The other night I dreamt I was in a band – the lead singer of course. The dream started off in a house in Manchester which I shared with the drummer. Shared in a Starsky and Hutch sense, not a Cage Aux Folles sense. Though I did genuinely think Starsky and Hutch were married when I was a kid for some reason so that’s a crappy example.
So anyway the drummer was urging me to get ready cos we were late for our first gig and needed to jump on a bus. SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!!!
And then the full horror dawned – first gig? I’m in a band? But I don’t know any of the songs? We haven’t even rehearsed.
A fierce panic took hold, and I set off pacing around this house trying to think of a way out of this nightmare but kept coming up blanks. I just started feeling increasingly nauseous as all roads pointed to imminent crucifixion by unfulfilled expectations.
I asked the drummer what songs we were playing and he handed me what resembled a printed flyer with the set list on. It was blue and white I still recall. Horror of horrors. Not only did I not know the words to any of the songs, I didn’t even know the titles!
Not a good place to be. At some point, and wherefore I know not, my catatonia gave way to a more logical inner dialogue and I became snagged on one prickly detail. It seemed remarkably odd to me that we were a band doing our first gig, yet we hadn’t thought of doing a single rehearsal. When I’m shit scared of something, I try to temper the fear with obsessive preparation, yet SOMEHOW I just thought I’d let this one slide? Nah ah. Even in my DMT addled dream state, I knew this didn’t add up.
A faint super slowed-down rendition of Je Ne Regrette Rien started playing in the background.
Then it occurred to me this wasn’t just any old house in Manchester, but it was the terraced house I lived in as a student in 1991/92. And I didn’t live here with the drummer, I lived there with three piss artist geography students. And the drummer wasn’t really the drummer at all, but it was my old friend Neil, who couldn’t keep a beat if his virginity depended on it.
It all clicked that I was in a dream. A freight train blasted through the living room wall, demolishing the coffee table, and ploughed through the fire place opposite. Waves of orgasmic relief washed over me and I deflated like a balloon who just had great sex. “Right!” thunk I, “time to show this cruel dream who’s boss and go face the music”(groan). I called to Neil(the drummer – pffft): “Right – let’s go get the bus into town then!”. I was feeling strong and was all set to go rock the bejesus out of this bogus gig.
But of course, robbed of its fix, the dream abruptly ended and kicked me out on my arse. Hmph. Typical.
That’s the trouble with dreams – they’re very saw losers.
The other trouble with dreams is they don’t come true.