I’m three rows from the stage, surrounded by fifty thousand screaming fans, when the guitar-playing lead singer says the words I’ve daydreamed for the last thirty years: Who wants to come up here and play guitar with us? Both my hands shoot into the air; my left waves madly while my right points down to my calm face, a rehearsed presentation of stable confidence. No hysterics from me; the band knows I’m a practiced professional they can count on to deliver the kind of hell-raising fan performance that sets the crowd on fire — nail the chords but drizzle on some of my own riffs, strut around the stage with a cockiness that belies my average looks, allowing all the other schlubs in the arena to live vicariously through my fortune. The singer finds me, asks if I know the song. I nod. I do not know the song. He double-checks that I know the song. I give a thumbs-up. But inside I know the truth, which is that I do not know how to play the song.
Rock and Roll Fantasy
Rock and Roll Fantasy
Rock and Roll Fantasy
I’m three rows from the stage, surrounded by fifty thousand screaming fans, when the guitar-playing lead singer says the words I’ve daydreamed for the last thirty years: Who wants to come up here and play guitar with us? Both my hands shoot into the air; my left waves madly while my right points down to my calm face, a rehearsed presentation of stable confidence. No hysterics from me; the band knows I’m a practiced professional they can count on to deliver the kind of hell-raising fan performance that sets the crowd on fire — nail the chords but drizzle on some of my own riffs, strut around the stage with a cockiness that belies my average looks, allowing all the other schlubs in the arena to live vicariously through my fortune. The singer finds me, asks if I know the song. I nod. I do not know the song. He double-checks that I know the song. I give a thumbs-up. But inside I know the truth, which is that I do not know how to play the song.