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- SO, YOU FUCKING QUIT. SERIOUSLY? -

 

guruNEVAR, RRC Forums poster, wrote:
I've FQ, Sed (even if it's just for the present moment in time)....So, for now I'm totally fucking done.


It doesn't sound like he FQSed at all. In fact, he is merely "between bands".

What does "FQS" mean? It was the advice at the end of this article.

So, this forum poster has "Fucking Quit. Seriously". The state of FQS is truly a horrific state for a Municipal Rock Stars. Without a band, they are relegated to acoustic sets opening for bands that are clearly inferior to their old bands. Sure, they finally get to have their actual name on the bill...("Featuring GuruNEVAR, formerly of My Uncle Chuck")...as it rightfully should have been when they were with their old bands...after all, they were the real talent in the band... but it's not the same. No, without a band, they're stuck on the bottom of the bill right before KradleKap and right after Happy Hour.

The run-of-the-mill attention whore can throw together a one-off gimmick act for a TRIBUET SHOW or Halloween show, but the truly attention-starved...a singer or guitar player...they need more. Their adoring public is fickle. Band dudes who have FQSed can jabber online about the project they're assembling that will take awesomosity to previously inconceivable levels, but only for so long. A true band dude has to be out there, in the bars, on the plywood, soaking up the adulation.

Going out to other, worse bands' shows every single weekend will keep their faces out there, but the free drinks will start to taper off as their Municipal Q Rating fades. An ex band-dude glad-handing at bars every weekend with no band of his own looks slightly more desperate than actually being in a real band or running a website dedicated to ripping on bands. In short, it's not pretty.

Bandless dudes carry their acoustic guitars everywhere they go in hopes that someone...anyone...at a party or cookout will say "Hey, weren't you in that one band? Babyhead something? Didn't you guys do a song about fire and desire?" The attention-starved bandless dude will say immediately "Hey, I just happen to have my acoustic in the car! I'll go get it and play 'Fire of Desire' for you!" The marginally interested party will undoubtedly say "Oh, you don't have to do that..." but it will be too late. The bandless dude will be well into the chorus by then.

"Take me to the fire...of your desire...we can go higher..."

Advice to the attention-starved bandless dude: Settle. Do not tarry. Settle now.

Don't wait for an awesome 19 year-old sexy drummer who possesses a fiery drive to do whatever it takes to MAEK IT and a brand-new set of DWs.

Settle for a fat guy who owns several drums and a pick-up in which to haul them.

Don't wait for a fashion-plate bassist who is so connected he can buy shoes on an international level...and not just Chuck Taylors, we're talking Kenneth Coles and Pradas...with the skills of a sober Jaco and the looks of a young John Taylor.

Buy some girl you know a Squier P-Bass and a DI box.

It's not how good your band is, it's how quickly you can get up in front of people and how often.

To put it another way, a weekend night spent at home is a weekend night not being paid attention to. At home on a weekend night, watching an SNL rerun in your underwear, you can't loudly make a production of ordering a round for you and the dog. Your dog won't care.

At home on a weekend night, you can't lean in close and blast your dog in the face with your sweet-sour whiskey breath, talking shit about an imaginary connection in LA who is probably going to get you on a soundtrack to an independent film. Your dog won't be impressed.

And at 3:00 a.m., you can be reasonably certain that your dog will not offer you a bump or a rail or whatever cutesy euphemism you and your pals use for snorting cocaine. Your dog won't offer you a binger, a fatty or whatever cutesy euphemism you and your pals use for smoking weed. You dog doesn't have a cel phone.

And finally, if you're at home on a weekend night, you can't ply your dog with alcohol to the point where she is only semi-conscious, then clumsily paw at her teats and force your fingers down her pants and into her dry vagina with one hand and masturbate with the other in a futile attempt to maintain a spongy erection as a prelude to what can legally be called rape in all fifty states. It's a dog. That would be wrong to do to a dog.

Do not forget that it is impossible to share your art with the world when you're at home on a weekend night. Think of it! It is almost criminal to deprive society, as a whole, of such a precious gift.

That's why you do it, right? To let your heart and soul soar higher and higher on the gossamer wings of a crystal angelic unicorn through rainbow fires of desire and fire? You have the heart and soul of an artist and the world must NOT be denied your vision.

Get out there and get that band together, you pathetic attention whore, you. You know you're gonna. Why fight it?

You didn't FQS. You're just a Tweener.

 

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