Pop band #2

Today was a waste of fucking time.

So they organised a rehearsal for 12:30. I didn’t set off until the last minute as usual so was late. As I was driving there I decided out of courtesy to text and let them know I was stuck in traffic. Immediately I received a call back to say “Oh sorry, we’re stuck in traffic too. We’ll be there at 2pm – really sorry, probably best if you go home and then come back.”

Fucking bullshit. Why didn’t she call this morning? Total balls.

So anyway went back and filled up the car for tomorrow’s planned journey back up North. Then went home for a minute and cooked up some beans and headed out again.

When I finally got to the rehearsal studios there was no where to park. Turns out it was all Permit holders only. I had to find a spot on a meter which was miles down the road.

Anyhow to cut a long story short, trombone didn’t turn up, there was no bass, just the guitarist and singer. I was playing a lot of splits and they seemed unimpressed. But they didn’t seem to realise that one trumpet playing horn lines sounds shit anyway.

Anyhow, later on had problems with my car. Was shitting myself. I struggled to park it down this road about 5 times. Nearly reversing it up into trees and onto curbs. Right mess. My legs were shaking. It wouldn’t start, then when it did start it kept revving up on its own! Weird! Managed to get home anyway.

Saw neighbour tonight for the first time in weeks. We had a fairly good interaction so all my worries again proved wrong! Talked about the girl moving out, going out to cinema again, music, jobs, festivals, holidays. He seemed to be bouncing off me more and enjoying my company a bit more. Eye contact issues though.

Date #2

So I texted the girl I met the other week off gumtree on Friday night. I left it right up to the very last minute as I still couldn’t decide whether to pursue her or not. In the end I thought why take the easy option again? So went ahead and texted. I didn’t feel any strong compulsion to though. In fact quite the opposite. I guess I just don’t fancy her at all.

Anyway, it took her till the following day to reply. I guess she must have gone to bed last night. So I received a reply back while I was in the middle of meeting the jazz guy at the band. I texted something back to say we should meet in town later in the afternoon.

So sure enough, after the band I headed back home to move my car, quickly freshen up then head back into town. I’d heard there was a Banksy exhibition in town and it was free. So that sounded like something worth doing. So I organised to meet her nearby so that we could go there. I wasn’t sure what we’d do after that I was just going to play it by ear.

I felt decidedly unprepared this time around. I hadn’t read any PUA material for a couple of weeks and I didn’t really have my “game” firmly in hand. I’ll talk more about that at the end.

Anyway, so we finally met up after some logistical errors at the tube station and headed off to the exhibition. I was feeling really weak actually as I’d only got a few hours kip last night and only eaten a small sandwich for lunch. I soldiered on anyway and tried not to show my discomfort even though I felt like collapsing or running to Greg’s to stuff my face with 20 pies. When we were walking down the street I was aware of a really bad vomit smell coming from somewhere. I thought at first it was coming from the street, but it just kept lingering. I thought, oh god, did she vomit herself or is that her god damn perfume mingling with street stink???! Confusing and off-putting.

So the exhibition was alright. It was a bit of a squeeze though. We just kind of joined a queue and had to shuffle around two small little living room-sized galleries. Most of the stuff I’d seen already on the internet and it wasn’t much to look at. Just poppy throw-away art really. I didn’t really know what to say to her and I felt too self-conscious in case others overheard me sounding like a cretin, so I just kept silent mostly and saved my opinions for later. I felt I should have been demonstrating more personality here.

When we got out I decided to take her to a local “traditional” pub as we kind of had a running joke about both liking unpretentious establishments with hygiene issues. Damn it was a bit busy in there. No seats. I felt I was going to faint so I ordered a couple of drinks which she paid for (she owed me apparently… I wasn’t going to complain – anti-wuss that I am) and got some nuts which I tried to eat slowly in an attempt to conceal my starvation.

The conversation was going badly in the pub to start with. I felt so faint, tired, and hungry and I didn’t really know what to say. So I just kept eating nuts and apologised saying this was my breakfast brunch and lunch.

We spoke a little in there. Lots of silence, awkward from my point of view, but maybe that’s just me. Then I decided we should really move on. So I suggested dinner in china town as that’s the only place I know really.

She agreed so we headed down that way. I explained where we were and took her down the main street telling her it wasn’t much of a “town”. There always seems to be a lot of whining and negativity in our interactions. I was aware of this, but still I kept seeming to go down that route conversationally. Agh.

