Common Ailments
By junior year in college I had earned enough cred to have a college radio show in the afternoon. The prime time slots meant more opportunities to interview random bands coming through town. A Boston band called Common Ailments of Maturity were gonna play at the campus pub tonight and with about 15 minutes of warning I was told they would be in the control room any moment to promote the show.
I'd never heard of them, so I went to the record library and dug out their most recent vinyl. I happily discovered they were an avant punk drums/guitar/stick trio so they were right up my alley. When they arrived I asked them some pretty good questions. I'd like to think I perfectly touched upon their prog roots and use of the Chapman stick without giving either of those potentially off-putting topics unnecessary weight.
They were pretty cool, enough so that I dropped my plans and went to their set later on. They put me on the guest list, which felt like a huge honor and a reward for being such a great interviewer. I entered the pub feeling like a total VIP. Hey, I was still pretty green back then.
But the pub was mostly empty. It was a school night, after all. A couple other music geeks were there, along with a few non-music-fans just getting some brewskis. At this point in my life I knew nothing about the realities of touring, and hadn't yet built up the yards-thick callouses on my soul from playing hundreds of empty rooms around the planet, so I was utterly horrified by the shitty turnout. I also felt completely guilty that my promotional efforts didn't bring everybody out on this cold evening to see a traveling avant indie rock trio.
They charged through their set like pros. I tried to give them 1000% attention to make up for the lack of other human ears. And as they packed up the campus police arrived. Turns out while they were parking to load out their tour van kissed somebody else's bumper. No big deal, but apparently the campus police were called in as the student who owned the bumped car was putting up a big entitled stink about it. So this poor band was getting completely fucked by this lame ass Binghamton gig, pretty much.
I felt so ashamed how my chosen institute of higher learning was mistreating these hard working artists who trekked this far to share their music. The guitarist/singer registered my humiliation and sympathy, and said it would be alright. He even gave me a free band t-shirt.