No, I'm not dead. I just managed to make more than fifty people applaud me. I fucking astounded them! I almost never use profanity in my journals, but I'm too fucking excited not to use some in this one. Here goes...

Saturday morning. A phone call wakes me up. It was a friend of mine, asking for a favor: to carry his PC with him and take it from the service store to his place. I had already helped him take it there the day before, but an SMS message said that I had to get ready in half an hour. So, I had to refuse reluctantly.

Get ready for what? The soundcheck.

For more than seven months, I've been a member of a cover band called Alchemy. I missed our first live performance (I wrote about that on the "Friday" section of this journal entry), so I had to try not to pass out a second time.

The relationship between us was quite rocky these days. It seemed that the band was ready to break up. I've been playing the tambourine in all of our songs all this time, and then I'm told that I should only play in one song. Yes, one song. Then, there was another song where I would sing backing vocals, and that's about it. It kind of hurts to realize that your role in the band is being reduced to "the guy who brings his microphone to the rehearsals" or "the Photoshop master" (I hate being called like that). Oh, well...

Like the rest of the bands, we only had time to perform three songs for the soundcheck, including the one I sang in. My performance was better than ever. I was highly praised by the bandmembers for that and told that there's no need to worry about anything; I would do just fine.

I spent three hours at home resting, eating snacks, clearing my throat and nose (those goddamned boogers...) and singing the track over and over again to make sure it sounds better. I put the MP3 of the song at a very low volume and raised the volume of my mike. After a couple of attempts, I managed to get my voice as much as I could to match the sound I wanted.

Time for the gig.

Since this was a multiple band performance, we had to wait for the other bands to play. Then, we're ready to get onstage and play, when, suddenly, an other band shows up and plays. We learned that the band was supposed to perform after our show, but took our place without asking us. And this was just one of the numerous "last minute changes" that frustrated us all. So, we waited for an extra hour. Fortunately, I managed to work through the fear of screwing up and built some self-confidence. Yes, I've acted in theatrical plays in front of 100+ people, but singing in front of 50+ people seemed more scary.

I had never done this before.

The last time I sang on public was when I was in my junior high school's choir. But this was different. Totally different.

My mouth would get dry every three minutes, and I forgot to take a bottle of water with me. Big mistake. The only thing the place offered was beer, so I had to drink from the taps of the restroom. It didn't taste that bad, but I avoided drinking large quantities of water in fear of having to leave the stage to take a leak. Big mistake number two.

I was sore. Tired. Impatient.

Moments later, I met the vocalist for Method X, the band that would perform after us. "I'm going to do this for the first time", I said. "Do you have any advice I should follow?"

"Just do what you have to do", he replied. "If you don't, you're screwed. I've been sick for three months and lost my voice, but I have to do this."

"Lost my voice"? Seriously? I heard the man singing earlier today during the soundcheck and he was great. That helped me make my final decision: I would get up and play, no matter how dry my mouth is. I don't care about blowing my vocal chords, because I'm not going to do that. I'll throw each word on a note I can reach.

"That's enough", our keyboardist said after growing impatient with the whole situation. "We're going to play now." The band that took our place promised to play one last song and then let us get onstage, but didn't keep their promise and played two of them. The keyboardist was sure those idiots would play even more if we didn't stand up. So, we took our places around the stage and waited. The band's vocalist saw our impatient looks and finally told the crowd "We're not going to play anymore for you, sadly, because there are other bands that have to do their part". About fucking time.

Two songs without me go smoothly. Then, my "tambourine song" comes up; "To Be With You" by Mr. Big. I was allowed to play the tambourine only on this song, because it's the only one that featured one in its original version, and the guys decided the sound of it didn't fit the rest of the songs. Before the song begins, I hop on stage in my yellow jacket, tambourine in hand, without looking at the audience, and take my place as instructed.

They loved me.

My performance made the song sound even more cheerful than it is -- at least, that's how it sounded to me. I even leaned towards one of the drummer's microphones and sang one of the chorus' lyrics, just for fun.

"Way to go", my friends would shout over guitar amplifier feedback. "You were great!"

"Just wait", I would advise. "You haven't seen anything yet." I was referring, of course, to the song I would eventually sing:

"Bring Me To Life" by Evanescence.

Yup, I would do the Paul McCoy parts. My goal was to sing in a slightly more brutal and aggressive way than McCoy did in the song, as to achieve the "beauty and the beast" vocal style heard in many gothic bands. Then again, the fear that I would screw it all up during the process was eating me up.

Time for Wiz. Everything is set up.

I throw away my yellow jacket to reveal a black T-shirt, which I wore over a black long-sleeved shirt. Hey, it was fucking freezing there; I had to be precautious. The crowd goes like, "woo!". Our singer takes off her jacket, too; the crowd goes like, "we want your bra"! Sorry, people, this isn't a strip-show. This is my first vocal performance in years, and my first rock performance ever.

"Just do what you have to do. If you don't, you're screwed."

I did.

I said everything. Every word. I stepped on every note. My body was fueled by an inexplicable power. I thrusted myself back and forth, only to stop moving at all when I had to say a line. If you jump around and scream-sing at the same time, you'll damage your throat, says vocal teacher extraordinaire Melissa Cross.

I finish the song with a yell. I'm done. I throw the microphone stand away, then walk to the edge of the stage and raise my hands in the air, doing the "devil horns" sign. I show what my T-shirt reads to the world:

"PROUD TO BE A METALHEAD"

The guitarist rubs my hair with his hand. Kinda embarassing, but I'll take that. I'm still there, standing with my devil horns in the air, people clapping and "woooooo"-ing. Corey Taylor would be proud, all right.

My friends' praise was even higher now, as was that of the rest of the audience. I can't even remember how many "well done"'s I heard in thirty minutes. But the one I will always remember was the one by Method X's vocalist.

"You are excellent at what you do!"

"Really? I've never done this before."

"Never give up, man."

He gave me a gift; a demo disc of Method X. I can't tell you how excited I felt. Method X was about to play, and I told their guitarist, "I probably won't stay to hear you guys". "Stay, man," he replied. "Just listen to a couple of our songs." What the hell, I'll stay. The rest of the band stays too, with the exception of the vocalist, who left due to personal concerns.

Method X is on stage.

Five seconds later, I'm on another planet.

I can't really describe what Method-X sound like. They're brutal, but they're not death metal. They're melodic, but they're not power. They're dark, but not gothic. They're a thing that, these days, seems to be so rare that it would be easier to find written all over Angela Gossow's pants; pure fucking metal. I've been watching metal performances on DVD's and YouTube for years, and many of them popped the usual "I wish I was there" thought in my head. I've always wanted to watch a metal performance.

And I'm glad that Method X was my first one. Thankfully, nobody even tried to do slamdancing, and the band's thundering beats made almost everyone headbang until it hurt. I was lucky enough to find the perfect spot to watch the whole thing; front row, at the middle of the stage, close enough to smell the singer's sweat. I even "gave him five" after the end of a song. Well, two songs. He was very pleased with our reactions. Picture me: devil horns in the air, headbanging, hopping, screaming "yeeeeeeh", repeating every ten seconds. So refreshing, I tell you.

"That was fucking AMAZING!" I shouted at the singer. "I'm going to listen to the demo RIGHT NOW!" "Okay, it didn't exactly turn out the way I hoped for, but we have some plans for that."

So, now I'm at home, the sun has risen and a new day has begun. Will we ever perform again? I don't know. What should I do, now that I've qualified myself as a decent singer-screamer? I don't know. The sounds of the performance still swirl in my head.

I'm hitting the hay. After I wake up, you know what I'm going to listen to.


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