Detour 1 of 3: Run through the jungle
I’m writing a book
And I don’t know what the hell I’m doing
Last year I listened to Matthew McConaughey’s memoir Greenlights. After finishing it, I felt inspired to scour my own catalog of journal entries and random stories about life I had written in an attempt to package something up by February, 2022.
From last February to about the early summer, I wrote like a fiend but in July, I hit a big wall when I asked myself the terrifying existential question of:
“Wait… what the fuck is the actual point of this?”
What’s truly ironic about this misstep is that determining the “point” of a piece is at the cornerstone of my professional writing tasks. As a content marketer, your whole world should revolve about why this or that piece of content exists — and for whatever reason, I totally forgot about this.
According to Malcolm Gladwell, the first thing you should do as a writer is determine your ending. That way you have an endpoint to work towards. This is key for writing marketing content — in marketing, it’s important to establish the outcomes you want to achieve from the piece, before you write anything. And like an idiot, I did the total opposite of this for my book — but hey, no one is perfect.
At first, I panicked. I tried to piece together a few new parts in hopes that it would spiral me into a creative flow like I had in the beginning but it didn’t work. It all felt forced and I had to realize that my arbitrary deadline was just that — arbitrary. A year to finish my first book is also super ambitious — who the hell do I think I am?
While publishing a book is still a goal, if I’m going to put my name on something, I want to do so with confidence that it’s compelling enough for someone to read — even if it’s just a handful of people. And in its current state, my book is trash.
Self deprecation aside, there is an element to my book that I’m most excited about — it’s “detours.”
This heavy nod to McConaughey’s reflective, “greenlight” moments is a way to provide little contextual nuggets, memories, teasers, and mood setters to help compliment the progression of the larger story. I love it when stories aren’t totally linear — I love side tangents, going back in time, etc. Which is the whole goal of my book’s detours.
As a means for me to put my book back on my radar, I’ve decided to share three of my favorite detours thus far.
Detour 1 of 3: Run through the jungle
March, 2015. I was at the Shashkeen Pub in Manchester, NH, having a pre-show smoke before my old band Tom Flash played their last show ever.
Tom Flash was a band that I played in since the age of 15 and this band is the most fun musical project I’ve ever been a part of.
Its balls to the wall’s style of rock n roll shaped me as a musician — especially as a bass player. As my friend Kevin, who I played in another band with, “later” in life once told me, “You bring a special vibe to a band. You’re aggressive and know when to be delicate. It’s sloppy-ish but always tight in the pocket. You’re fun to play with.” That compliment from Kevin meant a lot and it’s all due to Tom Flash.
My evolution as a musician in Tom Flash was influenced by the unchecked chaos of the White Stripes, the bass grooves of Jet, and the pseudo-Sabbath heaviness of Wolfmother. These bands were my references and guides as a teenager — hell, when I was a teenager, all I wanted was to be them.
Dreams of headlining clubs like the House of Blues kept me up at night. I wanted a life on the road and to be just successful enough to not have a “real” job. As a freshman in college I can recall my response to an academic advisor who asked what I wanted to do after college. I simply replied, “Play in a rock band.”
Unfortunately for my former self, that’s not my reality. Playing in bands and making something full time has almost worked but the timing has never been right.
As my Camel burned between my lips outside of the Shaskeen, my drummer John came out to join me. Back in those days John didn’t smoke much but would frequently bum one of my Camels and smoke about half of it. Which I didn’t mind because I’d always be down to finish it.
“Man, this sucks,” John said as we pulled on our smokes, “I really wanted this band to work out. I’m going to really miss it.”
“I feel you dude, it’s a bummer to see it end,” I replied, burping out a healthy chug of beer. “Let’s fuckin’ get after it though. Let’s have fun tonight.”
John nodded with a grin, “Fuck yeah, man.”
Instead of looking at the end of Tom Flash as the death of the band, I reframed it as a celebration. Yes, I was bummed like John and frequently got down about the band’s end after our last show. However, at the end of the day, it’s all in season’s time and I would be damned if I ended my time with the band with a lackluster effort.
With only a few drags left on our Camels, our other band mate, Matt, popped his head out of the Shaskeen’s front entrance:
“Hey boys — this band has two more songs.”
Knowing that was our queue to come in and unpack our gear, John and I made our way back into the crowded pub. Before I made it back to where all our gear was piled up, I stopped at the bar to grab a drink for our set.
“A shot of Tito’s and two tall boys of PBR, please,” I said to the bartender.
After tossing back the shot of Tito’s, I grabbed my two beers and made my way to the stage.
The Shaskeen was pretty full that night. It’s not a huge venue, which I like, because 50 or so people make it feel like a packed house. Plus, the stage and sound system are great for a local club.
