How To Start Your Own Rock Band In 12 Easy Steps (a cute article from the early '90's)
1. Assemble your band. Recruit three or four of your unemployed, lonely, celibate friends. They’ll be game – like they’ve got something better to do. Also, if you can, convince them to stop getting haircuts.
2. Select a name. What is the leading cause of death among people starting bands? It’s certainly not mental anguish due to the pressure of having to maintain artistic integrity. Believe it or not, arguments over what to name the band results in far more human devastation than smoking, car accidents and spontaneous combustion combined. It’s true; the incidents are just not widely reported. Why, the seemingly paltry issue of whether or not to put umlauts over the vowels has ever been known to result in gunplay.
This is understandable, when you stop to think about it, because selecting a name of the band is probably the most important decision a band has to make. The name is the first thing that potential fans, club owners, managers and record company schnooks see, and it’s going to plant an image of your band in these people’s minds before they even hear a note of your music. Thus, choose wisely and carefully.
I’m moved to offer a couple of pointers on this subject, however. First of all, to get this topic out of the way, don’t even think about umlauts. Also, avoid intentional misspellings (e.g. Wyld Stallyns), be cautious about a prospective band name that is the same as one of your member’s surnames (it worked for Van Halen, but that doesn’t mean it’ll work for everybody), and leave the ornate, cosmic shit like “Diamond Starlace” and “Sapphire Mist” to the junior high school cover bands.
Thankfully, these are the 90’s, and naming a band in the alternative era is amazingly easy. Let “less is more” and “the duller, the better” be your mantras. As any culturally astute person knows, the band names that will be most alluring for the contemporary, alternative-minded scenester are invariably the most mundane. If you’re looking for a name for your band that oozes with 90’s sophistication and credibility, you don’t have to look any further than the room you’re sitting in. go ahead, scan your environs. Find any inanimate object that can be described with one syllable. Mug. Fork. Lamp. Book. Clock. Dad. Ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom – your band instantly has a totally hip, alternatively acceptable band name. Before you know it, you’ll be in Sassy magazine’s “Cute Band Alert.”
3. Image development and marketing. So nobody knows that your band even exists. What to do? Write some songs? Practice? Solidify your musical direction? Get gigs? Pshaw! First things first. Technically, you may not even be a real band yet, but, with a little chutzpah and a lot of egocentricity, you can make people think that you are, and the importance of that cannot be underestimated.
Get your friend with the delusions of being an artist to design a logo – something simple and intriguing. Get t-shirts made and sell them to all your friends. Have them parade up and down the glittery catwalks of Willowbrook Mall sporting them. Make stickers and plaster them all over every toll basket on the Parkway. Hang out with your band mates at local parties and bars dressed in your “stage gear,” carouse and frolic like “rock ‘n’ rollers,” and delight in the number of people who saunter up to you and ask about your band.
Have your friend who “didn’t fail English” write you a bio, and have your friend who owns the camera that didn’t come free with a magazine subscription take “publicity photos” of your band. Why do these things? Who will see them? Probably nobody except you, your band mates and your friends, but having your picture taken as a band will make you feel like a real band, and you can impress people by showing them how photogenic your band is and by telling them that you have a bio.
(Incidentally, here’s the key to a great publicity photo: Don’t pose. Well, actually, that’s not true. Pose like you’ve never posed before, but make sure that you pose like you’re not posing. And have your band dress down for the photo shoot; don’t look like “rock stars.” You’re not going to get any street credibility wearing leather and bandanas, so remember these three simple words: flannel flannel flannel. Keep in mind what decade you’re in. And no makeup, for crissake, unless you’re doing a Cure thing.)
4. Get equipment. Yup. You’ve now successfully acted like a band, but acting time is now over, and you’re going to have to put your posing where your mouth is. Unfortunately, getting equipment requires money, which you don’t have. Hence, this will probably involve getting a (gasp) job – unless, of course, you live in Bergen County, in which case you can just get the money from your parents.
5. Learn to play. This step is optional.
6. Find a place to rehearse. Tolerant parents will come in very handy here. In the event that none can be found, you’ll probably have to resort to renting space somewhere.
