new music soon?
Wowee it’s been a mess of a few weeks. I’ve been called “crazy” and “a mess” from a lot of people, some justified. Most justified. I’d rather be labeled as crazy than not labeled at all. Last summer I worked at a Chipotle and I was in my boss’s office laughing about something and this girl walks in and says “hi, I’m looking for my paycheck.” My boss goes, “Ok um.. what’s your name again?” This girl had been working there 6+ months, I was in my fourth week.
Despite the stories and grapevine texts, I honestly feel better than I have in months. I’m smoking less, eating more, losing weight, doing yoga. Breathing. I have this confidence that I haven’t felt in years. Belief in myself, love for me, the ability to stay at home alone and watch movies and make music without having that FOMO (fear of missing out). And it’s so good that it’s almost dangerous, because when a kid like me starts understanding he’s better than most people around him, he can start wildin out with an ego problem. It’s something I’m working on.
Cigs Inside Is Dead
That’s what I yelled as I got into an Uber after my first gig as Captain Brando. It’s a new name I’m trying out, I really like it. That night I was DJing, it’s something I used to do to make some cash in high school. I got decent at it, doing over 50 gigs and buying my own speakers, lights, soundboards, stands, cables. I used to hate it though, playing music for other people sucks. But that’s a DJs job, and you have to put up with a lot of bullshit. Drunk kids charging the stage “Hey play this deep cut from Chance it’s a banger I swear everyone will love it.” And nobody knows it so when you play it everyone leaves the dancefloor or event and even the dude who requested it is nowhere to be found. So what do you do? I would usually respond with “oh cool I’ll see what I can do” and never think about that request again. But it’s hard, you feel bad, sometimes they’ll come back seething “HEY I TOLD YOU TO PLAY THIS SONG 3 MINUTES AGO WHAT THE FUCK” What would you do?
That gig was two weeks ago. Cigs Inside, my old band, my old friends, they were set to start at 10pm. Naturally, they show up at 10:15, only get set up by 10:45 when Greg, my old best friend, says that he forgot his guitar. Now, there’s around 100 kids in the yard, 200 more on the way, and they’re 45 minutes late which cuts into my set. Thankfully, Theo brought a spare. But Greg still wanted his guitar so I go to their house with a friend, scoop it up, come back, and they still haven’t started their set. It’s 11:15. Greg has a guitar, what’s wrong?
Oh right I forgot, Greg’s a guitarist. So he can only play on his own guitar. EDIT Gregorious has informed me that he didn’t have a strap, so he couldn’t stand and play. So, you couldn’t sit down for 20 minutes? Three songs at least? Chairs exist, or just criss cross apple sauce my guy. It’ll feel weird, so don’t go as hard, quarter note rhythms for a couple songs, come on.
Do you see how much bullshit that is? They’re an hour late, fumbling and mumbling and there’s kids waiting right there. You’re not Jimmy Hendrix, you’re Greg. Start the set.
We get back and I hand them the guitar and they play. They were supposed to end at 11:30, and then I was gonna make my debut as Captain Brando. Ahoy. They’re still going by 11:50 and John asks to play one more and it dawns on me; all of those speakers and cables and mics and equipment, it’s all mine. And it needs to be moved to the dj booth on the other side of the yard for me to play. And I’m alone, because I’m not a band or a crew or an a capella group, I’m a captain.
Let’s have a quick history lesson shall we?
About a year ago, my friend and forever homie John and I were at my place, big chillin. I had joined his band, and I was hyped but something wasn’t right. It was the name, Epilepsy Dog. I couldn’t be the drummer of a band called Epilepsy Dog, my standards are mega low but not that low. John wants to smoke a cigarette, I say “No, cigs outside.” To which he chants back “CIGS INSIDE, CIGS INSIDE, CIGS INSIDE” I say yo what? He explains to me that it’s a frat boy chant, that drunk white boys scream it when it’s 1am and things are rowdy and in that instance, that energy of a wild kid raising his glass demanding to smoke indoors, I see it. I say “That’s it, that’s the name.”
So we get cooking. Songs, people, gigs, moving shit. I let them use all of my old dj equipment. And then we get into a car crash and I pussy out because I don’t want to die over a punk rock strokes cover band knock off, but I leave them all my equipment because they’re my friends. And they hate me for a bit, because I turned my back on my friends. But it passes, and they find a new drummer and find gigs and people and new songs (not a lot of new songs, but like 3 and a cover so, ok?). And I find myself in the front row of the Bug Jar at their gigs screaming and jumping and laughing and dancing to all these songs I helped write. Going over rhythms, no that chord should be higher, lower? Take it from the top. Distress was our first single, we recorded it in the school music room with my friend Nick, and I mixed and mastered it and poured over 15 hours into it. It still sounds like shit, but it was decent enough.
Alright, so now it’s midnight and John asks for another song and I round up as many people as I can, friends from work, hosts of the house, drunk people, and I start unplugging their, I mean my, speakers. And I start moving their, I mean my, equipment across the yard. And I scream at drunk kids “MOVE CAPTAIN BRANDO IS HERE GET OUT OF THE WAY.” And the Cigs Boys end their set. And I go up to the drunk kids on my stage and say “Hi, I’m Captain Brando, nice to meet ya! Mind helping me out by getting people to move aside for a bit?” Some girl steals my hat but honestly, it felt really, really good. Being a captain.