Anyway, so we found this place and got seats right away so all was good. I ordered duck same as her. Mistake really as this showed I was influenced by her choice and secondly because the duck was full of bones which I had to keep spitting out every 2 minutes. There were bones all over the place. I don’t know how she ate hers so successfully. There didn’t appear to be any bones left on the table on her side!

So the conversation was a bit stale again. I felt I was asking a lot of questions and then making statements myself, but not rewarding her for good statements, not keno escalating or anything and I felt it was all a bit one-sided – she didn’t ask me anything!

So we stuck around there for a while and then decided to head to one other pub where we had two or three pints more. We managed to find this Irish place which was actually really good as the music level was low and it wasn’t super busy – although we couldn’t find any seats for a while and just ended up bar propping.

Again boring conversation. I was struggling for material. But I thought maybe getting her a bit pissed would aid the situation and possibly also aid my situation. After an hour or so I went for a piss and when I came we managed to get a seat. At this point she finally started asking me questions about interesting stuff. “How many women are throwing themselves at you at the moment then?”

I must have been doing something right for her to think this. I perked up a bit and tried to banter back with her a little. I tried to play it coy like I wasn’t going to say. She smiled but didn’t press me. Then I changed the subject to her. It turned out she had met two other blokes off gumtree but she was keen to point out it was purely platonic.

Then she revealed the thing about the vomit smell that had been accompanying us all night. Apparently it was her handbag that she’d bought at some market in Saudi or somewhere. It had “assumed” the stink of the market somehow but she loved it anyway. She said “this was a point of discussion all morning” or something along those lines. “I couldn’t decide whether to bring it, but my flatmate said I should as it would be a benchmark – if I still contacted you after tonight with the stinking bag then I was definitely IN THERE.”

Well, this was telling. Whether she had done this on purpose or by mistake I don’t know. But I took it to mean that she had worried about what I would think of her enough to discuss it with her flatmate and friends and that she waned to get “in there” with me.

So anyway, I ballsed up again and didn’t follow this up. I don’t know where the conversation went after this, but I ended up trying to finish my drink quickly and she started to tell me “no don’t rush” – another sign I thought: she wanted me to stay around with her longer even though things seemed to be going badly, at least in my mind.

So finally we headed out at midnight to get the tube. She had kept moaning since we left the restaurant about losing her train ticket, part of me wondered whether she was making this up along with trying to get me to stay out longer so that she could miss her train and have to come back with me. Well, now was make or break moment. Turned out she decided to buy a new ticket so that was the end of that.

I walked her down to her tube line and by this point I really felt some physical contact needed to take place. So as we said our goodbyes I put out my arm for a hug, and she kind of thought I was going to shake her hand, but somehow we managed to hug and I went to kiss her on the cheek. She reciprocated but instead of a one-armed hug she went for both arms and kissed me on the cheek full on. Dunno if this meant anything. Was she going for my lips? Was this the tension in her bubbling over?

Anyway after that headed home. She accidentally took my umbrella, so I texted her to tease her about stealing it. She texted something back in uncharacteristically garbled English along the lines of “it was all part of my big plan…” Another IOI???

So anyway, lots of mistakes to learn from. In summary:

1. Didn’t greet her with a kiss. So wasn’t warm. Didn’t keno escalate.
2. Wasn’t leading enough.
3. Wasn’t escalating the conversation with question/reward/statement.
4. I let things peter out. I should have stayed out for two productive hours rather than stretching it out to six unfocused hours.
5. Not enough “I” statements and stories. Too short.
6. Acting too concerned with her opinions and thoughts. She probably thought I was a mac daddy after the first meet and now suddenly I was a bit of a wuss.
7. Not nearly enough ball-breaking cocky-comedy. There was no tension and no playfulness.

So lots to learn from.

Good band(s)!

Well yesterday was probably one of the best days of recent memory! I proved myself wrong again as I very nearly sabotaged the whole thing by making negative predictions about how everything would turn out. But, thankfully, I stuck in there anyway reminding myself that my predictions might very well be wrong as they have been so often.

So I was playing with the afrobeat band a few weeks ago and one of the guys there, a really nice player, mentioned that he was playing with the national youth outfit. Apparently you could just go along and play without auditioning, and he suggested that I should go seeing as they were always asking for more trumpet players. The only problem? You have to be under 26, but so what. I can still pass for 19.

