Hey, What’s Wrong? — Nothing, I’m Okay.. — Well, You Don’t Sound Okay Part V

Last Band Practice

Kicked out of my band Voted out . One week before I got fucked in the head

Supposedly, it was left to a Vote Brian — out James — out Nick — Undecided Jeff — In

There were signs before the divorce I knew this, or something lke it, would happen, that I would soon be a free agent.

To boil the reasons I was voted out, it would be

1. I missed practice over Valentine's weekend
2. The Theremin
3. I’m Black

I already know what you are thinking, “Why in 2026 would someone be discriminated against for their choice in instrument?” . The answer is not too shocking, but it’s still very potent: Their beige personality was intimidated by my vivaciousness, they’re highly conventional, and mistake sameness for security.

More specifically, the rhythm guitarist, Brian.

If a chocolate chip cookie was a person, it would be him. Unremarkably average at best, and substandard at worst, he would initiate these one-sided passive-aggressive sparring sessions, which I would remain focused on the music near the end of my tenure as the jerk seasoning to their overcooked white chicken breast.

Once he called a meeting and acted agitated when nobody knew he wanted to speak, it was supposed to be a band meeting, but it essentially turned into a MEeting.

“That thurrmen, thera-whatever-it-is, is too loud…. When Jeff said there was going to be a new singer, I expected a singer, not that sing,talk,rap thing you do, I want melody… Well, I think instead of focusing on covers you want to do, we need to write more original songs.”

When he said that I could feel the left side of my nose tensing and my lips reeling upward, but I remained diplomatic I said, “Okay is there anything else?”

Here comes James chiming in with Brian, “Yeah, um… I like it more when you play the drum…um.. than your theremin… You should change instruments… um.. yea and organize parts to come into the song um..”

Alrighty… anything else? No? Okay, cool, let’s play.

Which is always my attitude when it comes to music, I would rather everyone shut their mouths and open up their instruments instead of all the fuck’n mellowdrama.

After we were done playing, I turned to Brian and asked him, “Hey, was that too much Theremin?” You know what this motherfucker said to me? “No, actually, I don't think there was ENOUGH theremin.” In part because I played some blisteringly wavy & wicked psychedelic solos so unfathomably original that it upset his spiritual timidity.

I was in that band for six months… and in six months, they played the same 6–8 songs, half of them covers. The drummer Nick once told me to look at the whiteboard, and he said, “Bro, those are the same songs we did when I joined a year ago”. The list was basically the same except for the 2 songs I wrote in “Surf” and “Heartattack”. Those are just the 2 that made it to the board, There were other poems/songs I put into the band practice, “Something Creep”, “PIISD”, “Sanctify” “Potential Suicide Prt Deux” “67”, “Mortal”, and those are just the ones I can NAME, we had an albums worth of material and I wasnt even trying that hard.

[embed]*Surf *Jam.Song medium.com

What in the tarnation is the point of practicing the same songs every week if we don’t have any shows lined up, we’re not recording, we’re not collectively creating new material?

[embed]*Something Creep *Song Inside with Theremin Solo medium.com

They were a really good band, 3150… Subject to Change…. whatever they called themselves (It was never officially decided), but I made them great. That rap-talk-yelling thing I do and my thurrma-whatever you call it was the only thing that separated that band from being just one more pellet of feces in a manure pile.

It’s got me all sad and fucked up in the head. When I joined, I felt so free and liberated. I felt like this was my opportunity to play the music I wanted to play and the way I wanted to play it. Not everyone is intrigued by the weird, the abstract, the Gonzo… I am still very sad

I don’t have any way of coping with my forlorn sadness I’m so sad I smile and I laugh when I cry, and cry when I smile Every smile I’ve ever smiled was just a performance Just to keep people from asking me, What’s wrong? And having to respond

Nothing, I’m okay