After a totally unwarranted amount of disrespect was paid to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs at our first practice session, two very important things happened: (1) I did not run away, and (2) Jim and Andy did not run away. They even agreed to show-up on a regular basis to continue their roles as facilitators of my delusion. Now, I'll never know what Jim and Andy were thinking, but as a fair and balanced observer on the scene, I can tell you that there was not even any grimacing or involuntary spasms on their part the whole time. (I can only assume they each suffered from an ungodly amount of boredom and were desperate for any distraction that came their way, which I unwittingly provided in spades.) Instead, what we did have a lot of was repeated takes marked with many, many stops and starts, usually because my timing was off or we had to figure out how we were covering the song with only one guitar and drums, as I am not able to contribute any instrumental skill whatsoever. Not even tambourine. Let me explain.
I have always considered myself partially retarded. Granted, it's a small part, but it's there, like the seam on a pair of socks. Most of the time you don't notice it, but sometimes it can be really, really irritating. Of course, there are many others whom I consider to be more retarded than me, such as Glenn Beck, The Kardashians, and Yankee fans. The point, though, is that there are certain things in life that seem to pose no discernable issues for most of the general population, but which continue to cause me difficulty. Complicated things like remembering to put gas in my car, getting out of bed in the morning, and eyeliner.
Alternatively, if you have ever thought about human beings as possibly powered by hamsters on wheels inside our heads (and really, who hasn't?), I have considered the likelihood that my hamster doesn't quite do it the way she should. She'll get going real fast and give the wheel a really good spin and then jump-off and wander around exploring the unchartered corners of my skull cavity. Usually, she times her return just before the wheel comes to a complete halt, but every now and then she's off and things have stopped and then she has to work extra hard to get the wheel really humming again.
Stay with me here.
What I'm getting at is the early practice sessions involved what I suspect was an inordinate amount of me forgetting lyrics and/or forgetting when it was time for me to sing them. This would occur even though I had just sung the song 12 times in a row and had the lyrics on a sheet of paper right in front of me. A typical scenario:
Jim: 1, 2, 3, 4
[Jim and Andy commence playing song as it is supposed to be played. Vocal cue arrives and is missed. Jim and Andy keep playing and look at me.]
Robin: Shit. Sorry. I missed it. Can we start again?
Jim/Andy: Sure.
Jim: 1, 2, 3, 4
[Jim and Andy commence playing song as it is supposed to be played. Vocal cue arrives.]
Robin: Gold lion's gonna tell me where the light is
Gold lion's gonna tell me where the light is
. . . .
Shit. Sorry.
Then, there was the time when they encouraged me to try the tambourine (while still trying to remember lyrics and when to sing them). Let's just say no one has mentioned the tambourine in quite a while.
But despite the innate mental deficiencies and/or errant hamster that prevents me from doing several simple things simultaneously, or even individually in some cases, such limitations do not extend to my judge of character. Which is another way of saying, I picked really good band mates. Not only have Jim and Andy endured the highly frustrating wiring of my brain (though, truth be told, this may be why there are so many empty beer bottles laying around by the end of each practice, only half of which are mine) but they have each brought apparently limitless patience and vast musical skill to this endeavor as well. I usually just bring a six pack and my folder of lyrics.
Andy is our lead guitar player. He not only knows how to play a lot of songs, he knows how to learn a lot of songs in short order. He also has a habit of screwing around with little riffs and chord changes that constantly have Jim and I inquiring, "Wait -- what was that? That was really good. Do that again." Plus, he also knows how to plug-in his guitar and turn knobs on the amps and pedals and stuff, which I think is really impressive.
Jim doesn't really contribute much next to me and Andy. He just provides the rehearsal space, plays drums, plays keyboards, plays bass and plays producer on Garage Band. I'm a little disappointed that he can't do more than one of these things at a time (as I'm pretty sure his hamster is a type-A finance guy), but since it's his house, I guess he can do what he wants.
So, we practiced for a while and eventually got a few covers ingrained enough in my brain that I not only knew most of the lyrics, but also usually when to sing them. I think the surprise that occurred in Jim's psyche when we reached that moment was so profound, he didn't have time to consider the consequences before uttering the following in what sounded almost like an optimistic and encouraging tone, "I think we should work on some original stuff next."
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