So I decided to head along there yesterday. On the way there I very nearly turned back – “oh, it’s too late”, “it’s going to be a disaster”, “everyone will be looking at me”, “I’ll look like an idiot” etc. But surprisingly I was not anxious at all in the 30 minutes leading up to arriving there. I kept wondering when the anxiety would kick in. Finally it did around 15 minutes from arriving. I popped a couple of beta blockers and soldiered on reminding myself “I have been wrong in the past, these are only predictions, it is likely not to turn out as bad as I think.” How right I was!

So when I got there, there was some kid, probably about 15, playing alto sax like a demon. Running all over the instrument like it was nothing to him. I’m sure he would have embarrassed most of the old timers I used to play with in the North. Then there was some young trumpet player practising in the corner with his mute doing something similar. I didn’t know exactly what to do when I arrived there, and I was distinctly aware of being quite a lot older than these kids. Nevertheless I stuck around. Decided to pick up my trumpet and blow a few long notes and lip flexibilities to try and warm up. God I was tense. Couldn’t do anything slow. I had to play fast runs (badly). Eventually managed to gain some composure and played some longish notes.

So everyone finally arrived. It became clear that there was a lot of doubling going on in the band – mostly the saxes were doubled up, but the trumpets were thin on the ground – just me and the jazz guy and a little girl who wasn’t really playing, just tagging along. The other trumpet player asked me if I’d help with getting the stands so I did. He was really friendly, shook my hand and introduced himself and smiled and seemed like a really humble cool guy. That instantly put me at ease – I had someone to talk to!

So they handed out the parts and me and the other guy both admitted to not being lead players “at all” which put me at ease even more – I was worried there would be a lot of high note egotism. So we decided to switch parts around. I think I played lead on the first chart which went pretty well. The trumpet player launched into a solo and it was fucking phenomenal. The guy could really get around the instrument, he had a really fat warm sound and wasn’t shy using his range and agility. The sax player soloed like a beast and so did the trombone player. At this point I thought, “shit I don’t want any solos – I’ll make an idiot out of myself.”

Anyhow one of the next numbers had a big extended trumpet solo in it. I decided to go for it and it went pretty well – must have been easy chords. I got around them okay, even though I wasn’t following them exactly. The other trumpet player seemed to dig what I, head-bobbing and so on, and the trombone player looking round to see who I was. I felt pretty good!

We kept on running through stuff. All charts of a pretty high standard – the kind of stuff the old boys in the rehearsal bands in the North would have been struggling and complaining about. But these kids just go on with it! In terms of range it was stuff going up to Ds and occasionally a little higher. The jazz guy drew the short straw it would seem and ended up playing most of the more taxing stuff, and he did a fine job. No lead player? He was doing fucking well as far as I could tell.

I really enjoyed playing with the band, even though they were just kids. The standard was high and the charts were a good challenge too. Not too difficult, but not to easy either. I was aware the second band, the higher level band, were coming in and going into the next room to start their rehearsal. I was worried about them seeing me stood next to a little 12-year-old girl and an 18-year-old on my right and wondering, “who the fuck is this guy?” I hoped whats-his-face from the North West wouldn’t see me. Thankfully he was not there.

So as it turned out the main band’s trumpet players hadn’t turned up. Well, only two had. I could hear them practising in the other room, and it sounded like some serious screaming was going on in there. Anyhow, the main bandleader came in during our break and asked three of us to go and join in to cover the main parts in the main band. So we headed in there. Frightening standard. I understood now why the other trumpet player said he wasn’t a lead player at all if he was comparing himself to the guy playing lead in the main band. Frightening player. Just peeling paint with the volume he was producing and playing up into the gods effortlessly it would seem. He even pissed on all the old timers in the North whom I used to marvel at. I’m not sure how old he was, maybe 20? As for the rest of the band. A similarly frightening standard. Sax players running crazily all over the instrument, driving rhythm, tight trombones. And the charts they were playing were insane. Black pages with tempos exceeding 200bpm. Strangely the second trumpeter in there was hardly making a noise though. Seemed very lacking in confidence. At first I thought he and the lead were playing blindingly in sync but it turned out the lead was pretty much the only trumpet player there, which was all the more frightening. This kind of player must have been the kind they expected on the ships.

