It is 12:43, just got back from the gig at City Pub and well….let’s just say I’m not playing there tomorrow as originally planned.
I’m trying to write this as it is fresh, but I’m only coming up with little thoughts…
It’s never nice to be fired. Period. Let’s face it.
But I am relieved. I didn’t want to play another night with those cats. It was like torture.
It’s not really about music, it’s not about anything other than I do not fucking understand fucking Bosnians. I’m sorry. I just do not fucking get them.
No communication on stage. Well, the other three seemed to be communicating, but I wasn’t part of the conversation.
The bass player was really amazingly good in a really bad way. He wasn’t part of the rhythm section (and with no piano player or guitar player, that meant I was it). He was off in his world, and even after I asked him during the break to try and communicate more with me, it just got worse. He’d just shoot dirty looks at me. He hardly ever played a real bass line, he was freeforming almost 90% of the time, even right out of the gate in a song.
The one song that I think sinched the not-being-asked-back, the leader didn’t count off right. When you already know exactly how that song is going to be played, it doesn’t much matter, but for a drummer sitting in for the first time, that count off is everything. Especially on a cut time tune where the bass player freeforms from the start.
No idea what they expected. But, no idea what I expected either. Not that in either case I guess.
It’s not any one thing, this place, everything is completely fucked. I’m trying to understand these people, this culture, I’m trying to build relationships, but even in bad situations all I get is bullshit. You’d think at least when things were just bad, just didn’t work out, you would just say it. Period. Like a bad date, we just didn’t get along. There wasn’t any chemistry. No more, no less.
But Bosnians are always like blah blah blah.
So far Bosnia and me have been like a bad date.
Tomorrow will be better.
Later, 9:09AM: Listening to Dave Matthews band this morning to feel better, but the frustrating part is is that it reminds me that I AM really good. Ah well, fuck it.
Also, I’m sounding particularly frustrated with Bosnians and I’ve only shared two stories on the blog, both musical, but TRUST ME, there are 1.000.000,00 more stories I haven’t written about here.
I was thinking, maybe it’s just that in the States I can judge a character in minutes and know if I’m going to have anything to do with that person, and in the States it only happens that I don’t want anything to do with that person maybe 25% of the time. I may not become their best friend, but I can count on them for a certain base level of interhuman decency. In Bosnia I can’t read anyone, but I’m starting to realize that I don’t want anything to do with about 75% of people, and I can’t really count on anyone for that decency, at least not off the bat.
Then, maybe it’s all just language barrier. But with moving every 2 years to a new country with a different language, this might be an unsolvable problem.
Then, I believe in a language that transcends words. Maybe they just speak it less here. Maybe the war beat it out of most of them.
‘Cause I’m starting to realize after that language is gone, about the only thing to talk about is sex, how many women you have, money, and how much money you have or don’t have. Or you can become a fundie. :)
PS {Full of irony talking about money} the guy did pay me, 100KM (about 60 bucks), so there you go. …what I’m trying to say is I was generalizing about a general feeling with those last four paragraphs, I wasn’t talking about anyone, particularly anyone from last night, specifically. Just generally. :) …shit! see how i’m doing it now?! bullshit. sve je bullshit.