Back in 1976-77 or so, I was in a band that had an identity crisis: we played rock, blues, jazz, reggae, and latin stuff, all over the map. Two longhair hippies (guitarist and myself), two shorthair hawaiian-shirt-wearing percussionists, one straight-laced baby-faced bassist, a skinny tall black singer in leather and kneehigh boots, and a chick lead singer that always wore a kimono.
It was a lot of fun but the guitarist was a real controlling type who kept us in the garage practising until we got it perfect. We hardly ever played any real gigs. So me and the bass player would try to have a little fun at practices by improvising little bits to amuse each other. Which drove the guitarist crazy, because we weren't playing the exact same parts every frickin' time. So I got the call one day at work: I was canned for being a bad influence on the bass player!
Maybe it's because I grew up in the '60s and '70s, but I've always had a problem with "authority".
A few years later I had cut my hair and mustache and was playing in a "new wave" band. Got a call from the guitarist who was putting together a new wave band himself. So I auditioned and then, when he asked me to join, I told him I would... but only if he'd cut his hair and mustache first: "You can't play new wave if you look like a hippie," I told him. He wouldn't, so I didn't join.
Petty and vindictive of me? Maybe. But it felt good.
