The Invented History of Superjock, Part 4-- Superjock Comes Alive!

And so we were ready. Ready to rock. Superjock Mach III, or whatever incarnation we'd arrived at, booked a gig with Student Activities. I don't recall the date, but I think it was in October. We were ready, at least on an emotional level, but had a few more items of preparation to deal with.

Verien (drums) and I went to Beaver Falls' Salvation Army and dug through the men's section, eventually finding two sweater vests that weren't encrusted with several decades worth of sleaze. We practiced a bit more, including (vocalist/guitarist) Matt's obligatory "improv" rap. We made posters. Good ones. I wish I could find a copy and post a picture here, but let's just say they involved Super Greg.

The weekend in question rolled around. Matt and Verien--and even Jeremy (guitarist)--seemed calm. I wasn't. Yes, I was welling up with excitement ("I'm gonna be a rock star! Women and small children will love me! I'll come into class late with sunglasses on and no one will care!"), but there was also something else welling up. Something like late-blooming ego, possibly, but also fear. Stinking, sweating-palm, dry-mouth-plus-crazy-eyes terror.

Skye Lounge, in Geneva's student center, was--surprisingly--filled. Many of the people there were fans of Matt's, plus little clusters of band member's friends. But there were still lots of people who probably just showed up. A free show is a free show.

The stage was set up in such a way that we could approach it without drawing much attention. We slunk on, and a volley of applause built up momentum, following us across the stage. We got our gear ready. I had borrowed a friend's giant bass amp stack, since my tiny practice amp would not cut it. I plugged in, and turned some knobs back and forth to make it look like I was being cool and precise. I'm not a gearhead; I just plug in and play. I think Jeremy might've been having problems balancing his sound levels, or something, but Matt announced the band and we began to rock.

In hindsight, I don't remember much, except these things:

-Jeremy mouthing cuss words, bending over and fiddling around with his effect pedals.
-Not being able to hear anything but my bass, though the folks in the crowd said it sounded fine (note for future scenario: adjust monitor levels).
-Sweat, lots of sweat. "Sweat"-er vest, get it? Har. But my hands weren't sweating; in fact, my hands were so bone-dry that I had trouble playing in spots.
-Staring people. Four or five of my friends were cheering me on in my corner, but there were some seated nearby that looked like they encountered their first algebra puzzle. I'm guessing it might've been our sound (since there really weren't any "pop" bands on campus), but I'm really betting it was Matt's lyrics. How can you take "I've been crafting the perfect pop song / I know you will want to sing along," especially when sung seriously?

We blazed through ten or twelve songs. The band clicked, for the most part, and despite the fact that in a live setting I could pull off none of the elaborate bass lines I'd prepared, it seemed like a success. No one in the audience died or vomited, and there was no anti-Superjock graffiti in the post-show ruckus (though that would come much later).

So, we made an entrance, and a fairly successful one at that. I knew--deep in my heart, I knew--that I would wake up the next morning to find dozens of messages on my voice mail, hordes of women lining up to eat dinner with me. I was a rock star.

posted, with grace and poise, by Jason @ 6/27/2006 02:24:00 PM, ,