°Lalla° |
|
| Esce in questi giorni il libro di David "I CHOOSE THIS - How To Nearly Make it in the Music Industry". Lo si può comprare online nel suo negozio online per ora. Vi copio qui il primissimo capitolo che è stato postato sul forum, tanto per farvi un'idea del contenunto. Io l'ho ordinato e sto aspettando che mi arrivi. Curiosissima da bava alla bocca!  How Did it Ever Come to This?
I stood on the stage looking out at the death of a bright summer. Small clusters of people were sitting on the grass under some pissed-off looking clouds, umbrellas at the ready. Children in excessive performance make up were flitting around backstage like exuberant flies on a massive, massive piece of s**t.
It was never supposed to be like this. Every moment of my adult life had been spent striving for something that was now dying amidst the miserable, hysterical enthusiasm of a local radio roadshow. All my dreams had come true and it was unthinkably depressing. The weather was ugly. The turnout was dismal. The day was a complete disaster. That much was obvious. Still the MC was bravely doing her thing with a forced joy that made her appear psychotic.
“Alright! How ya doing? Make some noise!” she shrieked. No noise was forthcoming.
Radio Nowhere-ville had wanted a celebrity turn. They could only afford us. We were warming up the tiny crowd for a local primary school dance troupe. It was a new low. There could be no coming back from this. The backing track started and like a trio of obedient performing chimpanzees, we began miming an approximation of live music. There was none of that familiar old stage adrenalin, just an overwhelming sense of shame.
The rain started perfectly on cue. If there is a God, He really knows when to put the boot in. Kids slid off the bouncy castle, put their shoes on and ran for shelter. A tarp was thrown over the toffee apple stand. The fifteen or so people who had been watching with disinterest were now heading for the trees. The audience was gone. I didn’t care. I wasn’t even singing, just moving my mouth. It wasn’t a real gig. Hell, it wasn’t even a real microphone. This was a fitting end. Just me and two people who hated my guts, pretending to play music to an empty field.
If there was any comfort to be derived from this final humiliation, I could at least appreciate the irony that I was having a bloody awful time, miming to a song about what a bloody awful time I was having. That’s just me, sincere to the last.
The other crumb of solace was that I knew that this was as bad as it could possibly get. There were no more mistakes left to make. I had a full collection.
Turns out I was wrong about that as well.
But it wasn’t over for me. There was still a bright future to be had making music. All I needed was to get myself the hell out of the music business. |
| | |
