Once again thinking back to my high school days (this week is my high school’s 40th reunion) reminds me of a time I shared a stage with Jimi Hendrix. Okay, it was two weeks after Hendrix had left the building. It was a battle of the bands held in conjunction with a car show held at a place called Devonshire Downs where just two weeks earlier was held the Newport Pop Festival with Hendrix, Credence Clearwater Revival, the Chamber Brothers, Jose Feliciano, Deep Purple, Procal Harum, Johnny Rivers, Iron Butterfly, Eric Burdon and the Animals, Canned Heat, the Grass Roots, Rejoice, and Fraternity of Man.
It was the only time I ever played with a band which I did not feel was “my” band. I joined a band of three guys who lived many miles away. I wasn’t old enough to drive so once again it showed how supportive my parents were of my interest of which they had no interest.
These guys were nice enough but really rushed into this Battle Of The Bands thing unprepared. I protested but was reminded that it was “THEIR BAND, NOT MINE”. We were called The Five Cent Cigar Band and wore tuxedo shirts and pants. Not cool in this age of Hippie but I didn’t care, it was THEIR band, not mine. I figured we’d play, we’d bomb, then we’d learn our lesson and get serious. I had already learned this lesson years before but nothing teaches someone a lesson like a humiliating public embarrassment. To my surprise rather than buckle down after losing the Battle Of The Bands (along with all but one other band) they broke up the band.
It was decades later while I was thinking about this episode that I realized that they probably didn’t really break up the band, they just told me that to get me out of it. And come to think of it, all those girls I dated that either suddenly got married or became lesbians probably didn’t do that either. Damn!
It was the only time I ever played with a band which I did not feel was “my” band. I joined a band of three guys who lived many miles away. I wasn’t old enough to drive so once again it showed how supportive my parents were of my interest of which they had no interest.
These guys were nice enough but really rushed into this Battle Of The Bands thing unprepared. I protested but was reminded that it was “THEIR BAND, NOT MINE”. We were called The Five Cent Cigar Band and wore tuxedo shirts and pants. Not cool in this age of Hippie but I didn’t care, it was THEIR band, not mine. I figured we’d play, we’d bomb, then we’d learn our lesson and get serious. I had already learned this lesson years before but nothing teaches someone a lesson like a humiliating public embarrassment. To my surprise rather than buckle down after losing the Battle Of The Bands (along with all but one other band) they broke up the band.
It was decades later while I was thinking about this episode that I realized that they probably didn’t really break up the band, they just told me that to get me out of it. And come to think of it, all those girls I dated that either suddenly got married or became lesbians probably didn’t do that either. Damn!
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