After moving my amp, pedal board, and two tall boys on stage, I unpack my reliable Fender Jazz Bass out of the case.
With no shortage of nicks, dings, and chipping paint, this bass has been with me since I was 14 and has been the bass I’ve used in every band I’ve ever been in. I’ve thrown it off stages and have modified it to my liking — it’s uniquely mine and is by far the most prized instrument I own. It’s been used and abused but solid like a brick.
After warming up the tubes of my amp and tuning, I eventually hear the sound guy say through the stage monitor, “Alright, let’s check bass.”
I flip my amp off standby, and proceed to tear into my favorite sound check riff — the main riff from Sleep’s Dragonaut — and permeate the room with a wall of overdriven, bass noise. After dialing in the volume and tone of my amp, the sound guy chimes in and says, “Sounds good. Guitar right.”
The wall of sound came to an abrupt stop when I muted my bass. I grabbed one of my tall boys and soaked in the random sounds of the club as the rest of the band sound checked.
Loud talking show goers, with the noise of sound-checking guitars and the house music featuring CCR’s Run Through The Jungle that played in the background, all competed over each other. This is my happy place. I love being on stage playing music but sometimes the internal hype you feel right before you play is the best part.
A sonic trance
A few moments later, after getting into the right headspace I heard the sound guy say, “Alright boys, whenever you’re ready.”
Kenny, Matt, John, and myself, all looked at each other, giving the silent “ready” nod. The house music faded into nothing, the crowd lights dimmed, and the count off to our opening song, Tunnels, started the show.
As the quiet opening of the song started, I took two more healthy chugs of my PBR, looked at John keeping the tempo with his closed high hat, winked at him, and started the sloppy but smooth bass line that gradually rolled into the main riff.
The whole show I was in a trance. There were times where I was playing but didn’t need my brain to tell my hands what to do. It was loud, aggressive, and captured any emotion or feeling I could ever want in rock n roll. The four of us were locked in tighter than a vice grip — we were all smokin’ the same shit. The crowd dug it and so did we. It’s always cool to look up to see every head in the crowd, banging their head to the same beat.
One thing I remember so vividly from that night was how particularly connected and “in the pocket” John and I were. Tom Flash’s rhythm section was booming that night. John’s drum style and my bass style compliment each other effortlessly — and as a bass player, I always appreciate playing with a drummer I vibe with. John and I vibed hard.
Five or so songs later, it was time for our last tune — Spit Take — which was loosely inspired by Nirvana’s Torrential Pissings and Breed. It was hard hitting, fast, and we loved saving it for our set’s finale.
After the last chorus of Spit Take, there’s a brief pause where we all held out the low E, which was Kenny’s queue — lead guitarist/lead singer — to revisit the main riff. Once he played a couple bars, the rest of the band joined in where we all played a progressively more chaotic take on the main riff.
We ferociously played the ending part and while playing it, I once again found myself locked in tight with John. John beat his drums to death and I dug into my bass strings as if I was trying to snap them all clean off my Fender. With the quick snap of the snare drum, John queued us all into the final rendition of the main riff which was slightly slowed down but even more chaotic and loud.
During the final moments of Spit Take, I flailed my body around as if I was in a rock-induced exorcism. Just before hitting the last E chord, I took my bass and threw it into my amp which erupted into a feedback-ridden, thunder-like wall of noise.
As my bass crashed in lieu of the normal E chord, John followed suit, and instead of crashing on his symbols, proceeded to knock over most of his symbol stands and drums — matching the chaos of my hurled bass.
Standing amidst the carnage of our complete step, the crowd hooted and hollered with enthusiasm. Like a gladiator, I grabbed my remaining PBR and stood on stage victoriously — soaking in the applause and noisey feedback.
I switched my amp back on stand by, cutting off the deafening noise, and grabbed my bass which miraculously was still in one piece.
It was finished — Tom Flash was no more. We technically had another smaller show the next week but the one we just played may as well have been our last due to the pure rock n roll viscosity we created.
I partied hard the rest of the bittersweet night. After the show, John, myself, and a few friends eventually went back to John and I’s place for a long night of beers and booze. It was like a pseudo-Irish funeral where John and I drank liberally, celebrated what we created, and told stories of our favorite moments of Tom Flash.
Before we called it a night, John and I found ourselves on the back porch for a cigarette with a friend.
“Fuck, man — I wish Tom Flash wasn’t done,” John said as he slurred his words.
“I feel you dude,” I drunkenly replied with a cigarette dangling from my mouth. “But we kicked ass. What a way to fuckin go out.”
***
I hope you enjoyed this excerpt of my book. Here’s to hoping I figure out the point of it.
Cheers,
Ry
