So later on Monday I had an “audition” with a blues/folk-inspired pop band from gumtree. I hate that word, “audition”. Sounds far too formal and reminded me of music college days.
Very nearly didn’t bother going. Felt some serious anxiety and every time I looked in the mirror I was disappointed with what I saw. I had to change my clothes about 30 times as I couldn’t find an ensemble that I was happy with. When I got back there was a mountain of clothes on my bed.
Well, finally set off about an hour later than intended. Luckily the singer had called through earlier to put it back an hour, but I still managed to be late – I must have spent literally an hour and a half trying to get my ensemble right. And I still wasn’t happy.
Finally got there after a tube journey from hell involving going to wrong stations and then having to change to overground lines, getting out the A-Z, asking ever-friendly Londoners for directions and fearing being mugged in this strange new area.
When I got in there was no band, just the singer (who looked completely different from her photos, incidentally), and her guitarist. So they played through three numbers and I tried to jam along. It didn’t really make sense without the rest of the band, but I did okay, at least on the first song. In the other two, the chords were changing a little unexpectedly so I hardly played anything, at least nothing audible. I don’t think they were that impressed but they asked me back.
I had to get the tube back with the singer as she lives down this way too. It was interesting sitting with her traversing the underground. I felt kind of awkward. We’d only just met and I found myself not sure whether to be friendly and playful or more serious. I ended up opting for serious with occasional awkward flashes of playfulness and smiling. Yep, awkward.
Anyhow, it was one of those occasions again where my assumptions were skewed. Firstly, the word “audition” struck fear into my heart. I had images flashing through my mind of being scrutinised. Secondly, I pictured the band as a bunch of trendy musos with pointed shoes, tight jeans, scruffy hair and strong opinions. They were a little trendy but not to the extent feared. They didn’t wear tight jeans or pointed shoes, and the guitarist seemed possibly even a little shy, unless he “adapting” to my vibe.
The ensemble I settled on in the end was black trainers which make my blue jeans hang badly and a maroon shirt. I felt so unstylish, like some council estate kid. It’s interesting how being around certain sets of people can change your perception of yourself because usually I feel like I am stylish when I’m with, for example, people from my house. I felt particularly stylish and handsome when I was doing that English-teaching course last year. Every time I looked in the mirror I felt good, and even in the pictures from that period I still feel I looked good. Sigh, weird.