7. Write songs. You knew that this was going to come up sometime. “Smoke On The Water” and “I Wanna Be Sedated” will only get you so far. Eventually, you’re going to have to tap into your inventive energies, however meager, and produce your own compositions. This does not mean, however, that your “originals” can’t consist solely of the only two chords that you know, or, for that matter, sound exactly like “Smoke On The Water” or “I Wanna Be Sedated.” Creative recycling is the cornerstone of rock ‘n’ roll after all. Substituting resourcefulness for talent can be more effective than you might think.
8. Rehearse. Invite every member of the opposite sex you know over to your rehearsal space. Play your handful of “originals” and display studious concentration, like you’re wrenching every ounce of creative juice from the very soul of your being. Spend the rest of your rehearsal time drinking beers and trying to get laid.
9. Record a demo. Borrow a four-track, set up two mikes in your rehearsal space, and record your “originals.” When you’re finished, go with your band mates in full regalia to a local party or bar and tell everyone that you just “got out of the studio.”
10. Get bookings. If you rent out the local Elks Club, you won’t have to answer to any discerning club guy, but you’ll have to spend money, which is bad. If you’re brave enough to try to get a club booking, here is the method: Go to the club and find the guy who does the booking. Give him your band’s tape, but do not be discouraged by his obvious look of derision and boredom, nor by his bogus claim that he’s booked up for the next six months. Tell him humbly that your band is really great and he won’t regret it if he just gives the tape a listen. When he yawns, tell him that you can guarantee that your band will bring 100 people. Shake his hand gratefully when he says, “See you next Saturday.” Tell all you r friends that you’ve established the kickoff date for your “1993 World Destruction Tour.”
11. Play shows. Self-explanatory. Again, acting plays a major role here. Concentrate on eye contact with your audience and the stances that you copped from MTV. Hit the right notes now and then – you know, when it occurs to you to do so. Don’t worry too much about being sloppy; when your set’s over, complain to your fawning friends about how bad the sound system sucks and let them buy you beers.
12. Take a hiatus/start rumors of breakup. Just make yourself scarce long enough to let rumors about your breakup spread, and to build anticipation for you “1993 World Destruction Reunion Tour.”
1. Assemble your band. Recruit three or four of your unemployed, lonely, celibate friends. They’ll be game – like they’ve got something better to do. Also, if you can, convince them to stop getting haircuts.
2. Select a name. What is the leading cause of death among people starting bands? It’s certainly not mental anguish due to the pressure of having to maintain artistic integrity. Believe it or not, arguments over what to name the band results in far more human devastation than smoking, car accidents and spontaneous combustion combined. It’s true; the incidents are just not widely reported. Why, the seemingly paltry issue of whether or not to put umlauts over the vowels has ever been known to result in gunplay.
This is understandable, when you stop to think about it, because selecting a name of the band is probably the most important decision a band has to make. The name is the first thing that potential fans, club owners, managers and record company schnooks see, and it’s going to plant an image of your band in these people’s minds before they even hear a note of your music. Thus, choose wisely and carefully.
I’m moved to offer a couple of pointers on this subject, however. First of all, to get this topic out of the way, don’t even think about umlauts. Also, avoid intentional misspellings (e.g. Wyld Stallyns), be cautious about a prospective band name that is the same as one of your member’s surnames (it worked for Van Halen, but that doesn’t mean it’ll work for everybody), and leave the ornate, cosmic shit like “Diamond Starlace” and “Sapphire Mist” to the junior high school cover bands.
Thankfully, these are the 90’s, and naming a band in the alternative era is amazingly easy. Let “less is more” and “the duller, the better” be your mantras. As any culturally astute person knows, the band names that will be most alluring for the contemporary, alternative-minded scenester are invariably the most mundane. If you’re looking for a name for your band that oozes with 90’s sophistication and credibility, you don’t have to look any further than the room you’re sitting in. go ahead, scan your environs. Find any inanimate object that can be described with one syllable. Mug. Fork. Lamp. Book. Clock. Dad. Ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom – your band instantly has a totally hip, alternatively acceptable band name. Before you know it, you’ll be in Sassy magazine’s “Cute Band Alert.”
