I’m a singer in what I like to joke is a mid-life crisis, neighborhood, garage band. Even though we’ve grown well beyond that description and played many kick-ass events and venues, we’re still friends-who-make-music-together at our core.
More than eight years ago, I saw an ad in our neighborhood newsletter. A group of men (made up of neighbors/friends) were forming a garage band. The ad was concurrently looking for a lead guitarist and a space to practice. I guessed if you had both, you were in? I thought it was badass. A few months later, having secured a lead guitarist (the only non-neighbor – saving us from being a full on cult), a place to practice, and a first gig at our neighborhood’s “New Neighbor Party”, they advertised again… this time looking for a female singer. Oh how I longed to fill the spot. I mean, who hasn’t always secretly wanted to sing in a band? Insecurity and fear kept me from answering the ad. A month or so later, at a Roller Derby tailgate, I had the opportunity to casually (yep, tried to play it off as casual) mention my interest to two band members. They’d never heard me sing… were possibly inebriated (if not selective)… so I was in. I was told to learn a Tom Petty song and show up. Been showing up ever since.
At our first few gigs, we got a kick out of introducing ourselves by a different band name each time (some favorites are in the name of this post). I’m not sure anyone noticed. Even for those who never plan to play music, brainstorming band names (and album covers!) is an entertaining pastime. (Seriously, add it to your list of quarantine diversions). Between the six of us, we had a hysterical and huge list of options (some more appropriate than others). It was impossible to decide on one. Finally, our lead guitarist’s daughter threw out the perfect name, and we’ve been Goat Rodeo ever since.
In the Urban Dictionary, Goat Rodeo is defined as:
A chaotic situation, often one that involves several people, each with a different agenda/vision/perception of what’s going on
This describes us perfectly. All six band members have very different taste in music, making new song selection a mega hurdle. On the flip-side, if a song passes, you know it’s gonna be good. We all have our pissy and can’t-get-it-right moments. We all have our best quip and bust-a-gut-laughing moments. It’s hard for six busy, career, and family-oriented adults to find time to practice, much less schedule gigs. Somehow we’ve made space for it and enjoyed the hell out of it (98% of the time?) for 8 years. Our spouses have been our biggest supporters and best groupies, doing much behind the scenes to make it work. Thinking about them, gig after gig, dancing in the front row and singing along to songs like it’s the first time (for the 800th time) makes me tear up from the pure beauty in it.
Goat Rodeo is the best kind of family. While well aware and accepting of each other’s faults and idiosyncrasies, we don’t have the bitterness that comes from messy family histories. One of my bandmates is always late. One always wants to leave early. One is really opinionated during new-song-selection. One has never heard half the songs proposed during new-song-selection. One won’t let me sing KT Tunstall. Instead of maddening, these things are endearing. One band-mate had the brilliant idea to start the band. One can improvise a killer guitar solo in a blink. One has encyclopedic knowledge of musicians and bands. One can engineer our entire sound mid-song while playing guitar without missing a beat. One can play any song he’s only heard once. After 8 years, I’m still in awe of all of their talents. And all five of them have my back (on and off the stage) like we were on Normandy Beach together. It takes balls to put ourselves up there in the spotlight, but somehow together, we’re safe. And boy do we have some stories. I mean, DO WE HAVE SOME STORIES. (Some of ya’ll don’t behave on big nights out. Sometimes we don’t either.)
Once the news of the Szwast move to Illinois was official, Goat Rodeo started planning a blowout gig, aptly named “This Is Not Our Last Rodeo”. I was thrilled to secure a date at the perfect venue. With the finality of writing the gig on my calendar, the excitement quickly turned to tears. I let myself grieve that day. Every day since, I’ve been focused on the fun of another magical night on stage with my brothers. As you might expect, that night (this Saturday) is now one of the many casualties of Covid-19. It’s time to grieve again. For years I’ve described myself as “the band bitch-wife”. You’d think I’d be ready to move on from everything that title implies. Turns out it’s one of my favorite roles.
When will it be safe to have 650 of our closest friends gather for a party? Will we ever gather en masse again without a tiny worry in the back of our minds? Our world is going to be different after this. And though I wouldn’t have said it’s possible a month ago, being on stage with the guys again is going to feel even sweeter than ever before. And everyone being together, singing along and dancing, is going to heal us. And now who cares if I can’t ever seem to remember all the lyrics? So, April 18th, quite ironically, will not be our last rodeo. And I will be back. So, until our next pre-gig shot, here’s a toast to my boys. This next one will go to eleven, cause that’s what she said. Fired up!
Amanda – I love Your Writing! Please continue in your next home. I will miss you!