WAY IN WHICH I FOOL YOU INTO THINKING I’M AN AVERAGE GIRL #1: I do love to shop.
But today’s spree is more business than pleasure. The task at hand: shopping for space. More specifically, a practice space for the band – looking to add one more in a long list of temporary homes, each of which has had its own unique and charming features:
Exhibit A: My brother’s attic.
Yes, it was a long, relatively open space, and his drums were already in place. Everything was actually on the side of swell until the viola player showed up and we suddenly had a bandmate that needed to stand up. It became apparent we needed a room with more head room. Or any at all.
Exhibit B: Another band’s basement practice space.
This was actually not so bad, save for the fact that we were crashing someone else’s home. And those someones smoked many packs a day. And therefore so did we. For the sake of both sides, we decided to search for something with a little more privacy.
Exhibit C: An honest-to-god, downtown practice space.
Although we shared the building with several other bands (and frequently used our downtime to create alternate lyrics to their songs – “Just one f@#$ing chorus…. is all this song would need…. just one f@#$ing chorus… instead you just repeat…. the verses… forever… and ever….”), we did have our own, spacious room two days a week. In fact, we thought we’d found effing Shangri-La until things began to disappear.
First, it was the baby grand, which, granted, we knew was leaving with the previous inhabitant. Then the heat. Probably I should have been suspicious of the giant, industrial tube that hung limp from the ceiling like a giant, sad elephant trunk. The day it began to perpetually spout lukewarm-to-frigid (but never, never warm air, mind you. Never), we knew it was trouble. In the summer, the output from this tube became stuffy, stale. Like the building was breathing on us. No matter the time of year, it seemed we were destined to suffer at practice.
Next, the equipment began to vanish. First cables. Then mics. Then a switch of the PA head. Then the PA speakers, first replaced by smaller, significantly shittier versions, then gone altogether.
We were then informed our rent would be raised the following month. (Which would have been a great joke, except that they were serious). Moving on…
Exhibit D: My basement (our current situation)
Here we have no PA at all. We have no working mic or mic stand. I plug into the viola’s amp, she plays unplugged and my brother attempts to drum rock music as quietly as possibly in order for anything at all to be heard. It is sucking the life out of us.
But we do have a huge wall of mirrors in front of us upon which we can see all the stupid faces we make whilst playing. So we’ve got that going for us:)
So you can see the need for a new home. I’m on the prowl, but the space market in this town is admittedly a little bleak. I’ve seen everything from some dude offering up his (unfinished) basement to a “studio” renting out its “recording rooms” as “practice space” (the pictures blatantly show a garage partitioned off with plywood and drywall).
But all’s not lost. I am a savvy shopper afterall. (And – now that the basement floor has started to seep after heavy rains – a highly motivated one)