Oh, sweet, merciful Ra, True God of the Sun! How many animals and/or humans must we sacrifice to you to avoid another one of your awesome and terrible, so-called "Heat Domes" this summer? Your divine wrath is very much noted, and we will do anything to avoid another deadly strike. In your infinite wisdom, you’ll probably say some dumb shit like, listen to our heretical scientists about not burning oceans-worth of fossil fuels daily until our planet melts, but we all know that’s never gonna happen, blessed Ra. So, we suppose we will just start planning for hotter, longer, and more powerful "Heat Domes" from your vengeful, holy ass for the foreseeable future.
Humans are nothing, if not adaptable.
So, what does that mean for you and your unpopular local band this summer and every summer? It means band practice is gonna be absolute hell for three months every year. Soon to be four! Five if you losers last long enough. You thought those tiny, cramped, particleboard-insulated practice spaces stuffed to the brim with little ovens pretending to be amps and a bunch of sweaty, unwashed dudes was intolerable before?! Those box fans you set up in there are just gonna move the hot, BO-flavored air around, you dummy! Also, imagine a packed day at one of the Puddletowns on a 115-degree day! Every room is just a little furnace, in a big furnace, under an apocalyptic heat lamp. You’re all gonna die. But that’s where I come in. Your friendly neighborhood scene critic will help you beat the heat with these five freezin’ tips.
Simply go on hiatus for the summer. Or, fuck it. Just break up. No one likes your band anyway. Seriously, it is simply too hot to exist in these increasingly brutal summers. Just take a page out of some New Orleans restaurants’ book and shut down for a month. You’re not gonna play Coachella. No one wants to see you in some un-air-conditioned bar in the dog days of August. Do us all a favor and just don’t.
More than the amps, really, it’s the sweating, breathing, body-heat-making humans in your band that’s turning your practice spot into a fucking sauna. It’s simple math. Eliminate one of the humans! We all know there’s someone in your band that you’ve just been waiting for an excuse to give the boot. Ra, in all his blessed glory, has given you a golden opportunity here.
You have to keep re-wetting the T-shirts, or this stops working after about two songs in 115-degree weather. Then, it actually has the opposite effect. A sauna that’s...on you. Also, if you have a lady in the band, this will undo the benefits of the previous bullet point by attracting more humans to your rehearsal space, so no smoke breaks.
One of you "pretend" adults works at a bar or a restaurant. Oh, who am I kidding? All of you do. You have access to the walk-in fridge. The thing is, no pithy little portable AC unit is going to be powerful enough to compete with three half-stacks and a handful of heavy breathing bodies. It’ll just catch fire. Now an industrial-strength walk-in refrigerator... There’s the ticket! Whoever has the keys to the place (one of you has gotta be a closer or opener), just let in your fellow troubadours, take out all the perishables from the walk-in, and stack them up on the bar or something, then bring in the amps and the drums. You will thank me a million times over when your bodies and vacuum tubes heat up the walk-in to a nice room temperature. Sure all the meat and vegetables are literally cooking outside, but just pop them back in the walk-in after you lads are done, and neither the boss nor the customers will be the wiser! Whatever bacteria the pulled pork acquired outside in the sweltering, non-climate-controlled bar will surely be cooked off in the oven. No harm, no foul.
I mean, soon, this will be the only option for everyone in the Pacific Northwest (and, eventually, the west coast.) However, I suggest this super cool, heat-beating tip not just as a way for you and your musical cohorts to get a head start on the climate change refugees. Honestly, I think that Oregon and Alaska oughta swap some bands since the migration has historically been southward. Portugal. The Man is the obvious example, but those of you in the punk and especially emo and indie scene know that there is an abundance of Alaskans in Portland, hacking away on loud guitars. I’m guessing it’s cause there must be virtually no way for these vibrant, young chaps to have any kind of success in the suburbs of the Great White North. Little did they know that the scene is just as dead here in Portland. Poor lads. Either way, let’s send some Portland musicians up that way to balance it out. Hurry! Before it gets too warm!
