Hiatus

It happened again. It happens all the time. Another band, disbanded. Its unclear if this is truly permanent or if the members are taking time to reevaluate their intentions, motives, and musical directions. Sometimes we need time off just to breathe, evaluate, and grow. I'm told that is when great things really have the potential to begin happening: during the breaks in the continuity of a work, series, or action. Either way, the band and I are in a temporary void of time and space waiting to see what happens.

I was in a band that was signed once. We were a three-piece band - guitar, bass, and drums - and were constructing a bright future ahead. The three of us formed when I was still pretty young, but things seemed to take off rather quickly. I got the impression that people were weirded out by the fact that we got a record deal so soon. They weren't jealous, per se, but a lot of them said we were way too young to know what we were getting into. "Getting signed changes bands," is what they would tell me before I jumped into the contract.

Within a year of being signed and embarking on our first tour, the bass player and I started seeing things differently. "Seeing things differently" is putting it mildly. More accurately, our band imploded. I just couldn't play or sing those songs in that band anymore, none of us could. The two of us began to fight all the time. It had to be tough on our drummer. The poor guy had nothing to do with it. The bass player and I just weren't feeling what we were writing and had grown tired of the music we performed night after night. It wasn't solely the bassist's fault, as people I know tend to say in my defense, we were both to blame. We had practiced and written together for a little over four years prior to being signed, but for some reason the spark just wasn't there anymore. It couldn't be forced for the wrong reasons anymore. The lawyers were summoned and all the paperwork was drawn up correctly, and we moved on in our own directions. Funny enough, the two of them were picked up by another singer songwriter and re-signed less than a year later while I was struggling to cultivate my solo act. It hurt, but I was glad that they were happy. Splitting up was the best thing to do - in the long run. From that point on I vowed to play alone and only entertain the thought of being in a band again if I was approached by the right people. I would be picky and critical, not settling for anything less than a group that I could play with into my golden years.

A little over eight months ago I saw a flyer in a local mom and pop record store. The wrinkled piece of paper stapled to the wall said, "Guitarist/Singer wanted to front four-piece band." I read on and liked their influences and the direction that they would be going. I was a little hesitant because the bass player was headstrong and seemed to be the one in charge - like my previous band experience. She and I were actually friends a few years back while I was soloing in dive bars and playing open mics.We kept in touch, somewhat, over the years but I never had any intention of playing with her because she had a full band at the time and I was still reeling from my band splitting. The truth was that I was already familiar with all of the players in her group. She had told me about them in the past, but we had never formally been introduced. They had history. In fact, they were almost signed and ready to take off when tensions flared between the band's two principal members - you guessed it - the singer and the bass player. Their then singer/guitarist began to act unappreciative and even bothered by the drummer and bassist's presence. She tried to put up with it as long as she could and push the band forward because of the years they put in together, but she was just too unhappy and could not continue like that. They all left him. It was almost the same as my situation, but not quite. The band broke up, but the second guitarist and keyboard player still jam with the booted guitarist/singer on the weekends.

Given all this drama in their history and all the baggage in mine, I was hesitant to jump into a project like this. They had been screwed over before and the bassist made it clear to me that they wanted someone that was in it for the long haul. They were not looking to be a backing group for some prima donna front man that would jump ship after playing a few gigs and gaining notoriety in the local scene. They were a package deal and needed someone to commit. I was thrown by the bassists directness, but also intrigued and charmed by the fact that she didn't hold anything back. She knew what she wanted the project to be and, if I was serious enough, we could take over the world.

The two of us jammed alone at first and I was floored by the intensity of our music. I couldn't believe how synchronized we were. We fit so naturally that I would have been crazy not to do everything I could to join her. If I improvised a riff, she would be right there with me and vice-versa. We read each other's movements almost telepathically and constantly created melodies that had the potential to break hearts and move mountains. A lot of times, these jam sessions were completely without spoken words. It was the music that told the stories. Don't get me wrong, we talked and laughed and had a good time frequently, but when we played; we played. It was perfect. It was what I had been holding out for all that time. I wasn't settling. This was it.

After a couple of months, the bass player told me that she felt that I was a good fit and it was time for me to jam with the whole band. I went to their practice space, plugged in my guitar, and stepped up to the microphone. As we played, the bassist and drummer looked at me with a smile of approval while the other guitarist and keyboard player seemed a little unsure. Despite their uncertainty though, we all launched into song after song embracing the sounds that our effort manifested. It felt so good to be playing in a group again. I enjoyed playing as a solo for act for the past three years, but this was heaven on earth. Sure, I'd gotten into a jam session with other people here or there since the last band, but nothing as serious and promising as this appeared to be. All my concerns and hesitation about taking the leap again vanished as we played and sang into the night.

We practiced for a few weeks in their little practice space and then things became exciting, yet surprisingly comfortable. We all clicked. Sure, the guitarist and keyboard player still had their weekend jam sessions with the singer from their first band (that was never going to change), but they didn't hold anything against me. When we played, none of that previous drama mattered. It was all about the music and we appeared to be on our way. The songs were coming along and the group mindset was getting tighter and tighter.

