Yesterday, my husband’s (cover) band played a good-sized private party as their first paying “gig”. This is the quip where I talk about Brian, so get ready. I speak first about this party for several reasons.
Brian has been a drummer since I first met him (and years before that). It was a brand he carried outwardly, not only by the DW (a brand of drums) sticker on his grey Ford truck for the first two years of our courtship but also in his mannerisms. He had a beat to everything and while I sometimes get frustrated at the incessant steering wheel drumming on car trips, it’s endearing most of the time. He had rhythm when dancing and I love that about him. Our first dance for our wedding was to “Reminiscing” by Little River Band and he sang to me the entire song. Brian was in two bands at the time when we met; one original and one cover. I enjoyed both, but one moreso for the people and people-watching and the other for the actual songs they played. I have loved watching him be so passionate about something, watching him be one of the better local drummers in St. Louis, been frustrated at the two drum sets in our basement, and I can karaoke anytime I damn well please.
Now, RDB, as I affectionately call the current cover band, is the third group of guys he’s played with in our five and a half years together. They practice in our basement 3-4 times per month, and I enjoy the fact that our house can accommodate this loud, gear-filled hobby of his. After eight months (approximately) of practicing and drinking Busch tall boys in our driveway, they had a really good opportunity to play this private party at a huge estate on the river as I first mentioned. They sounded awesome, and I was super proud of all of them…especially Brian. You see, he contracted a particularly nasty bout of strep throat on July 4th and has been in miserable pain ever since. Rarely is there a drummer waiting in the wings to sit in for a situation like this, so he had no choice but to suck up all his might and play through three 45-minute sets. Not to mention this party was a solid 45 minutes away from our house, he had to pull the trailer full of all the band’s gear, and sit around for six hours waiting for their 8pm start time. My poor husband…I have never seen someone so sick and yet so full of commitment.
Today was Brian’s 29th birthday. A day he spent at urgent care, alternating between being covered in a blanket on the couch and sleeping in bed, uttering approximately 25 words all day in a strained, whisper voice. The family birthday celebration had to be postponed, and it did not feel like a birthday at all, really. He opened a few gifts, and lovingly admired the cupcakes I made him that he could not eat quite yet. I offered him a do-over birthday and we agreed it was best. Today was just not his day. Yesterday wasn’t either, and tomorrow is hopefully looking a little more promising thanks to a horse-sized dose of antibiotics and some more rest while watching the Golf Channel.
On Brian’s birthday, I wanted to talk about something he loves (aside from me) – being a musician. He’s good at it. He has dedicated over 15 years to it. I love Dave Grohl and the Foo Fighters because of him. Seeing him play last night was the first time in three years he’s played live in front of a crowd. Even though he felt miserable, and threw up in between each set, he nailed it. Much like he did every other show I’ve seen him play. I was amazed at his talent back then and even now. Perhaps moreso at his humble nature about it. I think many musicians are douches…let’s be honest. My husband is just good. So much so, that I hope he is able to play drums for the rest of his life because it is where he shines and where he loves to be…sitting in the best seat of the house. Happy birthday Brian. You’re the rockstar of my life.