Dаz
54/365 # The end of something . . .
. . . nearly.
Last night I quit the band I've been in for the last four and a half years - things were said via email that hit a nerve and I kinda snapped and just . . . quit.
There is, I guess, an element of friction in every band, but recent incidents pushed me to my limits and privately I decided if things didn't change I'd get out before I lost some of my very best friends. I suppose I thought that removing myself from the source of the friction would enable me to stay friends with everyone without having to contend with the endless and circular arguments that seem part and parcel of the band.
I was so angry with what had been said I felt sick, and with the red mist burning the back of my eyes I made a knee-jerk reaction, sent a shitty email reply and just like that I was out of the band. I was so angry I couldn't sleep last night.
Today was a busy day at work, our new guy in the office started so I didnt have a chance to answer emails and phonecalls from the rest of the band, and because I was so busy I didn't have time to pick over the wreckage. Which was a relief after spending most of the night with my mind in turmoil.
On the bus home I decided to listen to the worst possible album for the mood I was in, The Holy Bible by the Manic Street Preachers - it certainly didn't encourage the sunny side of me to make an appearance. So when I got home I was practically monosyllabic and managed to upset Lydia because I just couldn't talk to her about it.
After speaking to a couple of the other guys in the band I decided to try and mend things and at least make sure we were all still pals and three of us met up to talk things over. Which we did. We all got some stuff off our chests about why things were said the way they were, what was actually meant by the remark that made me snap and voiced some ideas on how to bypass the issues that were causing the problem in the first place.
So things are squared away now, the band continues to exist with all five members intact and, most importantly, some of us have been told in no uncertain terms that they're friends, if they have problems my door is always open and all they need to do is rock up on my doorstep and come inside to fucking moan and whinge to their heart's content until they feel better, because that's what friends were put on this earth for.
I guess this all sounds very silly but the other guys in the band are like my best friends, it's like being in a gang, it's something we belong to, it's ours and ours alone and to suddenly detatch myself from that made me feel empty, like I'd lost a bit of my identity.
When I got home this evening I didn't want to take photos, I didn't ever want to even look at my guitars again or speak to anyone. Of course I wasn't going to let my 365 slide even if I didn't fancy taking a shot and I was going to try a shot like the cover of London's Calling by The Clash as a way of visualising my frustration at the situation I found myself in. But even in that kind of mood I couldn't bring myself to start swinging my guitar around, just in case I broke it.
Instead I settled on this concept of me walking away from my abandoned Telecaster and walking away, fading as I went, which is probably a more truthful reading of how I was feeling at the time. It's very corny, and I could've taken longer on the processing but I wasn't feeling much like fiddling around with it for hours.
Now we're all sorted, but I can't help worrying about what happens the next time it kicks off. I'm very uneasy about it still and I hope that what was said tonight was been absorbed and understood. We'll see I guess, but the feeling in the pit of my stomach says that it's not over just yet.
Being in a band should come with a health warning . . .
It actually looks quite good on black
54/365 # The end of something . . .
. . . nearly.
Last night I quit the band I've been in for the last four and a half years - things were said via email that hit a nerve and I kinda snapped and just . . . quit.
There is, I guess, an element of friction in every band, but recent incidents pushed me to my limits and privately I decided if things didn't change I'd get out before I lost some of my very best friends. I suppose I thought that removing myself from the source of the friction would enable me to stay friends with everyone without having to contend with the endless and circular arguments that seem part and parcel of the band.
I was so angry with what had been said I felt sick, and with the red mist burning the back of my eyes I made a knee-jerk reaction, sent a shitty email reply and just like that I was out of the band. I was so angry I couldn't sleep last night.
Today was a busy day at work, our new guy in the office started so I didnt have a chance to answer emails and phonecalls from the rest of the band, and because I was so busy I didn't have time to pick over the wreckage. Which was a relief after spending most of the night with my mind in turmoil.
On the bus home I decided to listen to the worst possible album for the mood I was in, The Holy Bible by the Manic Street Preachers - it certainly didn't encourage the sunny side of me to make an appearance. So when I got home I was practically monosyllabic and managed to upset Lydia because I just couldn't talk to her about it.
After speaking to a couple of the other guys in the band I decided to try and mend things and at least make sure we were all still pals and three of us met up to talk things over. Which we did. We all got some stuff off our chests about why things were said the way they were, what was actually meant by the remark that made me snap and voiced some ideas on how to bypass the issues that were causing the problem in the first place.
So things are squared away now, the band continues to exist with all five members intact and, most importantly, some of us have been told in no uncertain terms that they're friends, if they have problems my door is always open and all they need to do is rock up on my doorstep and come inside to fucking moan and whinge to their heart's content until they feel better, because that's what friends were put on this earth for.
I guess this all sounds very silly but the other guys in the band are like my best friends, it's like being in a gang, it's something we belong to, it's ours and ours alone and to suddenly detatch myself from that made me feel empty, like I'd lost a bit of my identity.
When I got home this evening I didn't want to take photos, I didn't ever want to even look at my guitars again or speak to anyone. Of course I wasn't going to let my 365 slide even if I didn't fancy taking a shot and I was going to try a shot like the cover of London's Calling by The Clash as a way of visualising my frustration at the situation I found myself in. But even in that kind of mood I couldn't bring myself to start swinging my guitar around, just in case I broke it.
Instead I settled on this concept of me walking away from my abandoned Telecaster and walking away, fading as I went, which is probably a more truthful reading of how I was feeling at the time. It's very corny, and I could've taken longer on the processing but I wasn't feeling much like fiddling around with it for hours.
Now we're all sorted, but I can't help worrying about what happens the next time it kicks off. I'm very uneasy about it still and I hope that what was said tonight was been absorbed and understood. We'll see I guess, but the feeling in the pit of my stomach says that it's not over just yet.
Being in a band should come with a health warning . . .
It actually looks quite good on black