One day, out of the blue, I got a call from a promoter/booking agent that heard my solo stuff and really wanted to set up a small mini-tour through Chicago and then in various clubs in New York. "Just for a few weeks," he said, "nothing too big. I know you are working on that band project, but this solo trip could really help you figure out what is best for you. Your experience on the road will probably benefit the band in the long run as well. Then after that, maybe you could look at something on the West Coast." He went on to explain that I would play a few small venues in each city and, in my free time, I would get to look around, network, and explore as much as I wanted. I talked to the band about it and they were all behind me. The bass player even told me that it would do me some good and that she was proud that I was willing to take on the challenge. We left things open and decided to see where things would go...

The tour went great. Both cities are truly gems of this country and I was constantly amazed throughout the journey. I met a bunch of cool people, took in a lot of art exhibitions, walked for miles in the shadows of wondrous architecture, and played some amazing shows. All the while though, I missed the band and it became clear that that was the project for me. I had struck out on my own only to find that jamming with them was what I really wanted to do with my life. It felt great to know what I wanted. I called the bassist and told her about my recent epiphany. She was really excited and couldn't wait for me to get back so we could start writing some more songs. Throughout the tour people were slapping me on the back and saying how wonderful I was, how proud they were of my solo tour, and how much they admired what I was doing. In my mind though I kept thinking, "If you like what I'm doing now, just wait until you see what my band is going to do. We're going to blow your minds. We will be seen as THE band."

The five of us jammed for a solid month when I got back from the solo trip. It was great. The music was coming along and everyday we became closer as a group. While I was away, people were beginning to talk about us. A buzz was being created and, from where I stood, we had everything we needed to be signed within the next few years. I constantly daydreamed about our future as a unit. The five of us were a well-oiled musical machine. The guitar player and keyboardist were still playing with their former singer in a side-project, but any skepticism about me and my intentions were completely gone. I had proven myself. They were completely on board with the way thing were progressing. I would never ask for them to divide loyalties or pick sides, but they made it so I never had to. It wasn't a competition with their former band mate and side project. The five of us were a good band and that was that. Things were going great and there was no doubt that they were going to get even better. Until the phone rang again.

The promoter that booked the Chicago/New York mini-tour called and said that he had booked the six week tour on the West Coast. I remembered that I had agreed to that before the last little tour and told him that I would commit to it, but this would the last time that I would hit the road by myself. Any future outings would be with the band and my solo career was done. Even though he meant it as a comfort and was telling me what I needed to hear, I felt a nervous flutter of anxiety in my stomach when he said, "You got it. No other solo tours after this. I promise."

The day before I left, I actually got into a fight with the bass player. I was running around trying to tie up loose ends before the tour and completely forgot about our practice. I messed up. She never said it outright, but it seemed to me that she thought I was going to blow off the band and pursue a perpetual solo gig. I met with her a few hours before my flight and assured her (and the drummer) that this was the longest I would be gone, but I would return and the band would be my highest priority moving forward. They both understood and threw their support behind me. The other two members were headed to practice for their side-project, but wished me well and said that they would be ready to rock when I got back.

This tour is completely different from the last. Sure, I've gotten to meet really cool people, seen and played some great shows, and walked on some of the coolest streets in California, but something has been a little off. I feel it in my bones. I had had this feeling before, but not for years and certainly not this intense...

While on the road, I constantly checked in with band to let them know that, while I was having fun and trying to squeeze all I could out of the tour, they were on my mind and I would be back before they knew it. I overdid it. In my zeal to confirm my intentions of returning and continuing with the band, I ended up coming off as needy and clingy. I had become the prima donna front man that they were avoiding. They probably thought that I expected them to drop what they were doing every time I called. They might have thought I was under the impression that they were waiting by the phone the whole time I was on the road. That wasn't what I was thinking at all. I was just worried about the band's future because of the fight and meeting we had when I left. At one point, I let my insecurities and anxiety get the best of me, and I convinced myself that they got a new singer or reformed with their original line up. I called, emailed, and sent text messages all the time - non-stop; too much. Eventually, after being bothered by the barrage of correspondence, the bass player grew detached and cold. Clearly something was up.

One night a couple weeks ago I received an email that changed everything, The tour, the band, our plans, everything. The message basically said that the band talked it over and came to the conclusion that we all needed a break. More specifically, they needed a break from me. It wasn't anything I did or didn't do, they just had to focus on their own issues. It was time to focus on separate projects. I should focus on my solo stuff and they would work on the things that they had written while I was gone. It turned out that the bass player had some songs she had written and was taking over the singing duties in my absence. She had written a bunch of stuff in between me and the last guitar player/singer, but had never gotten to try any of it out with the band before I arrived. With me being gone, she was able to rediscover those songs and really get a chance to flesh them out. She had never given herself time to run through them in between this band and her last. It turned out that they were pretty good and deserved a little more attention.