Now the music is off, and the Cigs Boys are moving their, I mean my shit. Their, I mean my, cables. Their, I mean my, microphones. Their, I mean my, mixer and I need it all, but it’s a shit show because they want to go home, and I’ve got a show to play. We’re also drunk.
Eventually I set everything up and I’m on this insanely shakey stage made of wooden planks, and I don’t have a mic or the right cables so I’m screaming to the crowd “AHOY BITCHES CAPTAIN BRANDO IS FUCKING HERE” and I play a song and it sounds weird because Cigs has their, I mean my, cables and I’m holding on to this stage watching a sea of people. The power cuts off, some kid unplugged it. Crowd chanting clap clap “NO MUSIC” My friend and I run across the yard find the plug push it back in and run back outside to my stage, people are wildin and demanding lowder music but I don’t even know what’s mine anymore.
I transition from Rack City into Hollaback Girl, and the cops show up and shut it all down. I’ve never seen a field empty out that fast.
Wowee
I start packing things up, my or their cables, my speakers or their mixers or my backpack and their cigarettes and I set things back in Greg’s truck where the rest of my, I mean their shit is. And I go up to Greg and John, the singer and lead guitarist of Cigs Inside, and I say “You forgot your guitar and cut my set back to 5 songs, I’m taking everything back. It’s mine. I earned it before I was even 16, it’s time for you to earn your own shit.” It definitely wasn’t expressed in such a calm way, tbh I was rowdy as shit.
I got in the Uber, and standing over the passenger door, “CIGS INSIDE IS DEAD.” Unless they can replace the gear I took back, idk what they’re gonna do.
A few days later I made a meme about Bart writing that phrase on a chalkboard. I’ve been thinking about that style a lot, in The Shining with Jack and his novel scribbling it into madness over and over again. There’s power in craziness. It’s got a nice ring to it too, I think they’re calling their EP that. They should anyways, use more of my energy to push themselves forward. I don’t mind that, they’re too uncreative and unambitious to come up with any of that themselves, so if my words spark more wild art, ok. I’ve got more words for myself anyways.
So some people hate me. “I saw you posting some nasty shit about Cigs Inside Brandon, what are you doing?” “That’s how you treat your friends? How could you?” “You’re taking all of your shit out on others, they care about you, I hope you get better.”
But I feel fine, I feel great. Because I don’t care if they’re my friends or not, they used me for years. My thoughts, rhythms, ideas, equipment and some of it was collaborative, but there’s only so much I can do. I started Cigs Inside. The name anyways. I gave it meaning, a purpose, I booked the firehouse saloon the night of that car accident and
it’s my fault.
it’s my FauLt IT’s my fAult it’S mY FaULt IT’S MY FAUlt IT’s MY Fault iT’S MY fAUlt it’S my FaULT it’s mY faULt iT’S my FaUlT iT’s MY FAULT it’s My faulT iT’S My fAULt it’s My fAUlT iT’S my fAult it’s mY FAULT It’s my FaUlT IT’S my fauLT It’s My fAUlt IT’s MY fAult It’S MY fAuLT It’s MY fAUlT IT’s mY FAuLt IT’s mY fAulT It’S My fauLT it’s mY faulT it’S My FAulT IT’S my FaUlT iT’S MY Fault IT’s mY FaUlt IT’S mY faulT It’s MY FaULt IT’S My faUlt It’S my fAULt IT’s my FaUlT iT’S MY FAUlt It’S My fauLT IT’s MY FaULT it’s mY faULT It’s mY fAuLT it’S my fAulT iT’s my faULt it’S my faUlT It’s My fauLT it’s my fAUlt iT’S My fAulT IT’s My FaUlt it’S my fAuLt It’S mY faUlt it’s my faulT It’s MY fault it’s mY FAult It’S my FaUlt it’S my FaUlt iT’s My faULt it’s my FAULT iT’S my faUlt iT’s my FaULt it’S My FAULT iT’s MY fAUlT It’S mY FAULT It’S My faULT IT’s MY FauLT It’S my FaulT iT’S mY fAult iT’S My FAULT IT’s my FAulT it’s my fault IT’S My fAuLt iT’S MY fauLt It’S mY fAULt iT’s My fAult it’s MY FAUlT IT’S mY FaULt It’s MY faUlT IT’s My FauLT It’S my faulT it’s mY FaulT iT’s my FaulT it’S mY fAulT iT’s mY fAuLt IT’s MY FAult it’s my faULt It’S My faUlT
Here’s the deal,
I can make this.
And this.
And this and this and this and even this all on my own, and Cigs Inside have only written three shitty songs and covered Benny and the Jets and as much as I love them, I love myself more. And I can’t put up with the disrespect, the taking for granted, the crummy musicianship, the drugs, the tardiness, the conversations behind backs and the rumors in bathrooms I’m done. Especially since it’s affecting my own art now, and I believe my stuff deserves to flourish more than theirs. This whole thing is just about me taking back my own equipment, that’s it. I hope they can find the money to replace it all.
Maybe it’s harsh, maybe I’m a dick, or maybe I’m just starting to respect myself and realize that maybe I’m not just a fat depressed Indian loser,