About a week before our wild ride with my son's sickness my dad read an article about a local festival, Rooster Days in Broken Arrow, needing bands to complete their lineup. He called me and I was game and he decided to check into it to see what they wanted/needed. They indicated to him that our band might be a good fit, and said all they needed was a demo tape or cd. "No problem" says dad, "when do you need it?" "Tomorrow." So after a little negotiating, and their desperate need for acts, we bought ourselves a few days, the weekend. We got together at our drummer Robb's church and "recorded" a few songs. Recording in a live setting without proper gear as opposed to a studio is a difficult thing, and, to not mince words, our demo sucked. Hard. However, we were out of time, and we turned it in. I couldn't help laughing at imagining their faces as they listened. I quit laughing when they called and said "can you play the Sunday 3:30 slot?" "Sure!"
Then my son got sick and everything rightly took a back seat. Suddenly, we were home and gaining health and we were playing our first true public event in three weeks and we hadn't practiced a single thing. After a few false starts we finally got together and started getting some stuff down. Did I mention this was Thursday, and we were to play Sunday? Yeah, well, it was.
Surprisingly, we actually began to get our short set of music pretty decent. I went out Friday night to check out the sound system. Quick background, I worked a booth for the ceramic studio I was employed by at this festival about 9 years ago. It was boring, lightly attended, and just a nice little small town carnival. The weather was really poor that year, and I was misled by the attendance. Friday night, I get there to see a really cool stage, large sound system, and like a jillion people. There were rides, fair food, everything. I began to feel the panic.
The Sunday previous I had begged our fellowship to come support us, and they came in force. I had also sent emails out to my family and friends, and they too, came. It was great! They screamed and behaved like we were actually good! Without pay!
There was really only one controversial undercurrent. Since my dad was the original contact, and because we hadn't had time to come up with a name, the festival had listed us with his name: "The Dan Quinten Band". We tried to no avail to come up with something we liked, but, frankly, we were busy panicking over how we were going to sound on minimal preparation. As we stood waiting to go on stage, Robb says "Lost in Translation". All four of us loved it! That was to be our name. One small problem, it seems some folks were a little "emotionally invested", shall we say, in the "Dan Quinten Band". Two guys made homemade T- shirts declaring their loyalty. When the emcee welcomed "Lost in Translation", I'm pretty sure I saw people pick up rocks and the like. This blog chronicles one fans heartbreak (just a note to those not there, not everything happened exactly as portrayed here, you'll know what part I'm referring to). It was an awkward moment.
That debate continues, but it was an amazing time, and I loved being on that stage and in that moment. And, actually, we were okay. You know how we are, us musicians, we can pick ourselves apart. Unless they were straight lying through their teeth, most of the folks in attendance had really positive things to say.
Up top's a shot of Lost in Translation's first bonafide public gig. That's Chad at the right on lead guitar, Robb in the back on drums, Dan to the left in the cool hat on bass, and your's truly up front on guitar and vocals. Thanks again to all who supported with their presence as well as with their good thoughts and prayers. Here's hoping that was just the first of many...
