Posted from: South Carolina
One night, many moons ago, I stood in one of L.A.’s then-wierdest, now-defunct clubs waiting for the next band to be just as bad as the last one. It wasn’t. They were awesome. They were so awesome that I immediately spent the rest of my money on merch, fell madly in love with the bass player, and swore to defend their honor in the face of all foes, using the power of Greyskull as my weapon. It was more than a matter of a cute boy wearing hornrims. It was a magical teenage moment bursting with the warm, fuzzy indie softness of knowing, just knowing, that we were going to be able to say “we saw them before they got big”. The band broke up 2 months later.
Through 6 years of travel across Asia, I treasured that CD. By which I mean I actually put it back in its sleeve when I was done with it, and I made at least a modest effort not to use it as a coaster. And then, somehow, it was gone.
During a flash of recent nostalgia, one of those blissful choruses (chori? chorusises?) popped into my head, and I wouldn’t be satisfied until I’d tracked down a track or three.
To the Google mobile! Google, show me “The Classics”! … Oh.
Yup, the band was named “The Classics”, and thanks to that one miserably outdated choice of titling, however catchy, there’s no way on this Earth that their awesome ballads will ever be resurrected from the digital milieu.
Okay, no, wait, I remember the name of one song. “Missus Not the One”. Google, show me “Not the One by the Classics”! … Huh. Yeah, no, not that either.
Not that any one of the former Classics members gives a good damn whether or not I have easy access to a library of their old work. It’s pretty rare in this day and age that anything you’ve ever participated in, no matter how menial or embarrassing, can be successfully and thoroughly buried online; and being that they’re all probably managing Robek’s sectors by now, they’re probably thoroughly relieved that history’s been erased. But an early grave is not what most budding bands are after. Take heed, guys: if I can’t find you on Google, and there’s no page for me to ogle, then there’s nothing I can, um, doogle. *cough* …Speaking of things that will probably never get wiped of the internet.
Aaaanyway, my point is that, yes, “Why I Can” is a damn cool band name. And yes, I did just come up with that right now. But unless you’re one of the stunningly large minority that skips the whole self-promotion phase and jumps right into the big time, don’t expect anyone to be able to find your shows. And the next time you play your last, squallingly beautiful chord to a deserted bar, maybe you ought to think about changing your name to “Marzipan and the Dingie Dohickies”. Or something.
