Sludge in the City :: 7/11/05

The musician learning curve
Tawny Brown

For all practical purposes, I consider myself a smart chick. I graduated from college cum laude (sounds dirty, doesn?t it?), I?m extremely well read, and I?ve recently learned how to dismantle and reassemble a furnace. Yet somehow, despite all this, there are times when my musician learning curve is so low that I am forced to question my intelligence.

Much as I hate to admit it, a girl can?t always blame the musician when things go wrong. We do just as many stupid and senseless things to get what we want out of these guys. It?s difficult to explain the impetus behind some of the wackier things we do, especially when they?re at the expense of an otherwise good situation. Insecurity is to blame in a lot of cases, because even the most confident chick has moments of self doubt. Other times frustration gets the best of us. Trying to pull interest or attention out of any preoccupied man has driven many a girl insane.

Ambition is what frequently tripped me up. There were times when my desire to get a certain story or achieve a certain level of success overrode professionalism or courtesy. Back when I first started writing for rock magazines, I used to believe that the best way to get a good interview out of a band was to flirt with one of the members. It was a devious trick in a lot of respects, because I knew the more a guy thought I was into him, the more likely he was to let me in on some of his secrets. Plus, it often inspired rivalry among other band members. Consequently, my early interviews often read like a cross between Penthouse Forum and the Enquirer. Good reading maybe, but it didn?t do much to enhance my reputation at the time.

The musicians who didn?t brand me as an unethical cock tease just assumed I was playing hard to get. To this day I?m still fending off random phone calls asking me for an ?interview.? (Yes Goth Guy, I?m referring to you.)

When I wasn?t behaving like a tease, I often resorted to other ridiculous methods of scoring interviews I wanted. I?m convinced the drummer of the band Trouble Squared thinks I?m an idiot. The band wasn?t doing any interviews at the time, so of course I had to be the one to break their silence. Publicists were often just as pliable as musicians in those days, so I was able to weasel the drummer?s home phone number out of their PR guy with minimal difficulty. (Oh, okay. I flirted it out of him.)

Not surprisingly, my first few phone calls were ignored. ?Fine,? I said onto his answering machine one day. ?If you don?t return this call, I?m going to start singing your greatest hits into your machine until you do.? The next week I made good on my threat, and belted out a version of their first single that was only marginally on key.

Admittedly, he called me back. But I cringe every time I hear their music now, knowing what an idiot I made out of myself just to get a stupid interview.

I can?t say I?ve behaved much better in some of my relationships, either. I?m particularly disgusted with myself for what I did toward the end of my relationship with Rocker X. We?d been dating for about a year and had a pretty good relationship. We both saw other people, but when it came down to the two of us, we had a really good connection. My feelings were undoubtedly stronger for him than his were for me, but I always kind of hoped that would even out one day.

Unfortunately, we never really were on even ground, and I finally lost my cool when he blew off my going away party in order to pass out band flyers. Though I appreciated the need to promote his band, I didn?t understand why he couldn?t take 15 minutes to drop by my party, seeing as how I was about to move 2,000 miles away. Oh sure, we?d see each other on tour, but it wouldn?t be the same.

At the party, my friends, who had all met him on several occasions, kept asking where he was. Explaining the absence of a boyfriend, even a quasi-boyfriend, is not fun. After a couple shots of tequila, it seemed perfectly reasonable to call him and tell him just how upset I was. Add in another shot of vodka, and getting my girlfriend on the phone with me seemed an even better idea.

After rambling drunkenly to his voicemail about missing him and being pissed that he wasn?t there, my girlfriend got on the phone and started ranting. ?You?re an ass,? she blathered. ?And since you?re not here, I?m going to make out with your girlfriend for you. And I?ll bet I?m a better kisser than your are, too!?

With that, she started kissing me, and we must have made out for several minutes before his voicemail cut us off. Yeah, that?ll teach him to blow me off. A free phone sex session is sure to piss off any guy, Funny, I still get the occasional email from him, too.