So I stuck around in the main band for the next hour or so filling in the 3rd and 4th parts while screamer boy continued to peel the paint – always a bit boring. When the main band took their break we headed back into the other band and resumed playing there. Jeez, how was my lip holding up to this kind of punishment? I still felt pretty strong! And I hadn’t even played properly for the past 3/4 months.

We played a few nice charts including a Nestico arrangement of Satin Doll which I’d done before. I had a solo and was really hitting some of the changes. The other trumpet players (now two – another young guy arrived later, he was friendly too, not much of an ego, a really good reader, could play jazz okay and had a strong confident style) really seemed to dig what I played – whooping after I finished etc. That felt great! I was tense though and I never know what to do when people do that. Should I look at them and smile or what? Whatever. I was too tense to look up so just kind of looked down – they probably thought I was a miserable git. No hold on that’s mind reading. I don’t know what they thought.

We played some more charts. Eventually a funk thing was stuck in front of me with a pretty high trumpet part. Mostly going up to D and with couple of bit going up to F. I couldn’t believe it. For the first two pages (it was 5 pages) I was really riding the lead part out. I don’t know if it was the acoustic of the room or the support of the other trumpeters or what, but I was just sitting on top of the band really powerfully. But ack! I could feel my lip going after page two and by the time I got the end I had nothing left to give. Couldn’t get up about G! Oh well, I don’t think it was noticeable as the other trumpeters were blowing like crazy.

After that we went back into the main band for an extra hour – so I played in total from 10 right through to 2! Jesus! The other band again was a bit boring. Playing 3rd and 4th parts quietly and tentatively under this insane lead player. Everyone seemed to get timid in there. No one wanted to stick out and make mistakes. And i noticed people WERE making mistakes in there such as jazz boy even though he was reading good in the other band. Evidently guys like this lead shake other trumpeters up.

At the end of the rehearsal the old boy in charge said I and this other guy there needed to fill in a sheet to say who we were, give our details etc. and get a photo taken. I thought I’d rather go home and think about it before throwing myself in and making up fake dates of birth. So I decided to make a sharp exit.

Headed back home. I felt really good! Happy, bouncy! Amazing really. I wasn’t bothered about people bumping into me on the tube or whatever. I was just feeling good! When I got back, I took my car which I’d parked on the petrol station and went to Tesco to get a quick sandwich. Well, it looked like someone had disapproved of me parking on the petrol station this time as they’d put bollards all round my car! I just moved them out the way and quickly drove off.

What is groove?

Just found this amazing description of groove…

Groove Concept and Development

No single phrase sums up the essence of bass playing better than “the groove.” Those who have it live by it, those in ned of it seek it out like the Holy Grail. But what exactly is groove? The word “groove” is often used to describe a rhythmic style, as in “shuffle groove” or “funk groove.” Another definition is a bit more ethereal: “Groove is the energetic force created by an individual or group of musicians through the act of playing.” This energy is what makes people bob their heads, tap their toes, and shake their booties. Although this definition implies the presence of a steady pulse (as in dance-orientated music), groove can also be present in forms such as classical music in which tempos may vary at the direction of a conductor. If we accept that groove is energy, then it is essentially the life force behind music. It is not bound to strict tempo, but it is more often linked to it. Time and groove are not necessarily the same thing: It is possible to kep strict metronomic time but not groove. it is also possible to rush or drag the time a bit within a tune and still not groove hard…

The groove is an enigma. You can’t touch it, but you can feel it. you can’t see it, but you can watch its effects. It can be powerful enough to move thousands of people, but you can kill it in an instant with one stray thought. When people play together and groove, the energy is transmitted among the musicians and opens up a group link to its source. Everyone feels it, and the experience forms deep personal bonds. The energy exchange creates a euphoric state that all musicians have experienced, either as listeners or players. When the chill runs up your spine, it’s the groove – the reason we play. On the other hand, when the groove isn’t happening or gets sabotaged by ego or carelessness, it can turn brother against brother, create tension that will break up a band, get someone fired, ruin reputations. The groove is serious business. It is something to honour, serve, and protect. If you mess with it, you’re in deep trouble.

Excerpt from chapter 2 of Bass Grooves by Ed Friedland.

Nephew

Got woken up on Wednesday by some workers on the ship yard nearby. God knows what they were doing. Ended up having to go back to bed till about 2pm. However, I’d organised to go to my sister’s at 3:30pm so had to get out quick. Decided to drive to the tube station and risk parking on the petrol station forecourt. There are no signs or anything which say you can’t and I’ve seen the petrol station workers parking there and even a coach the other day, so I thought I might as well risk it. Turns out it was okay.