3. Image development and marketing. So nobody knows that your band even exists. What to do? Write some songs? Practice? Solidify your musical direction? Get gigs? Pshaw! First things first. Technically, you may not even be a real band yet, but, with a little chutzpah and a lot of egocentricity, you can make people think that you are, and the importance of that cannot be underestimated.
Get your friend with the delusions of being an artist to design a logo – something simple and intriguing. Get t-shirts made and sell them to all your friends. Have them parade up and down the glittery catwalks of Willowbrook Mall sporting them. Make stickers and plaster them all over every toll basket on the Parkway. Hang out with your band mates at local parties and bars dressed in your “stage gear,” carouse and frolic like “rock ‘n’ rollers,” and delight in the number of people who saunter up to you and ask about your band.
Have your friend who “didn’t fail English” write you a bio, and have your friend who owns the camera that didn’t come free with a magazine subscription take “publicity photos” of your band. Why do these things? Who will see them? Probably nobody except you, your band mates and your friends, but having your picture taken as a band will make you feel like a real band, and you can impress people by showing them how photogenic your band is and by telling them that you have a bio.
(Incidentally, here’s the key to a great publicity photo: Don’t pose. Well, actually, that’s not true. Pose like you’ve never posed before, but make sure that you pose like you’re not posing. And have your band dress down for the photo shoot; don’t look like “rock stars.” You’re not going to get any street credibility wearing leather and bandanas, so remember these three simple words: flannel flannel flannel. Keep in mind what decade you’re in. And no makeup, for crissake, unless you’re doing a Cure thing.)
4. Get equipment. Yup. You’ve now successfully acted like a band, but acting time is now over, and you’re going to have to put your posing where your mouth is. Unfortunately, getting equipment requires money, which you don’t have. Hence, this will probably involve getting a (gasp) job – unless, of course, you live in Bergen County, in which case you can just get the money from your parents.
5. Learn to play. This step is optional.
6. Find a place to rehearse. Tolerant parents will come in very handy here. In the event that none can be found, you’ll probably have to resort to renting space somewhere.
7. Write songs. You knew that this was going to come up sometime. “Smoke On The Water” and “I Wanna Be Sedated” will only get you so far. Eventually, you’re going to have to tap into your inventive energies, however meager, and produce your own compositions. This does not mean, however, that your “originals” can’t consist solely of the only two chords that you know, or, for that matter, sound exactly like “Smoke On The Water” or “I Wanna Be Sedated.” Creative recycling is the cornerstone of rock ‘n’ roll after all. Substituting resourcefulness for talent can be more effective than you might think.
8. Rehearse. Invite every member of the opposite sex you know over to your rehearsal space. Play your handful of “originals” and display studious concentration, like you’re wrenching every ounce of creative juice from the very soul of your being. Spend the rest of your rehearsal time drinking beers and trying to get laid.
9. Record a demo. Borrow a four-track, set up two mikes in your rehearsal space, and record your “originals.” When you’re finished, go with your band mates in full regalia to a local party or bar and tell everyone that you just “got out of the studio.”
10. Get bookings. If you rent out the local Elks Club, you won’t have to answer to any discerning club guy, but you’ll have to spend money, which is bad. If you’re brave enough to try to get a club booking, here is the method: Go to the club and find the guy who does the booking. Give him your band’s tape, but do not be discouraged by his obvious look of derision and boredom, nor by his bogus claim that he’s booked up for the next six months. Tell him humbly that your band is really great and he won’t regret it if he just gives the tape a listen. When he yawns, tell him that you can guarantee that your band will bring 100 people. Shake his hand gratefully when he says, “See you next Saturday.” Tell all you r friends that you’ve established the kickoff date for your “1993 World Destruction Tour.”
11. Play shows. Self-explanatory. Again, acting plays a major role here. Concentrate on eye contact with your audience and the stances that you copped from MTV. Hit the right notes now and then – you know, when it occurs to you to do so. Don’t worry too much about being sloppy; when your set’s over, complain to your fawning friends about how bad the sound system sucks and let them buy you beers.
12. Take a hiatus/start rumors of breakup. Just make yourself scarce long enough to let rumors about your breakup spread, and to build anticipation for you “1993 World Destruction Reunion Tour.”
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