This is what I get for trying to join a second band

I'll start this off by stating that I very intentionally do not speak poorly of other people. I don't like gossip and, if I have a problem with someone, I try to take a step back and realize that everyone has their neuroses and just because someone might seem crazy, doesn't mean that they're a bad person. But, at 11:15 PM last night as I was telling David over the phone what had just happened to me, Ben only overheard David's end and, upon David's, "What!?" and "Are your serious!?" exclamations, Ben grabbed the phone and said, "I don't know what's going on, but you HAVE to blog about it tomorrow!"


Now, the story.

A few months ago after getting a very painful reminder that life is short and valuable, I decided that I wanted to make the most of my youthful rocker days and play in a second band. I found a group through the Stranger classifieds and, when I spoke with the leader of the band over the phone (I'll call her Xena, although note that she is neither a warrior nor a princess), she seemed ambitious about building her empire of an all-girl rock bad and and a competent musician to boot. Personally, I'm not one to exclude guys in order to have a gimmick, but I was just rolling with it. Xena dropped hints on our initial phone call that she had management that had contacts with respected major label folk, so I thought if I pursued this band, one of two things could happen: 1) I could have music be my full-time job or 2) my experiences in the band would be good for some crazy stories.


Guess which one happened? There are a few crazy stories, but the best ones revolve around legal documents Xena wanted me to sign.


When I met the band, it was comprised of Xena who sang and an awesome 18-year old girl drummer. I joined as the bassist and, at the first practice, they asked if I knew any good female guitarists. I said, "Why yes, my friend Jordin rocks the guitar and I'll see if she wants to come to the next practice."



Jordin came with me to practice number two, that was held at the manager's (I'll call him Bryce) "production studio" which, to the untrained eye was a vacant second story office of a used car and auto repair shop that smelled of oil in an industrial part of town near the train tracks. We hauled a whole practice space worth of equipment up the outdoor steel staircase, had a short practice, and before we left, Xena said she wanted us to sign a non-disclosure agreement (NDA) so she could tell us, in confidence, all of the awesomeness our lives were about to encounter. Sadly, Bryce forgot the NDAs and had left for another obligation, so Xena whipped out her electric blue gel pen and threw some legal-sounding words on notebook paper, some of them misspelled, which said we wouldn't reveal the deep, dark secrets of Band X. Band X isn't the real name, but you know, I can't reveal the deep, dark secrets.


I owe Jordin big a "you were right." We carpooled home and she said she thought something was very off about the situation and that Xena was a little....crazy. Not in a clinical way, just in the way where some people don't operate the way in which 90% of society operates. Jordin said thanks, but no thanks to the band and I was left to fend for myself.


A month or so went by, more people tried out, and subsequently turned down joining the band. I DID take that as a sign, but the potential for good stories was just so great that I hung on. There were meetings with industry people who don't look people in the eye and speak mostly in the abstract. There was something Teresa and I have only joked about in the past - planning t-shirt and logo designs before we could play a single song from beginning to end together as a band. There were sudden changes of plans based on the whim of the management. There were discussions about how, when we are finally face-to-face with important industry people, we should not speak and only do as we're told.


Then, one day two weeks ago, I reached my end. I'm kind of a busy gal, but had agreed that I was free to practice on Saturdays and Sundays. Someone in the band had a conflict with the upcoming Saturday, so we were only going to be able to practice one day that week. Xena wouldn't have it and started pushing me to find just an hour or two somewhere else in my week to practice, like 10:00 PM on a Tuesday night. No. I already neglect my friends and loved ones in the name of music and I wasn't about to start neglecting my deep and passionate love for a full night's sleep, so I told Xena that I would have to part ways with the band, best of luck, keep in touch, etc.

A day or so later, Xena called and was very concerned about some songs I had recorded for the rest of the band to practice along with in their own time...to help expedite the process of learning songs for the deadlines that didn't exist, of course. I deleted the files with her on the phone right then because I have no interest in ripping people off, especially if their music isn't really my style. She said she also wanted to meet up so I could sign a real NDA. I agreed to the meeting and took the NDA with some curious non-compete paragraphs and two other pages attached - one stating that I was leaving the band, the other that I deleted the files.