So, went to see nephew while my sister and husband fix up their new house. I just kind of sat and played with him for a while on the floor. I always feel sad when I’m with him. Most people feel happy when they see little babies. But I don’t just see a baby, I see time passing quickly. I see myself looking back at this moment in the future when I’m old and he’s grown up and remembering “remember when he was a baby? Why does time pass so fast?” God. Also I look at him and feel kind of sad because he’s so innocent and soon that’ll all change. He’ll probably grow up to have problems and difficulties. He might become arrogant or a smartass or he might end up like me suffering from depression and anxiety and screwing his life up. At one point I became a little teary-eyed.

After staying with him for an hour or so these thoughts seemed to go a little. I just started to enjoy his company a little more. I’m not exactly sure what to do with babies. They don’t play exactly, they just sit there and pick the toys up and then throw them down. Also, I just want to cuddle him, but he doesn’t like that so much. He wants to sit and bash things. At one point I sat him up and he fell down and started crying. Poor bugger.

Stayed a bit longer at sister’s. Haven’t been round for ages. Wasn’t really in the mood for them to be honest and I thought they would get that vibe from me and think I was a miserable bugger who brought a rain cloud into their house every time I came over. But actually I was proven wrong again. We had a bit of a joke at the table and my mood was lightened and it ended up being a pleasant little visit.

Spoke to the bass player on the phone briefly about the soul band from the previous night too. He’s a friendly guy. It’s interesting how I can just seem to get along pretty easily with some people, but with others there is a kind of awkwardness. The phone is always the best test. If you can get along on the phone then that’s a sure sign you click well. But how much is it all in my mind? Do I sabotage interactions with others by assuming I cannot get along with them thereby creating awkwardness myself? Maybe the only reason I seem to get along with this guy is because he kind of reminds me of some old friends thereby making me more relaxed and less guarded which in turn has the effect of making the whole interaction smoother.

Soul Band

Yep, they’re not really very good…

Played with the soul band last night and managed to sort them out with a bass player. Fucking awful. They play with about as much soul as a dog turd. Every song sounds sloppy, rock-like and somehow empty. I thought they sounded bad when I went down for the first time a few weeks ago but I thought I’d give them another chance as they were missing a bass player but last night confirmed to me that they are truly shit. I’m not sure I should go back. I wouldn’t under normal circumstances, but I have nothing else to do at the moment, so I’ll have to think about it.

In summary:

The drummer is awful. He plays so loose and without groove, he literally sounds like he’s just picked up the sticks for the first time to have a bash. His fills are comical – you have to wait for him to finish before coming in again as he loses time by about half a bar. The guitarist, some ginger nerd, I’m not sure what he’s doing wrong but it sounds shit. He plays in time and the right notes as far as I can tell, but somehow his guitar playing just sounds weak, almost like he’s strumming a lute in the background. Sax player sounds like a beginner – a weak tone, unrhythmic, and unconfident. Trombone man is a soulless orchestral player playing on a tenor trombone, putting lines up and down the octave inappropriately, phrasing everything militaristically, not listening to me, and rocking side to side enthusiastically to drum man’s bashing. The singer is okay. She’d probably do the job with a decent band backing her.

Having said all that, I am being cruel. They are just not a good standard. But that’s fine. We are all at different levels. I know what it’s like to be in a band with more experienced people who look down their nose at you. So maybe I should just move on and find something else rather than complaining.

Pop Band

Proving myself wrong AGAIN…

CBT teaches that when you’re depressed or anxious you tend to see the world in an irrational bleak way and that you may find yourself making inaccurate crystal ball-like predictions about how things in the future are going to turn out. It’s difficult to see how your thoughts are irrational when you’re depressed because they seem perfectly rational at the time. But the depression really does impair your judgement. As difficult as it is to accept, being depressed is almost like being temporarily insane.

Recently I’ve done lots of things I would have avoided at one time because of the negative predictions that automatically run through my mind about how they’ll turn out beforehand. Yesterday was another case in point: I had a band rehearsal with this folk/blues-inspired pop band – well, it’s actually a singer who is trying to get a band together to perform her material.

