I write to you today from another form of transportation. Somewhere in the middle of Rhode Island, on my way back to New York from Boston, do I write feeling slightly nostalgic….
Two years ago this week, Tristan Clopet & the Juice was born. And while I'm so proud of the great progress we've made in such a short time, and even more thankful of the people who've supported me and the band this whole time, I can't forget how it all began…on a soaked Friday night in Miami.
****
The barrage of rain slamming against the roof of my little one-story house on Aguero Avenue was almost as loud as we were.
The Birthplace
Ironing out the last few kinks of our set, just an hour or two before we were due on stage, we ripped through the practice, song after song, simulating as close we could what we were to perform in front of a mass of people just hours later.
After slamming the last note of the rehearsal in my living room, I looked at Sean, who looked at Colin, who looked at Phil, who looked at me and together, we each silently agreed in unison that we were ready to make our debut…
Up until that point, we romanticized in between rehearsals on how great playing live music would be. What should the band be called? How should we dress? It was all very exciting. But in our innocence, we were certainly caught off guard by one blinding aspect of 'band life.'
The schlepping.
I could write about how the next twenty minutes unfolded. The numerous repositionings, the calm(ish) arguments about in whose car and how the massive kick drum could fit. Looking back it was all very comical but to say that the anxious knot in our stomachs wasn't effecting us would be lying.
Phil rode with Sean. Colin was my navigator. We set off on the twenty-five minute drive to downtown. None of us had been to Tobacco Road before. But we had heard the they booked new bands.
A few days before, I showed Phil an advertisement in the New Times for this massive festival that was happening at the venue. Something like 40 bands. It seemed excessive. We both agreed that we would call and ask to play, you know, just in case someone dropped out last minute.
That afternoon, I called the place and asked to be in touch with someone in charge of booking. I got a sharp answer back.
"He's not here. Call back tonight." So I did and had better luck this time.
"Yo, this Oski."
"Hey Oski, I'm Tristan and I have a band and we want to play this Friday at the Colossal Festival. I was just wondering if there were any last minute openings."
"Today's your lucky day. I just got word that one of my favorite bands just dropped out because of a family emergency. What type of music is it?"
I gave him my best sales pitch.
"Oh ya'll are UM kids?" Obviously impressed with our school's music department. "Alright, you're on at 2:30 a.m. on the Burlesque Stage. I'm trusting you to show up. Don't let me down. And you better be good 'cus the band you're replacing is one of my favorite bands."
Oski - A Good Man Who Gave Us Our First Gig
Anybody in their right mind would need less than a second after hearing the words, "two-thirty" and "burlesque stage" together to turn the gig down.
But we were young.
And hungry.
And completely naive.
****
To Be Continued On Monday!