She made it clear that the decision wasn't anything against me. They all made sure to tell me how great a musician I was and how it was hard for them to come to that conclusion etc... Despite the comforting words and their attempts at long distance consolation, I was hurt. I hurt really fucking badly. This time was way harder than the last. At least in my last band, the feeling was mutual. We quit because none of us had anything left to give. This time I couldn't have my way because they were never given a chance to breath, evaluate, or grow after their last band broke up. Despite my seemingly terminal sadness, I understood. We have to give ourselves time between projects. If you have been in a band for a long time, that process can take a while. And, unlike me, they never had that time. Hell, I still had lyrics and songs about the break up of MY last band and that was years ago. Sometimes we need to exorcise those demons and redefine ourselves before we can move on to the next thing. This decision appeared to be an attempt to do just that. A chance for them to figure themselves out before taking anyone else on. I couldn't have my way and it hurt, but I definitely understood.

The night before last, I was sitting in the back of a club after a show avoiding everybody when I wrote my "poor me" thoughts on a napkin - well, more like eight napkins. Although it had been almost two weeks since the email, I was in a spiral of self pity and despair and needed to purge myself of my thoughts. It was just a rant about how I was feeling and I didn't think I would put it anywhere, but sharing it in this capacity may serve as a form of therapy or future inspiration moving forward...

My head is about to explode.

Everyone says to stop what you are doing, be still, relax, or, my favorite, “Don’t think about it.” Are you kidding me? Humans are rebellious by nature. Would it be better for them to tell me to keep thinking about it and not function like a regular person? Maybe. At least then my natural instinct to rebel and go against the grain would protect me from the slothful waste of space that I have become over the last couple of weeks.

Sure, I’ve gone for walks that have lasted hours, played shows, taken lots of pictures, and written a bunch of things, but my mind seems to be doing all of that on autopilot. A detached numbness has taken over my senses that I can’t quite explain. Take my vision, for example, its like I’m looking through an opaque filter of reality that doesn’t quite allow the complete vibrancy of everything around me to penetrate my retinas. Why?

I shouldn’t be this affected. I shouldn’t feel so far down. In fact, I should be ecstatic about this turn of events. I’m twenty-eight years old and I am free to do whatever I want. I am bound by nothing – literally. No bills, no house, no family, no obligation whatsoever. I have a degree, a good resume, a little musical talent, and a recent set of travel adventures under my belt that many people will never get a chance to experience. I can literally go anywhere in the world. Well, almost anywhere. I realize that complaining about this set of circumstances is a laughable offense considering all the true hurt and loss in the world. Many people have way harder things to deal with than not getting their way. I know that I have a good thing going on my own and I am grateful. I really am. But, I just can’t help myself. Despite a high level of independence and a seemingly open ticket to the world, I can only focus on the one place I cannot be.

Believe me, I do understand that it will pass and that nothing lasts forever. Some people tell me things like, “Hey, you’ve been through worse," and, "You’ll be fine.” Well, I understand and appreciate that. I do. They may even be right. The problem is with the, “been through worse,” portion of that statement. The level of difficulty one has with a situation is completely subjective. My “worst” is obviously not the same as yours or theirs. Now, that is not to say that this most recent event is my “worst,” but it is pretty damn close.

“Live and learn,” right? “Time heals all wounds?” Isn’t that what most people tell you in these situations? I believe that. I really do. I just wish my brain would accept that as the truth and speed up the process for my senses. I want to see the fullness of the colors around me and taste my food again. Maybe when I get back everything will balance itself into normalcy. Maybe at that point I can get my bearings and pick myself up before I make next move. Maybe she'll ask me for an informal jam session - like when we first started. Yeah, that sounds right. Either way, I’ll be out of this fog soon enough. Soon enough, I’ll be back on track and ready to take over the world...

Obviously, I was at the bottom looking up that night. I still feel that way now and then, throughout the day. But, hey, sometimes the greatest bands in the world aren't heard by everybody. Did I believe with all of my heart that I was done looking for bands and this one was set to "make it?" Absolutely. Am I worn down and tired from being on the road and having what feels like an infinite chasm placed between myself and my band mates? Of course. Does this mean that I will hang it up, collapse into myself and stop creating, writing, or playing music? Hell no!

The "breaks in the continuity of a work, series or action," or the times spent in between things, are what make us real: The time that could potentially bring out the best in us. The best songs and stories tend to be written after you've given your guitar, voice, or pen some time to rest. When we exercise we rip our muscles and break everything down to a crumbled pulp. The benefits are reaped in that time of rebuilding after a workout when we lie on the couch resting and recuperating. We have to give ourselves time to breathe, evaluate, and grow.

With that in mind, I will end this solo West Coast tour next week and put my guitar and pen down for a short while. I will embrace this break in the continuity of my work, series, and action because I know that one day, with or without the band that I really believe in and ache to be a part of, I will continue to make beautiful music, the colors of my world will be bright, and the food within that world will be delicious.