I’d gone along for an “audition” last week, turned up late after trying on about 20 different outfits and once again been pleasantly proved wrong. The assumptions going through my mind on that occasion were that the band was going to be made up mouthy scruffy-haired whiteboy muso types clad in pointed shoes and skin-tight jeans spouting mindless garbage punctuated by the excessive use of “yeah” and “maann”. I assumed they would look down on me as some kind of shy styleless anomaly, that I’d play badly and ultimately be rejected, and that I’d possibly get mugged on the way home. As it turned out the singer was a bit like that but not anything like to the degree predicted. In fact she seemed nice and accepting, possibility even respectful of my individuality. The rest of the band weren’t there, just her guitarist, and he was a friendly guy, a good musician, wore loose jeans and seemed possibly even a little geeky.

So yesterday I was proven wrong again. I very nearly didn’t turn up to this second rehearsal predicting that it would be horrible, that I wouldn’t be able to fit in, that I wouldn’t know what to play, that the band would be shit, that the other musicians would dislike me etc.. But as it turned out I ended up really enjoying it. The main thing that swung it was the appearance of a new trombone player who was “auditioning”. He was actually really good and a nice guy – another prediction I made was that he would be a dipshit and we wouldn’t get along. And not only that, he was black and American and therefore definitely NOT the carbon whiteboy pointy-shoed muso but a man with a jazz and blues background and a good creative instinct for funky horn lines. In fact up to the very moment of meeting him I was still making negative predictions. I saw him loitering around the entrance to the rehearsal studio as I parked up and thought, “uh oh, who’s this guy? This isn’t a gospel band, mate… we won’t get along… he won’t like me.” But as it turned out I had a lot of fun playing the lines he came up with and the band really sounded good! We really gelled and the singer and the other regulars seemed to be genuinely buzzing at us being there.

So once again I was proven wrong. I love it every time this happens because the more incorrect assumptions I chalk up the more potent my CBT thought records are when I write ‘jumping to conclusions’ as the cognitive distortion and ‘this is a guess, you’ve been wrong many times in the past…’ as a rational response.

Other interesting factoids: I was new last week and the trombone guy was new yesterday. It was interesting to compare how we both handled the situation of being new. I was kind of efficient and focused, kept comedy and small talk to a minimum and allowed them to do all the talking. This guy was super-relaxed, wasn’t overly talkative but when he did talk he had short little anecdotes and stories from the ‘I’ perspective to tell mostly about what he’d been doing since moving to London and how he was coping. Every time he told one he demonstrated personality and made himself more human somehow.

Note to self: sprinkle more light-hearted little stories into interactions.

Recording

Played with a prog rock band for a recording on Sunday – Easter Sunday, yes. God. I really have nothing to do. We were playing some kind of quasi-orchestral parts in a brass ensemble. They had string parts as well but they recorded those on the previous day.

Had to drive down there all the way across London. Managed to get there alright, but then as I was trying to find the place down this narrow village road, I clipped the curb and my pristine wheeltrim went flying off. I decided to turn round and pick it up – I can’t stand the look of missing wheel trims. Sadly it was broken but I managed to fit it back loosely. It’ll do.

Well, my lip was knackered, I was only playing 2nd trumpet so I was mostly in the staff, but just playing orchestral stuff and trying to match the dynamic of the other trumpeter and not having practised for so long was really hard work. I’ve almost completely forgotten how to play orchestrally, it’s shocking. You really have to hit notes dead centre and sustain them without resorting to vib or backing away. Shockingly I can’t do that anymore, I was using so much pressure and playing on the lip so much in order to sustain notes. The intonation was all over the place and the pitch was probably bending all the time, but my ears are so bad now I can hardly tell.

Anyway, it was interesting to play in the style again. The other players were music college alumni by the looks of it. The most frustrating thing for me besides the lip mashing was that my sound was just not cutting through. I was trying to match up to the first trumpeter and it sounded ok in the room, in fact I thought his sound wasn’t really very round. But then when I listened back to the track, all I could hear was him, my sound just wasn’t cutting. The same thing happened in the a recording I did a few weeks ago with the afrobeat band. The other trumpeter’s sound is shit and forced, but when I listened back on the recording someone did a few weeks ago, all I could hear was him. My sound may be quite nice and purer, but it just rolls out of the bell and falls on the floor evidently. Weird. I need lessons.