The worst of it all though, is when I unintentionally act like a freak. For all my ?professional? hijinks and stupid antics like those with Rocker X, I was always aware of what I was doing. Though I half-regret some of those things, I knew going in what the consequences would be. But sometimes, things just get out of control when you?re with a musician that you like, and despite all efforts to the contrary, you wind up doing something stupid regardless.

With the lead singer of Shiny Metal, I will never be able to live down what happened. We had a wonderful relationship for two years (on and off), and it embarrasses me to death to think that this is probably the one thing about me that he will never forget.

He was the kind of guy who was big on atmosphere. My friends used to joke at the time that should he and I ever have a child together (god forbid), I?d probably wind up giving birth on a bed of rose petals to a string quartet in the background. Their joking wasn?t so far off really; for all the attention to detail he put into his music, he put the same, if not more effort, into our dates. Needless to say, he was excellent in bed.

One night, I arrived at his house to find a trail of candles leading to his Jacuzzi. Soft music was playing, the water was bubbling, and he was waiting with two glasses of wine. It was wonderful. He slowly starts to undress me, lingering over buttons, kissing the skin he exposed so slowly, and leads me over to the tub. He undresses and we both climb in. At first, we just sat back and enjoyed our wine. But the man was just so attractive and good, that I never could keep my hands off him for long. Eventually we were tangled up in each other, kissing and touching and breathing faster with each minute.

We decided to take things into his bedroom, so he gets out of the tub and dries off. He helps me out and wraps a fluffy towel around me. ?Let me dry you off,? he says. As he starts to gently rub the towel over my body, I start to feel lightheaded. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the heat from the tub, or maybe it was the fact that I?d already had one massive orgasm. All I know is that the music kept getting farther and farther away and I had to grip his shoulder to try and stop the room from spinning.

?Dizzy,? I managed to eke out, right before I passed out on the guy. Few things in the world make a woman look less graceful than when she is naked, wet, and draped over a guy like a limp noodle. He carried me into his room and laid me on his bed. He was on the verge of calling the paramedics at that point, probably fearing the headline ?Groupie/Girlfriend Found Naked and Dead in Shiny Metal Frontman?s Bedroom.? Fortunately for both of us, I regained consciousness.

He brought me some water and gently stroked my forehead. ?No more Jacuzzi for you,? he said. For the rest of our relationship, I had to constantly endure jokes about bubble wrapping his tub and suggestions for protective headgear while bathing. My only consolation is that he isn?t a writer, because that wasn?t even the most mortifying thing I did while we were together.

These days, I can?t say much as changed. To my credit, I do my best to keep my work relationships reasonably professional. But when it comes to my personal relationships, no matter how hard I try, I can?t seem to change the curve. I still make drunken phone calls and I still seem to be unable to keep my sanity when I?m around a guy I like. Moreover, I?m still doing all these things with musicians. I guess I?ll never learn. ?

Note: The names have been changed to protect the innocent, the not-so-innocent, and the lying, cheating scumbags from their wives? wrath when they get off tour. Any resemblance to persons living, dead, in rehab or in jail is purely coincidental.

Since I seem to be getting asked the same questions via email over and over, I thought it easiest to answer them all at once.

Q: Who are you and have we slept together?
A: I?ll never tell who I am. And if I didn?t sleep with you, than it was someone else in your band.

Q: How did you meet all these rock guys?
A: I did PR for a few record labels, wrote for a few magazines, and briefly worked in video production. I?m also hot.

Q: Are you single?
A: Sort of but not really.

Q: Why won?t you say who these stupid guys are? Why the cover names?
A: Enough people in the world dislike me, I don?t need to add to the list.

Q: How can I get my girlfriend to go to the strip club with me?
A: Stop asking.

Q: Why musicians?
A: Because they?re gods and I bow before them. Seriously, I just like music. Musicians come with the territory. That and I?m also a masochist.

Q: Want to see my cock?
A: No, but thanks for asking first.