Everyone Stop!

That's exactly what they should not have done.

October of 2009. Ramskellar. It was our second time playing in public - the St. Jude's 'Up All Night' Fundraiser. It was also the second time we would be playing with a substitute bassist. We found after trying to practice without Alex that he is really what holds it all together. I figured either the vocals or the drums would be what everyone follows as they are the most audible and easiest to use to pinpoint the tempo or place in a song. Little did I know that the members of the band actually relied on the bass, the least audible, some might even argue least necessary (sorry Nate and Alex) instrument.

There we were, though, our second performance and again going at it with out Alex. This would be our first real set. The first performance was only 3 songs and in conjunction with several other bands and some acapella groups. This show, however, was just us for about an hour playing to whoever would listen.

We had a pretty decent set and I was really excited by how together it all sounded. It's one thing to get through a song in practice, but it is a whole entirely different monster to sound tight when you are not all looking at each other, when there are people watching, and when you can do it over because you missed something.

I wish I had the set list because I don't exactly recall the order of the songs and how late into our performance it came, but at one point we played the song Repitlia by The Strokes. This is a pretty rockin' track and we did a really great job covering it. If you know the song, there comes a point in the song where everyone stops playing except the lead guitar who plays a riff before things come back in heading into the chorus.

This, however, was not the point that everyone decided to stop playing. Instead, as I am singing along, as the verse is heading into the prechorus section where everything steps it up a notch something happens. And by something I actually mean nothing. Nothing is happening anymore, except I am still singing, only no one else is playing. The words 'Please don't slow me down..." come out over no music, no drums, nothing. Internally I am pressing the panic button and hoping the floor beneath me opens and I can escape this situation. Either the power just cut out or something went wrong, but somehow, in unison, everyone in the band has cut out.

And then just as quickly as they had cut out, they were right back into it. And it happens. The poeple watching are wearing a surprised look on their faces. But this look isn't one of distaste or humor at our mistake. It's one of satisfaction. Apparently the way things transpired was so clean it came off as though we had rehearsed it this way. There are those points in songs where bands will totally drop out and let the audience sing, or let the lead singer belt out the line, usually the start of the chorus or some other climax moment of a song, enhancing the energy when it all comes back in. That is how it sounded and through confirmation after the show, that's what people had thought we had done. That it was intentional. And that it was really cool, really impressive.

It was a horrifying moment, and one that I will never forget. I won't ever forget the terror that ran through me, the place I was standing, and the reaction after it passed. It was also one of the coolest moments in our performance history. One we never replicated, not even in practice. No one could ever remember exactly where to cut out and it just ended up sounding forced. But when it happened that night in the Ramskellar, totally by accident, and totally in unison, it was perfect.