Sarging

Well, not really sarging, just looking…

So last Saturday I met up with a bunch of guys off gumtree interested in the “art of pickup”. There were seven or eight of us I think – all AFCs except for one who sounded pretty experienced. We went for lunch somewhere to discuss what losers we were, what we had read and experienced and how we were going to improve our lives. It was quite interesting actually. I’d never done anything like this before and would have dismissed it at one time as “gay”. But Nowadays I don’t care. Five years of being stuck in a flat with no friends or job surfing the internet aimlessly everyday means that I’ll pretty much do anything to spice up my life. After lunch we went “in field” for a while to test our mettle – our group of three ended up in the National Gallery basically asking people for the time and directions and in one adventurous instance asking someone the name of a painter. Yeah pretty dismal stuff. But funny though as one of the guys was good a piss taker.

Anyhow, four of us met up again on Thursday night for “night game”. We must have looked pretty ridiculous – Lanky and me both 6ft+, Lanky wearing some kind of long coat that made him look like a flasher, and the other two guys around about 5.5ft – one of them wearing a kind of fishing hat. We went to a few pubs and bars in Leicester Square and Soho to test our “skills”. Basically this involved standing together drinking water, looking self-conscious, staring at girls and wishing we could approach them.

In the first place – a pretty noisy young pub in the centre of the square – I was feeling pretty hopeful. There were plenty of girls around, and as we stood there pulling our alpha poses I kept making excuses in my mind: “yeah, we’re just scoping right now, it’s all good, there’s a whole night ahead”. Alas, as the night progressed reality dawned.

After an hour of basically standing in a corner we finally moved on. The next place we went to was a kind of city workers’ pub – Lanky advised that it was a “meat market”. Yeah right mate. There were no girls, at least none interested in talking to anyone other than their husbands and coworkers. After a few minutes of standing in the crowded bar area looking out of place, Lanky suggested “lets go and sit down.” So we went downstairs to an empty part and “discussed” more tactics. Great one Lanks.

Next we did actually end up in a pretty good place, in fact it seemed ideal to me – Lloyds, a pub with a good vibe, music at an acceptable level, plenty of girls passing through, and us stood around a table in a prime central location. But guess what? Lanky came up with another great plan: “lets get some seats” again, this time in a corner. Yeah good fucking idea. So we lose our location and end up in the corner looking over at some girls on an opposite table.

At this point, I was beginning to realise that these guys had possibly even less game than me – and less common sense. As much an exercise to amuse myself as anything else I started to try and come up with things that I could say to open the opposite group of girl. I couldn’t remember a single opinion opener and quizzed my fellow PUAs about what they could remember – nothing. Finally I remembered VH1 and the toothpaste/floss opinion opener sprang to mind. Bad move! No sooner had the words excitedly stuttered from my lips I was immediately slapped down for my foolish pragmatism by an almost angry Lanky “that’s too American!” Midget #2 piped up in agreement. Okay, well what’s your idea, shitforbrains? Oh that’s right, sitting in corners all night then going home for a lonely ham shank.

The night ended around midnight in some claustrophobic bar/club where everyone was dancing and the music was so loud I still have ringing in my ear (no joke). Lanky decided enough was enough and disappeared after 5 minutes or so, I very nearly followed him but decided to stick around just in case I missed anything – my midget brothers were very keen to leave the perfect pub just to come here, so, who knows, maybe they worked better in the noisey sweatbox environment?

I followed them around for a while unable to hear a word that was being said. Eventually one of them had the bright idea of asking two girls sat around a big table if we could join them. When the girls reluctantly agreed and we took our seats midget brother #1 decided to clink glasses with them in celebration. One of the girls was so desperate to show absolutely zero interest she kind of half-heartedly clinked before quickly looking away and then shuffling around awkwardly so that her back was turned from us as much as possible. She may as well just have said ‘fuck off’! A couple of minutes later they got up and left, obviously concerned that others might assume we were actually with them.

Midnight came and the last tube beckoned so we headed off. I felt I’d been transported back to 1997 – those desperate teenaged days of going out to clubs getting swept up in the excitement that something fun and exciting might happen out there is this new adult world but inevitably going home alone reflecting on how shit the night was and feeling depressed.

Other highlights of the night: A fight breaking out at the first venue as we queued to get in. What is it with night life and macho posturing? PUA midget #1 getting opened in the street by a pissed old boot trying to grab his hat. Well, at least that proved peacocking works.

Next meet up? Onwards and upwards? Yeah right.

Pop Band “Audition”

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.