It was hot – damned hot – in the rehearsal spot.

Previous Rock Notes have mentioned that we jam in a drama studio space at a local school. A big room with a whiteboard in it and posters with useful vocab like Barn Doors and Apron. It also has windows that barely let any air in, making for humid conditions. So, the strings were once again twongling when tangling was expected, atmospheric factors exacerbated by a moribund battery in the tuner pedal we were sharing.

Partly prompted by the wonky tuning, and a week off for half term, the session brought a curious discordance of emotions: plateauing ennui, with the issue of the singer in ongoing work scheduling torment preventing us from hearing the full picture, if you see what I’m saying, and excitement, principally that we have advanced now to playing all the tunes without recourse to chord charts inked up on the board.

For some reason I am able to locate a dry wipe pen with considerably greater ease at practice than when I’m in class at the day job, but that’s another matter. Props, Stage Manager.

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