokers are going to have to tighten up a little. Chop the fat off that bridge. Suck in the gut on that dirge song. Punch the fucking crescendo on the Long Song into the void. And crack the whip on that lazy keyboard/sound-effects fucker—He ain’t doing shit but laying dead weight on a Black Train and smoking everybody’s cigarettes at practice (fucker can’t even afford a pack a smokes!) (In fact, even when he’s got smokes, he’s still bumming them off of you) (That fucking weasel). Work those songs. Don’t let them just hang there…like your dick—or a flag—at half-mast, man. Shove them things thru the roof. You’re putting all the hipsters, at your show, to sleep—they’ve got jobs to quit and tests to flunk—they only came to the club to check out the chicks anyway. So get on it, Joker. This ain’t Summer Camp. This ain’t the Army, either, but at least there, you get paid and fed a square meal now and then. If you want to be an Anti-Hero, you can’t slack. No room for slacking. You’ve got break your balls and work like a madman—to the point where it’s almost not worth it anymore—to get anywhere. But most importantly, (Number#1 Rule) have a good time while you’re doing it…or it definitely won’t be worth it. 13) Then get in on the ground floor of the Dead Revolution and start picking and grinning…or rather frowning…at the Patron Saint of Frown Clowns, because in every city, there’s a 1000 dudes that look just like you and they’re shooting for the same hole in the sky. ___________________________________________________________________________________ |
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-Dege Legg |
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