The Rage and The Music

I’ve been in Denmark now for about a week and I’m missing the band horribly - So much that I start dreaming about it.

After our double gig marathon in Nykøbing Falster and Møn on one of the Islands just off of Denmark, I made my way to Copenhagen to visit my Girlfriend who is staying here for six months for her studies. Everything was fine until yesterday when Steve gave our entire web presence a new makeover and I couldn’t help but have the feeling that I’m missing out a little bit. I didn’t think much about it until last night when I woke up very mad: mad at everything and no one. Why was I so mad? And at whom?

It turns out my subconscious had turned up the heat a little and made me confront my feelings once again.

It was a practice session. Somehow I had the feeling that a lot of people were hanging around and the band was practicing as usual: playing the songs and arguing about certain parts, drinking beer, etc. At one point I remember that Steve, Dennis and Jason suddenly started playing cover songs – Foo Fighters and Oasis and whatnot.

Now there is one thing you have to know about me. I make up about 70 per cent of the bands anger, rage and similar feelings. I get mad easily! Maybe its my red hair, my ineptitude to express myself which leads to frustration, having two older brothers…what I’m trying to say is, Freud would be very interested in my anger problems. Ok, back to the dream…

I couldn’t believe it! I was furious! I stood their shocked that the boys would even consider just switching from our songs to covers. I tried to express my rage, but it felt like I was drunk out of my mind and all the words sounded like garble. I tried to wave my hands around, but it was like I was under water. As I was frantically trying to direct attention toward me I saw Jason say to Steve: “Maybe we should practice our songs for half an hour, than switch to covers.”

That was the last straw. I was desperate here and the lads would not see reason. I had to resort to something altogether more drastic. I decided (heaven knows why) to break a beer bottle on the ground. That would certainly do the trick. Everyone would be so stunned they would certainly understand what I was trying to say. The violence would portray meaning onto them, I was sure.

The bottle in my hand went into the air.

My arm came down (remember, it was like I was in water).

As the bottle hit the ground it sort of cracked but didn’t break. I took up another bottle that was lying next to me and suddenly realized that they were all made of plastic. And I woke up.

Damn, I miss the band.