We Broke Another Drummer . . .

This is a blog about band life . . . or my perspective on playing as in a local rock band.  One of the fascinating things about musicians in general, and guitarists in particular, is that they love to watch, listen, or read something and then tell everyone how they could do it better.  If you're one of those people, feel free to stop reading now, and go write your own blog.  I'm sure it will be great . . . go on . . . we'll wait 'till you're gone.

My band, Life Spent Losing, has been playing in one form or another for the last 7 years or so.  We play rock and pop punk for local bars in the Des Moines area.  Des Moines is in Iowa if you're not sure what that is . . . Iowa is in the Midwest of the United States . . . if you need more help than that . . . stop reading and give up on life. 

Nick, the guitarist, and I are the only remaining founding members.  We've lost 2 singers and now 3 drummers . . . lost in the sense that they have moved on to other things, not that we physically misplaced them or anything like that. 

Our first drummer, Timmy, was a long-distance relationship from the start. 

Timmy - Drummer #1

Unfortunately, despite his talent, rehearsing and gigging were nearly impossible with him living 3 hours away.  He eventually fell in love, moved to California, and now lives happily with his girlfriend and cat somewhere out west.

Original Line-Up of Life Spent Losing

Dale was our replacement drummer for Timmy, and basically learned drums on the fly.  Except instead of flying . . . I seem to remember it feeling more like falling.  I vividly recall Dale unpacking his drums 1 hour before our first gig together . . . sinking feeling and all.  I remember him pale and sweaty looking

Dale rocked out with us for 3 or 4 years.  (I could remember more exactly, but that would require actual effort and reflection)  but injured his arm about a year ago, and had to have surgery on it to fix a ligament that was torn . . . bottom line, we broke him and he needed time to get fixed.

We brought on a guy named Bradley to sit in and play our scheduled shows until Dale could get back in the ballgame.  Bradley put in a ton of work and learned our entire set in a week or two.  We played a New Year's Eve gig and two other shows in January that went pretty well.  Shortly after, Bradley posted a picture of himself in a cast.  His wrist had some version of gout, and was swollen and painful to move.  Damn . . . another broken drummer.

The good news was that Dale should've been almost healed, and that we would be able to play most of the shows we had scheduled even if Bradley's wrist is permanently grapefruit sized.  Shortly after I found out that Bradley has a wrist the size of a volleyball, Dale called me to say that God has revealed to him that he's not supposed to be in a band anymore . . . seriously?  Maybe he meant that you weren't supposed to watch television, or eat Doritos or something, Dale . . . ugh . . . NEXT!!