Some people think that a band whore is a groupie, and I suppose that’s one definition. But when local musicians call their fellow compadres by this name, it’s got a different meaning altogether. It refers to the player who “gets around” in another way—by being affiliated with a ton of different groups. 

If we’re to pick on another player for being a band whore, it’s usually done somewhat playfully, and at the same time, there’s truth in jest. It can be a tightrope to walk for the musician spreading him- or herself thin, trying to keep everyone happy while dealing with conflicting schedules and possibly conflicting agendas. And sometimes it makes people wonder that if you’re committed to “everything,” then are you really committed to “anything?” (Yes. But that’s a topic for another time.)

I don’t think of myself as a band whore, but I can roll with it and see the humor in poking fun at myself. After all, I have kept myself busy by being affiliated with a lot of different projects.

It’s not uncommon for people to say, “Ok, how many fucking bands are you in now?” I can smirk with them and laugh. Laugh at the question and laugh at myself.

I understand if you want to call me a band whore. I guess I get around.

But there’s more to it than that. Walk in a man’s shoes and you, perhaps, see things from a different perspective. There are a lot of questions to be answered…

I never woke up and said, “I want to join 100 groups.” (And, yes, that number is hyperbole.) So how did it happen? Why does it actually make sense? And, perhaps, the most urgent question of all: how is it even possible?

This essay starts with that last question.

There are only so Many Hours in the Day

I had taken a break from music outside of the house for about 3 to 4 years when my kids were very young. True, circumstances of having babies at home played into it, but it had at least as much to do with opportunity (or lack thereof) than anything else. I’ve always said that a lack of music is often like a lack of dating was for me when I was single: I was only inactive at times where I didn’t really have any good options or opportunities. Put another way, I was never out of playing with a band because I wanted to be. It was only because I didn’t always have people to play with. 

When I was in my mid-thirties, I was busy with home life, but I also didn’t know who I should form a band with at that time, regardless.

After much regret and sadness that I wasn’t out playing music anymore, I eventually motivated myself to get out there and meet some people and start playing again. I went out to try to start a band. Some of my efforts didn’t work, but when I found one that looked like it might have legs, I made a confession of sorts to my musical partner in the venture:

“Right now, I’m looking to get together once a week and see where it goes. I might be completely overwhelmed by this and maybe even that small amount won’t work out. We’ll have to see how it goes.”

I wanted to play. I really wanted to play. But if you could read between the lines, I was admitting that I was not only unsure, but kind of scared shitless. I was thrilled to be playing again, but nervous that I was going to be overpromising what I could bring. The days of being a young person who had nothing better to do than hang out with friends (and musicians are preferably friends, after all) all day were long gone. I was middle-aged. Married for over a decade. A homeowner with all the  responsibilities that entailed. Full-time employed. And a father of toddlers. What if adding a night of rehearsal a week was going to send this ship into a chaotic whirlwind?

Well, needless to say, it worked out, and that project became Monkey Grip…. but that’s not the point of all this.

Moreover, a new question is raised.  Here I am, nearly a decade later, and I still am married and I still have kids (they’re not babies anymore, but they’re not exactly adults, either), and I still have a house, and I work more hours than I ever have before. So how the heck is this even possible that I keep such a full schedule of gigs and projects?

Well, first of all, it’s a lot of careful scheduling and organization. And maybe a sacrifice of sleep.

But beyond that, here’s the secret that makes it possible:

Not All Bands Require the Same Level of Commitment at the Same Time

Sure, a couple of the bands I play with see each other weekly or thereabouts to work on stuff and rehearse and so on.  And I am so thankful for that, because I love to do that.

But one of the bands basically never rehearses. Literally, it’s been like 8 rehearsals in 5 years. And in those 5 years, there have been over 100 gigs with that band alone. But we learn parts through charts and mp3s and such on our own, and we get together and play and tighten up “on the gig,” so to speak. A busy gigging band naturally finds its own groove just by sheer number of dates.

Other groups do maybe 6 shows a year, or less, and when we have a show coming up, we’ll get together and play once to brush up and we do the show.

Then there is the idea that in middle-age, I’ve learned, bands seemingly don’t break up. They just quiet down. This one needs more explaining…

Bands Don’t End

When I was young, we trended to (usually) have one band at a time and we dedicated a lot to it, and we were very passionate, and we’d peak. But then ultimately fights would start and animosities and conflict and all that shitty stuff would make an appearance, and you’d too often end up angry with each other and it would all fall apart. The band would break up in a ferocious vat of angry-young-man piss.

And, sure, sometimes there still is conflict, but not really much comparatively, because we’re older and know it’s not worth it and that it’s ridiculous to get so worked up when things stop going well. So when the gigs stop coming or members start leaving, things just quiet down. But you remain friends. Things fizzle out a bit, but you don’t shut the operation down with a sense of anger and resentment.

And then what happens?

Well, what happens is even if you think the band is inactive, someone will seek out that group and ask if you want to play on a bill… and, of course, you say, “Sure! Let’s do it!”  Because, ultimately, you’re all still friends and still enjoy playing with each other and enjoy the songs. And then we rehearse once or twice—maybe—and then do a show and have a great time and then things are quiet again until the next opportunity for that project comes around.

See what happens there? The band that used to rehearse weekly and be a major time commitment sort of goes dormant, but it’s not entirely gone. But it’s still an important thing to me, and I still am proud to take part in it, and still happy to post the gig photos on my social media stuff. They all have their place in my heart.

But make no mistake about it. If the definition of a group is one that has to get together every week and dedicate many, many hours to the cause, then no: it would not even be possible to be a band whore. There are, after all, only 166 hours in a week, and that is for everything in your life.

I like to think this “being able to play with less preparation” thing is also a gift of age and experience. My first club gig ever, back in the 80s, was one that we prepped and prepped and prepped for and left nothing to chance. These days, we get by on guile, guts, and experience. We can do more with less. 

So, hopefully this sheds some light on how it’s even possible to play in so many different situations.

In part 2, I want to talk about how it came to be like this for me, why it makes sense that it’s like it is, and, ultimately, why I am actually happy that it is like this. Please join me for that one…