testes

[Lord Valve]

Dear Bar Owner,

As musicians who get all the glory, we feel it's time
to thank those whom we rely upon for the opportunity
to showcase our talent and express our creative faculty
to the local community.

Because, as everyone knows, musicians don't really need
the money. We do it all for beer and sex. We're artists.
We have no time for such trivialities as kids, mortgages,
or car payments.

Some of the things we love:

When you send us home early and pro-rate our pay for the
night when it's slow. This gives us a special thrill,
since we know that you'll one day give us a big bonus
when it's packed. Plus, by leaving early, we can now go
watch our friends play at real bars and spend our night's
wages.

When trying to book dates, we love when you ask us if
we're free on the 17th. Sure, let us check our fucking
calendar. Yeah, we're open that night. Oh - you meant of
November. Of this year?

We also love when you say, "Well, we might be doing
something next month for Thursdays." Yeah, we might also
be doing something next month. Foreclosing.

One of our fave questions is, Do you have a following?
Of course we do! We firmly believe club owners shouldn't
have to concern themselves with such banalities as
advertising. Or promotions. Or drink specials. The
responsibility for attracting customers must fall solely
with the band. We have no doubt whatsoever the people who
saw us regularly at that bar in Dallas will charter a bus
and trek up to Richardson to hear us play Smoke on the
Water. Put your minds at rest, troubled bar proprietors.

Just a few of the things we'd like to thank you for:

For canceling us forty minutes prior to our arrival at
your bar, because as everyone knows, babysitters are free,
and frankly, we have nothing better to do on a Saturday
night.

For replacing our four-piece band with the clove
cigarette-smoking guy and his $129 Fender acoustic
guitar, paisley button-down shirt and soul patch.
Theres a reason he works for a hundred bucks.

For paying the exact same wage for a duo that you paid
in 1986. So now, we have to work six jobs a week instead
of four to make a living.

Thanks for not cashing your own checks. We realize how
this complicates your accountant's life, and his happiness
is all that matters.

And for having the house music set to the local oldies
radio station, we salute you. We love following
"Unchained Melody" with "Rock the Casbah."

For not having a stage. Its a real treat to stand on
your wing sauce-saturated carpet. And being on the same
level as your patrons makes it much easier for drunken
assholes to approach us and fall into our equipment while
spewing a three-foot stream of vomit onto the drum kit.
Thank you.

Thanks for the track lighting above the stage. Makes us
feel like rock stars. Especially when they're colored.

Also, thanks for the break on food and drinks. Fifty
percent is such a gift. Its our distinct pleasure to
shell out $3.25 for a shot of Jack that costs you
twenty-two cents. Grazie. Merci. Domo. Danke.

Thanks for hiring the three laid-off bus mechanics who
threw a band together after the economy shit the bed
and will now play for $75 a man. Enjoy their ripping
11-minute rendition of Cocaine, complete with 64-bar
bass solo and fudged lyrics.

Thanks for canceling us on a Thursday night for the
Browns-Lions game on NFL Network.

Thanks for putting TVs directly over our heads, so
people can watch Worlds Scariest Videos while we play.
Its always a thrill to hear such expletives as WHOA!,
HOLY SHIT! while navigating the soliloquy from Nights
in White Satin.

And let us not forget the bartenders, who listen to us
all night without once clapping (if for no other reason
than to induce the comatose people at the bar to clap).

And thanks so much for cutting off the jukebox 10 seconds
into "Sweet Home Alabama," so that we can hear that
collective "AWWWWWW...." from the audience as we hit the
stage. Most inspiring.

Thanks for waiting until you've served all drinks, lit
every cigarette, wiped off the bar, stocked the coolers
and done your side work before moping toward the cash
register with the quickness of a tai chi instructor to
give us our meager salary while muttering, They make as
much as me, and only worked four fuckin' hours. Yes, its
a travesty, but most high-level universities no longer
give out bartending scholarships. And please note that
it took us slightly longer to learn our instruments than
it took for you to make it through Billy Bobs Bartending
School. And we doubt seriously that you sit at home
practicing bartending in your spare time. So thanks for
handing over the dough and shutting the fuck up.