I Need to Dance

I want to embody the international epitome of "cool."

Elvis Presley. Johnny Cash. Janis Joplin. Robert Plant. Johnny Rotten. Henry Rollins. Axl Rose. Kurt Cobain. Eddie Vedder. Jack White. Josh Homme. These people have had an amazing impact on my personality and who I want to be. I want to be one of them.

I want to sing in a rock band. I want to move away from just singing along with my favorite disc of the week. I want to stop having to look up lyrics to be able to sing something cool.

I want to work on my creative writing, so when I scream something over the audience's heads, it's something they've never heard before. I want to have a little brown notebook in which to write all my thoughts. I want to keep it in my bag all the time, so I never lose a good one. If I surrounded myself with creative people, people who say clever things with great frequency, it would surely improve my writing. That way, I'll find inspiration all around me.

I want to buy a microphone and practice amp so I can work on my vocals in a small setting. I want to recruit a guitarist who's just learning how to play. That way, when I'm struggling with working my melodies into his riffs, he won't look at me funny. After all it took him 20 minutes to write eight bars.

I want to find a bassist who plays with distortion. She could make a sound like the voice of the devil with her four-string. Nobody would see it coming. At first it would be the bouncy, rubber band sound of a traditional bass guitar, and then when she stomped on her "Big Muff" pedal, it would provide ample material for the nightmares of the younger show-goers.

I want my guitarist to play the oldest, cheapest guitar he could find, because he thinks it would sound the best.

I want my bassist to play on equipment that cost more than her car, because she thinks it sounds better.

I want to get these little wannabe misfits into a crowded attic or garage where we could fight for room for our amps and work together on writing a good, original, badass song. In between writing verses and bridges and stressing about our underdeveloped musicianship, we would discuss the secondary items: the band name, the song titles and stage tricks.

Stage tricks! I want to hang off of the rafters, kick the front row in the face, take shots of liquor, swing the mic around my neck (without hitting myself in the teeth), and punch my guitarist in the kidneys after doing a swan dive into the drum set. And I need to dance.

I want to dance! I want to shake it like anything but a salt-shaker. Like a martini, like spray paint, like a present, or like a baby. (Oops.) I might look like anything from a wet noodle to a gay stripper, but I sure won't care. My performance should be like a half-hour touchdown celebration, culminating in a leap into the hands of my fans.

I want to record an album, so I can say things like, "Get out of here, I'm trying to make art!" I want to record it in two weeks, produce it myself and sell copies out of the trunk of my Bonneville. I want someone to ask me to have my band play their party or their wedding, and maybe hook up with a bridesmaid wearing teal velour.

I want to get paid to have the time of my life. (Maybe weddings aren't such a great idea.)

P.S. - If you're a drummer and enjoy the musical stylings of anyone awesome, please note the email address below. We can, you know, "jam."