2009 is rapidly becoming THE year for musical comebacks. Blink-182 is back in the studio with an album due out this year, Dr. Dre is supposedly producing his final solo album (still), and Rick Astley's popularity has never been higher. Hell, even the Cyrus family name is carrying on with Miley and her brother's band, Metro Station.
Put that in your achy-breaky heart and smoke it, Billy Ray.
So in light of the current musical climate, I think it's time to resurrect an old dream of mine. And I suppose the dream of the other two dudes in the band. I don't know how committed they were. I think if you asked them, though, they would say they were into it.
It's time to get the old band back together.
We were called The Disappointments, and we thought that made us clever (because we found our music to be far from disappointing, you see). This was in my freshman year of high school. We won one church talent show, and the sky became the limit. We were destined for great things, perhaps even state fairs.
Alas, we were young, and not a little bit foolish. It was our dream to break away from our pop-punk-inspired roots and into our own as pioneers of the avant garde genre of Death Polka, which is what happens when people who wear lederhosen decide to pretend to worship Satan.
The only things we lacked were the lederhosen. And the Satan thing. Not real big on Satan, myself. Can't speak for the others.
Back in the day, I knew the world wasn't ready for us to stop playing our pop-punk covers (with the occasional song by The Police to prove how broad our horizons were), so I quit the band when the subject of our Death Polka mission was broached. I packed up my guitar and walked off into the sunset, seeking the redemption that could only be found by countless hours in a locked room, playing guitar.
An hour and a half later, when I felt as though my fingers had been worn to the bone with the torture of my art, I began to feel a twinge of regret. Had I let my dreams go without a fight? Was I destined to live a life of the mediocre, forgotten, but no less tortured artist?
For years, my guitar playing was limited to the church praise band. Not particularly challenging music, but still. Getting my name out there. I was no big shot, with my name in lights saying Nick Philpott Tonight
but still. People knew me.
And now, I have waited. I have paid my dues. I believe my band mates are still capable and still half-crazy like they were back in the good ole days. It is our time to shine.
Yes, it occurs to me that I'm down to one guitar and that guitar is three hours away in Cincinnati because there's just not enough room for it in a dorm. Yes, I realize I have no idea where the old drummer is (I want to say Africa somewhere?). No, I don't remember any of the songs we wrote. But hey: U2 overcame the hurdle of being pretentious and not having any real talent.
I think we'll be OK.
Nick Philpott is a sophomore studying playwriting and creative writing. He plays a wicked blues scale solo, and that's a fact, Jack. E-mail him at np714907@ohiou.edu. 4
Opinion
Nick Philpott
