I’m starting a band, it is called Black Wolf Vietnam Fuck Mountain — a name that is very now don’t you think?
It is just me and a gal pal so far; anytime a chick band pops up people pay attention because it is oh-so rare you know. Especially a female bass player or drummer. But if you are a guy with a scuzzy half-grown beard, you can join too, and maybe write some songs about how you’d rather knit than get laid. Maybe you’d rather write songs about how you’re actually sort of scared of girls, or how bummed you are the indie-tastic chick at Starbucks didn’t give you as much foam on your latte this time because she’s got her eye on the new bike messenger dude.
See, this band is already built and designed for a purpose from the get-go: to make it baby! You’ll see us at CMJ and Pitchfork Fest in no time. All we need now are t-shirts with an 80s retro twist, and some limited edition cheap crappy CDRs to sell at shows; the hidden track can be the sounds of my air conditioner turning on and off, or my cat crying on loop, which ever.
My husband is going to be our manager, so already that creates “conflict” and tension when on tour which is what all young bands today need. His job as manager of course will be to buy our chicken sandwiches at Wendy’s, and negotiate how much free beer we get at each venue for playing.
I don’t know why I left Hollywood sometimes; I’d make a great junior VP hack at any network, Development chick, or reality show producer.
Arty Farty 