Dear Sound Guy,
I’m sorry that your night was ruined. I’m sorry you just found out your mom died, your girlfriend just left you for your best friend, someone slashed your tires, you just ran out of food stamps and your credit card got maxed out. Sorry you can’t make rent this month, because your friend twisted your arm to do another coke binge this weekend. I’m sorry you’re liver is giving out and you’re gaining weight from compulsive drinking. Most importantly, I’m sorry you had to show up to work today. As sorry as I am for all of these things, I really would appreciate it, if you didn’t take out all these terrible misfortunes out on me and my band. Because, none of the tragedies listed above are in any way related to us.
People get fired in the service industry for treating customers half as shitty as you treat the bands that are playing your crappy little establishment, to promote your so-called venue and bring in people to buy your shitty drinks. You probably still work here doing "sound" as you so claim, because you’re in tight with the little fraternity of surly assholes that make up the entertainment department of this venue (*cough* dive bar) and you know they got your back.
But, I’m not trying to get you fired—that would be petty of me. Clearly, your life is already miserable enough as it is. I am sorry. Sorry that you were already in such a terrible mood, that you literally scoffed at us when you showed up late. You must have thought it was our fault that you were late. You also seemed to be really mad that we had amps and drums already up on stage and tuned, because we showed up when the booker asked us to. How dare we. So sorry that mic’ing these things up caused you so much distress. I must have been mistaken. Did you WALK IN on your best friend fucking your girlfriend before you showed up? What a shit day. Still, it would be swell, if you didn’t make that our problem.
Now, I’m always one to see all sides of an issue. And, by that, I mean, "make fun of all sides of an issue." There are definitely musical acts out there that probably make your life a living hell. Good lord, these snotty, entitled punks are probably the reason you’ve drunk your liver into the inflamed piece of wet garbage that it is. I get it. And, I get running into so many of these demanding little shits that you expect EVERY band that comes through your little armpit of a "music event holding space" must be equally awful. But, you can expect something and anticipate it without just reacting to it without cause. You can be quiet and gruff, and still polite. You could show up pissed off and wait for us to live up to your expectations of being amateurs who have no clue what they’re doing and are too loud. Then, when we live up to your expectation, you can sit back in your little sound booth with the smug satisfaction that you were right and add another tick mark to your column of all the times you were right. Good for you, buddy. I wonder why your girlfriend ever left you in the first place.
Man, your day was so shitty, you couldn’t even wait to start the shade throwing. The very concept of a sound check seemed to offend you and my favorite part was how you had some snide little criticism for each and every one of our pieces of equipment. If this is part of your shtick, I don’t understand the appeal. Now, it would be one thing if we were THAT band—taking eight decades for our sound check, constantly asking you to bring the electric banjo up and then down and then up and then down again, then asking to do two full songs for a full-band sound check. I agree, those insufferable assholes sure can make the night drag. However, we basically wanted to make sure all the shit was coming through the monitors and assuming you were making sure that everything was coming through the house speakers—and, that was the extent of our demands.
I’m sorry it was just a chore-and-a-half, that you had to make sure the mics you so begrudgingly set up were actually working and picking sound up from the amps. I’m so sorry that just added onto the shit sandwich that you’ve apparently been chewing on all day. I’m so sorry for the gall we had to ask to make sure that the instruments were actually going through the board. This apparently appalled you so much, that you literally took everything but vocals out of the mix so the audience could only hear the sound coming directly from the amps on stage. Asking you to actually check levels at the board was just rude, even though that is in your job description. Instead, please spend the entirety of the show outside smoking and bitch to patrons and coworkers about how difficult we are to work with. Please, be my guest.
Bottom line, I’m mostly sorry you clearly don’t want to be doing this job. If your excuse is that they aren’t paying you (or, aren’t paying you enough), then why are you doing it? Do they not let you work in the kitchen because you kept showing up to work late and drunk to boot? Is this the job they gave you cause they felt sorry for you? In that case, I am truly, deeply, honestly sorry. This must be the only job they let you do and you can’t work anywhere else, because you’ve been fired by every other bar in town. All that and you just had the worst day of your life, based on how you treated us. Truly tragic, indeed.
Sincerely,
Me, my band, every other band that played that night and most likely every band that plays your pathetic little so-called venue.
