I used to be really good on the guitar but then married life and work took over. I'm getting back into it again now and it's frustrating not being able to play stuff I once found really easy (YYZ by Rush, for example).
You could play Rush songs easily? Man, I had a few party pieces (erm, mostly hair metal I'd rather not mention, but think Ozzy solo). Then I discovered punk rock, unlearned a lot of the things I'd practiced for hours upon hours, and eventually got exhausted being a tinpot dictactor in practice sessions and abandoned guitar in favour of singing. Which was silly, but if I'd got it together back then to concentrate instead of drinking and drugging, I'm told I could've been a contender if I'd have bothered trying. Pete Doherty nicked half my schtick, the Strokes the other bits. I'd already nicked from Keef and Thunders, but that was momentarily 'cool'.
One thing I'll say in favour of Doherty and The Strokes: they got me more attention than I get now that looking like a mugging victim / fat, balding tabloid 'paedo' is in vogue on the 'hip' scene, at least with the women my age. Which is a scene I always end up coming back to, for better or worse. Also, I'm usually the scariest bloke in there because it's whispered that I'm
genuinely working class and have criminal Irish family. Which is all threat, but I've been a dick about on more than one occasion, though it's come in handy often too.
I was a pretty good frontman in terms of sheer arrogance and that effeminate / macho thing that Plant and Jagger do so well. Except I'm not saying I was on their level - just better than a lot of what was successful. But not at all committed, and I thought my voice was far better than it was, and didn't need exercises. Didn't help that people would butter me up in those days because I was semi-cool and even made it into 'London style publications'. There you understand a particularly strong source of my bitterness.
A local band asked me to jam with them recently on the strength of my swaggering about like a dick. Or maybe they thought I might have better drugs. I regret it in part, but I would've wasted their time; unrehearsed, unconfident and not anywhere near as talented as them.
So maybe there's still hope for local punk-cabaret stardom / notoriety, and a bit of the buzz that I used to get from music alone. Now if only I could convince my mate (a practical industry insider) that I'm ready. He's only been trying to encourage me for five years or so. And now he's busy. Just my luck, eh? I'll do it though, if just to be booed / bottled / laughed at.
Last time I performed anything was two a capella Irish songs, one Brendan Behan's
The Auld Triangle and then a slightly more paramilitary-inclined one called
Black & Tan Gun. I was told that the room went silent (I'm not making this up) but then again the guy did seem to be making some kind of advances before taking pains to point out he was sraight. I wouldn't have minded if he'd just told the truth - he was a good-looking chap, I was drunk and had to force myself to sing 'properly'. He could've done better, but had he convinced me, he might have got a little kiss; I was 26 or so, okay? He was prettier than most of the women I met, more attentive, and didn't spend all night on the phone to their respective spousal abusers whom they'd come out to escape. Desperate times, those.
And it was an open-mic night, so people tend to be kind. so I might be good, awful, but probably mediocre. I'll settle for that.