And now: The continuing ridiculous adventures of my Cincinnati rock cover band.

This is a simple story yet a good one. One of the first bars we ever played at was a real dive. I guess techinically it was classified as a "sports bar," and I suppose that category garnered more respect in the Yellow Pages than, oh say, "crap-hole." We had all kinds of problems at this bar - all because of the owner, who was a nice enough guy at 9 p.m., but drunk as hell come the witching hour.  He was the type of guy who, when he talked to you, immediately gave off this vibe like "No young smartypants college boy is gonna tell me how to do anything!" 

The first time we played there, he stumbled up to us and requested "some Rocky Top!"  If you don't know what this song is, you probably don't watch college football nor live anywhere near the South. It's a well-known southern song that the University of Tennessee has adopted as its football fight song.  We told Mr. Bar Owner that, no, we don't have any banjo players in the band at this juncture, nor did we even know the first chord of the song.  He walked away murmuring something under his breath.  Anyway - whatever, things didn't really boil over until the next show.

So we're back at the bar a few weeks later and, hell's bells, the bar owner zig-zags up to us and asks us if we learned the song yet.  We say no.  Then he says a new bride and groom just came in (what the hell they were doing there only God knows), and offered to spend an additional $300 at the bar if the band could play "Rocky Top."  It was an interesting scenario, but we still said the same thing: "Sorry, man - no can do."  It was somewhere around this moment that Mr. Bar Owner just blew a gasket and called us A-holes and idiots and other stuff along those lines.  Somehow, we were never invited back to play. 

We started our last show early - 9 p.m.  We were expecting to have not a whole lot of people milling around.  What we weren't prepared for was a whopping three dudes in the audience. (It just goes to show you that playing later is always better.)

So, with three dudes in the audience, we decide to premiere "Use Somebody" by Kings of Leon.  Let me ask you something: Have you ever seen a cover band stop in the middle of a song?  Didn't think so.  Well, we started playing the song and this train just came off the rails.  I'm talking No Man's Land here.  So somewhere near the guitar solo, we just stopped the song and laughed.  A look out to the audience revealed ... zero listeners.  We drove off the three paying customers.  Awesome.

The night goes on and the people start to come in.  We're having fun.  Gulp.  First drink goes down.  Gulp.  Second one, too.  Then we start to discuss playing "Use Somebody" a second time and getting it right.  For some reason, our lead singer mentions our idea to the bar owner, who responds by personally asking us NOT to play the song again for fear it will drive away the crowd. 

OK, Mr. Bar Owner - we got ya, no problem.  Gulp.  Third drink.  Gulp.  Fourth is delicious.  Hmmm - starting to rethink plan.  We all agree: Yeah, we're letting this baby loose.  It's time for round two.  So, for our last song, we let "Use Somebody" fly again.  It.  Was.  Awesome.  It probably wasn't perfect, but in our mind it was.  So what's the moral here?  Alcohol solves all ills?  Kings of Leon unites the world?  Cover band guitarists rock?  Just the first two?  I'm still working it out.

It was a long time coming, but our drummer has finally given his official resignation and left the band.  The guy was burnt out on playing covers for some time and it was only a question of when. 

It all kinda came to a head a few weeks ago at a show.  It was 2 a.m. and we ended the show with "Zombie" by The Cranberries, as we always do.  The crowd started yelling for an encore, so we were set to oblige, naturally.  But the drummer just got up and refused to play an encore.  This is a guy, who, when he's made up his mind, he's made up his mind, know what I mean?  So he and the lead singer get into another shouting match onstage all about this encore debacle.  At that point, we realized it was over.  Sigh.

BUT - the good news is: We have signed New Drummer, who looks to be very cool.  We put an ad out on Craigslist and got about 20 inquiries.  We interviewed five personally (jamming with them) and ended up going with a guy who had very little gear or contacts, but he was just a great guy who seemed easy to get along with and into our rock cover style of music.  We'll see how the whole thing goes.  I will keep ya posted. 

The lead singer and I at a show.

Our lead singer is a peculiar fellow.  The man says whatever is on his mind and doesn't bother to consider anything like, oh, ramifications, or say - if a woman will smack him in the face after hearing his words.  Despite this lack of reason or a verbal filter, he still manages to attract the ladies at an amazing rate.  I have no idea how he does it, but they just gravitate to him - every single gig.  All this brings me to a recent show and one strange word that was released into the world.

So we're just playing our set, right ... and we wrap up a song, and then our lead singer grabs the mic and drunkenly says "OHHHH SNATCHYPOO!" 

Try to imagine this for a second.  You're at a bar, drinking some drink, and the band wraps up a little Jimmy Eat World with a sweeping D Major chord.  And then the lead singer of the cover band yells this word at 110 decibels.

Why would anyone in their right mind say this?  Well, the word itself came about in practice.  When we would rehearse a new song and lock it down, the lead singer would say we had "snatched it up" and "put it in our pocket."  Over the course of several months, those phrases slowly got boiled down to the simple, caveman-like "Snatchypoo."  So it came around in practice, and it in practice it should have stayed, for the love of God and Jesus.  But he felt the need to share it with the world, and, for a moment, make us other band mambers wish we could open a magic Snickers bar and be transported to somewhere, anywhere else.  Understandably, the crowd was mystified as to what the hell was going on. 

You cannot control this man.  We can only hope to put out the fires quickly.