Summary

The article discusses the experiences and challenges of a cover band that has been performing for over a dozen years, emphasizing their dedication to delivering crowd-pleasing hits despite not writing their own music.

Abstract

The cover band at the center of this narrative takes pride in their ability to entertain crowds with classic hits, arguing that their renditions of popular songs are as enjoyable as listening to the original artists. They highlight their commitment to studying and performing "what crowds like," which has allowed them to thrive in the music scene. The band members, each with their unique quirks and limitations, share a passion for music and the stage, despite the occasional technical mishaps and personal drama. They justify their focus on covers by questioning the value of original songs that might not live up to the iconic status of classics by bands like ELO or REO Speedwagon. The band also contributes to a personal cause, donating a portion of their CD sales to help a friend in need, Lara, whose partner Big Eddy has been missing for six months.

Opinions

The band believes that playing covers is a legitimate and valuable musical pursuit, dismissing any stigma attached to not performing original material.
They argue that the atmosphere of a real rock show is found in intimate venues like dive bars, rather than large arenas with elaborate productions.
The band values their history and the character of their well-used equipment, suggesting that it enhances their performances.
There is a sense of camaraderie and humor within the band, as they good-naturedly tease each other about their musical abilities and personal lives.
They see their performances as a form of experimentation, enjoying the crowd's reaction to their unique interpretations of well-known songs, such as ska versions of non-ska tracks.
The band demonstrates a sense of community and support for their friend Lara, by donating a portion of their sales to her during a difficult time.

The Plight of the Cover Band

We rock just as hard as bands that write their own songs

Photo by Yannis Papanastasopoulos on Unsplash

Our music slaps. It slaps so friggin’ hard.

Okay, it’s not our music, per se, but you don’t survive more than a dozen years in the biz without blowing the top off a few hundred covers.

That’s right, I said it: We Are a Cover Band.

Contrary to what naysayers may say, those are not dirty words. Bands like ours know what crowds like because we only ever play what they like. That’s why crowds dig us.

What good are original songs when they’ll never measure up to ELO or Speedwagon being played at the tumultuous decibels the rock gods intended?

Maybe those other bands don’t know how to read? Well, we do. In fact, we’ve spent many a long, drunken night reading old sheet music just for the privilege of treating our fans to the radio versions of some of history’s greatest hits.

Why should anybody shell out their hard-earned money to watch fancy, pyrotechnic theater at the local arena? Real rock shows happen in dive bars where ten bucks gets you a wristband, one free beer or wine — or two soft drinks — and four extended sets of killer tunes blasting through the speakers and amps we’ve been using for a decade.

Hell, you can hear our history reverberating through those babies clearer than Badfinger’s “No Matter What” (which we just learned on Thursday).

Sure, Doug screws up the bassline on every other track, but that’s because I forced the bass upon him. C’mon, I sure as shit wasn’t giving up my axe! Still, the kid lays down some damn fine licks for a right-hander who had to teach himself to play that left-handed, oversized, slightly-irregular instrument he got dirt cheap at the swap meet.

And yeah, Chuckie doesn’t know the first thing about playing the keyboard. But ever since that mysterious industrial accident put him on the dole, he desperately needs an excuse to leave his mother’s house on the weekends. He stops randomly pressing keys whenever we finish a song — that’s all anybody can ask.

Rachel, our singer, is phenomenal. Girl’s got this unwavering, smoky voice that’s so drop-dead sexy it can make a schoolmarm blush. Too bad she keeps threatening to quit the band. It’s not my fault everything got awkward when she stopped hooking up with our drummer Marty and started hooking up with me.

Grow up, Rach, I tell her. This is rock ‘n’ rock, dammit! Maybe in a few weeks, you’ll throw me over to hook back up with Marty, or even Doug. Who knows, maybe I’ll hook up with Marty; we’re in a band together and he has cute dimples, that’s enough for me.

I hear the cashier at Price Rite has a killer set of pipes, just in case. She’s cute too.

But don’t think we’re predictable and only do straight-up covers. I mean, yeah, we don’t write our own songs. That’s not going to change. But we do our share of experimentation, and every time we do, the crowd goes berserk.

Sometimes we play a ska version of Willie Nelson’s “Seven Spanish Angels.” And we do a really slow, romantic version of REM’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It.” When crowds are really feeling our sound, we might hit them with our ska version of “Come On Eileen,” or our ska version of “Tequila Sunrise.” Doug’s trumpet playing is as sloppy as his bass work, but that friggin’ warrior never shies away from doing a ska cover of a non-ska song.

We improvise, too. One time, we were about to play “Lola,” by the Kinks when Rachel saw our friend Lara in the crowd. So, instead of singing “La-la-la-la-Lola,” she sang “La-la-la-la-Lara.” It was the craziest, funniest thing that ever happened onstage at Billy’s Beer Garden. We were laughing. Lara was laughing. Even her boyfriend Big Eddy — who wasn’t the most jovial bloke — laughed so hard that beer shot out of his nose.

Man, that was such an epic night!

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is, Big Eddy has been missing for the past six months. He disappeared a few nights after that amazing show. Unfortunately, Lara’s not taking it too well. She barely leaves the house as she struggles to raise her and Eddy’s two daughters — six and four, if you were curious.

That’s why you should really consider buying our CD. Until Big Eddy comes back — or is found in a ditch somewhere — twenty percent of all sales go directly to Lara. The poor woman needs the extra scratch for childcare, food, gas, and other basic necessities. So, please, they’re only ten dollars and it includes a special cover of “La Bamba.”

“Ska Bamba!”