I Can’t Hear Anymore and I Don’t Care

I’ve been playing in bands since I was 14.  And although I was never in an actual band in college, I spent way too much time playing acoustic guitar with hippie bongo players named Storm and jamming with guys who had Ovations.  I played guitar in some of those bands, drums in others, keyboards for a few minutes when I was younger, sang in a few, drank a lot, smoked pot, got wasted, played good shows, played terrible shows, drove around, damn near got arrested, and committed a handful of petty crimes with plenty of different bandmates.  One time at a show I got into a wrestling match with the bassist.  There were two people there to watch the show, so damn it, we gave them a show.  That was in Pat Buchanan’s Hearse.  One of the best damn bar rock bands I ever heard, much less was in.  And sometimes I wasn’t in it.

I remember a night in particular where I left the stage, handing off my guitar to a gentleman watching the show.  I left to pee.  When I got back, the band was playing, so I went to the bar to drink, where I saw the bassist.  We still don’t know who was playing to this day, but it didn’t matter.  We were never any better or worse than the folks in the crowd.  Except for a handful of times that I can remember where we were the best band in the room, maybe the best band in the world, if only for a few blissful, orgasmic minutes.

The shows were fun as hell.  And driving around with the guys going to a show was fun too.  And sometimes I miss all that.  But what I miss the most is playing music on a regular basis, loud as fuck.  In fact, I have tinnitus now, which is a direct result of never playing with ear plugs, a fact I’m actually proud of.  And as I get older, the tinnitus will get worse, my hearing will worsen, and I may never be able to experience the thing that made my hearing go to shit in the first place.  But the memories will remain.  Well, until I get really old, dementia setting in slow, and before anybody realizes it I’m mailing skittles to dead politicians, and the Fedex driver has to break it to my kid that I’m crazier than a shit house rat.

As long as these few youtube videos remain, at least I can click, point, and make grunting noises indicating that the young man with the long hair in the videos used to be me.  I think there’s other videos out there, but these ones are the first to jump up.

A simple google search found these and some others pretty quick.  They always make me smile.  And occasionally I get together with these guys, and we reminisce about the good old days.

All I have left to say is, if we play with The Perverted Hymns again, let’s go on first.

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