My dad taught me to always read the fine print, so I let Xena know that I was going to take a few days to look the paperwork over, that I wasn't comfortable with the non-compete language given that, well, I have my own band that is a business competitor to other rock bands, that I might have a lawyer review them and if/when I signed the documents, I'd drop them in the mail. Honest, responsible, respectable, right?

That night I got a voicemail from Xena asking when I'd have the documents signed. She apparently didn't hear the thing about the "few days" I needed and thought that lawyers can schedule meetings at the drop of hat. The next day, I got another call and a text message. The day after that, another call. A couple days later, five calls. Five. One voicemail said something about how I was really holding things up and my not returning the contract less than a week after I had it was, "really negatively affecting a lot of peoples' lives" and the documents she was most concerned about were the last two pages.

Huh!? So, me signing documents within 24 hours of receiving them stating that I wasn't in a band (when I hadn't been in the band for several days beforehand) and that I deleted files (which I had done a few days beforehand) was ruining someone's life? Wow.

Two days ago (six days after getting the paperwork, for those of you who are as lost as I am while proofreading this...), I signed the back two documents and sealed them up in an envelope with a note stating that I wouldn't sign the non-compete agreement for obvious reasons. I meant to drop them in the mail yesterday, but forgot.

So, last night after band practice the Hellgaters and I were B.S.ing outside the space in the parking lot for about 20 minutes before we called it a night. I walked alone to my van when three people got out of parked cars near my van and accosted me. One was Xena, one was the current bassist, and the third was the guy I've never seen before who looked like he probably knew karate. The first thing out of my mouth was, "Oh my god you guys, this is weird. What are you doing here?" Xena thought it appropriate to wait outside my practice space until 11:00PM and approach me in a dark alley, insisting that I sign "modified" documents...in the dark...in an alley...by the train tracks...with back up...where I wouldn't be able to make my own copies of said documents or really read them given that it was DARK....and 11:00 PM!

She approached me and said something like, "We just thought we'd come to you and get this whole thing behind us." in a creepy I'm-trying-to-be-nice-but-really-I-want-to-bite-off-your-ear way. I let her know about the signed documents in the envelope with stamps firmly attached sitting on my desk, my plans to mail them the next day and got into my van. She continued to walk towards me and said in a more aggressive way, "The last girl we did this with signed everything right away!" I had instantly had a mental image of this girl murdered and rotting in a ditch outside Issaquah. "I don't understand why it's such a big deal!" I let her know very calmly that the non-compete language concerned me, but I would be sure to drop what I had in the mail first thing in the morning. She said, "But we're here! Why can't you just sign this now!?" I closed my door and left.

Yikes. YIKES! Who stalks someone to their practice space, waits until they're alone, and then has a gang to try to coerce me into signing contracts!? Contracts!? Legally binding! Should take time to read! Dark! Alley! 11:00 PM!

Of course, after I left I got at least four phone calls and a text message. There may have been more calls, but I shut my phone off at midnight. The greatest hits of the messages include statements like:

"I could just meet you and pick up the documents. I don't have that much confidence in the mail system."
"I can't really sleep at night and have ulcers."
"This is really jeopardizing my entire life."
"It's NOT weird that we were there! You have NO IDEA what it's doing to me and my life!"
"I don't understand what we did to make you think you can string us out like this. It's affecting my life, band mates lives, their boyfriends lives!"

That's right. I'm an awful, awful person for taking exactly one week to read and consider contracts that could shit can my own musical aspirations. And, I'm an awful person for telling her up front that it would be days (plural!) before I returned them in the mail.

So, if I end up missing or beheaded near the train tracks, you have an idea what might have gone down. I'm not signing the NDA/NCA, so I'm sure that will negatively impact the lives for generations to come.