Reunion

The French Letters have the opulent opportunity to be the most hated band in Seattle. We might all be too smart for our own good sometimes. Maybe it's the melding of actual writers & real musicians, but something happens.
It might be a need to overcompensate, but the truth is I don't care what is is, as long as it is.

I know I'm jumping ahead here, but it's my diary so I can do what the fuck I want here, thats the appeal.

  Luke has been out of town for the past couple of weeks, we haven't had a real practice & our big debutante ball is coming up quick. We walk in the studio doing our usual shit-talk, commenting on people ad's that they place in the hallways, mocking the sounds of other bands that we hear practicing through their thin doors. To an outsider, it might sound like we're all a bunch of intolerant bastards, but we know that when we meet these bands outside on their cigarette breaks we can't sum up what we do in a cute little sentence like their band can. Hell, we can't even agree on what our influences are. In a way, we have to overcompensate, not for lack of talent, but for lack of definition.
 There's a new band in the studio across the hall. They emulate Pearl Jam, and not the good parts(by which I mean Green River, Mother Love Bone) We hear the singers drone; we write better lyrics for their song on the fly, sing them over the PA until we know they hear us.
There's a girl offering to give vocal lessons to untrained lyricists hanging in the hallway. She put her picture on the flyer, and she's actually pretty attractive. Puglisi tears off all of the numbers in a hording rage so noone else can call her, confusing this ad with a dating service.
The last sentence isn't entirely correct. I pulled 1 number so he pulled another. I ending up yanking off 5 more just so I wouldn't lose the current pissing contest.
 Over teriyaki we discuss how we can make an impact at a benefit show for Haiti. Our ideas are legion, all bad.

We also had Miko back tonight,
working as a full unit, we wrote some new songs to finish after our debutante ball. It felt good. It felt like family. The freedom to say anything I feel without upsetting someone in the room is rare for me, I hope the rest of the band feels the same way. Whatever happens in the long run, I hope we can always come back to these Monday nights in our hearts. I hope we can all recognize that we have something cognizant and ethereal. We have a place where we all belong, where we do what feels good and anything outside of the door doesn't really relate to it.
 If the band breaks up, if the band becomes successful... Not the point, these Monday nights are.

Of course I had a few PBR's this evening. Did I mention that they make me speak in a cage behind bars?


Double post on the end of a long day, back to format tomorrow.