My parents got me a microphone and a little amp for Christmas when I was about ten years old. I spent several nights a week in my room, singing with records and putting on imaginary concerts.
Then right before I turned eighteen, my dream came true! I became the girl in the band. Give or take a few months, I was the girl in the band my entire adult life. And then, just like that, I wasn’t anymore.
After over 20 years, my band L.A. Lyon, played our last gig in February.
Over those years, I had a hand in running most of the bands I was in. Even when I wasn’t the official band leader, I did a good portion of the work.
With the last version of L.A. Lyon, I took over everything. I bought the sound equipment, I booked the gigs, I picked the songs, chose the people, hauled in the equipment, ran the equipment, and collected the money. Doing it as a woman brought some interesting challenges my male counterparts didn’t have to deal with. I once had an agent tell me I was at “maximum density,” (referring to my weight) if we expected to play casinos. Yes, you must be able to do some singing when you are the girl in the band, but you are also expected to look damn good while you are doing it. Not always conducive when you have just spent the two hours before start time dragging in the entire sound system and setting it up.
I never believed I was going to be able to handle everything I did. I know how hard it is for most women to find a man who not only encourages you but believes in you more than you believe in yourself. I was fortunate to have two. (Shout out to the D-Man, my partner now for over thirty years and Lawrence Noble, my former guitar player). They had no doubt I could not only do it all but be successful at it.
I was blessed to have some very talented musicians work with me over the years who were a very big part of our success.
But the best part was the folks who came out and supported us. We made some wonderful memories and connections over the years that I will always cherish.
Over the years, all the stress of making everything work month after month, started draining most of the joy of performing out of me. It had become more “Damn, we have a gig this weekend,” and less “I can’t wait for the gig this weekend!” I kept doing it partially because I always had done it and partially because I feared if I stopped, I would really miss it.
The pandemic gave me a year and a half break that was out of my control. Finally, I was working one job, not two. I didn’t have to constantly make phone calls to club owners, sequence new music or juggle everyone’s calendars. When Friday rolled around, instead of packing up the truck with equipment, eating a quick dinner and sitting in over an hour of traffic to get to a club, I could start unwinding after already putting in a forty-hour week. Open a bottle of wine, order a nice dinner in, and turn on Dateline. It was almost like heaven.
I kept thinking, “I will miss it. After all these years, I am just tired, and I will miss it.”
But I didn’t. I found myself wishing things wouldn’t open back up.
But they did and we started playing again. At the same time, I was in the middle of a stressful renovation and learning a new job. I waited for the old rush of enthusiasm to return. But it didn’t. The people part of it was still great, but the rest, not so much.
In January, I got presented with having to find a replacement for someone in the band. I decided that was a time-consuming exercise I didn’t want to go through. I thought a lot about something I once heard podcaster Adam Carolla say. Everything you do in life should fall in two categories. You are either having fun or you are making money. The band had become neither one.
I realized I was done.
Done with dealing with club owners who literally didn’t know the meaning of the word demographic but blamed us if two hundred people didn’t show up. Done with trying to figure out the sound, the sets, fix the equipment, all while singing in uncomfortable heels with a smile on my face.
Once the last notes were played, I packed up my band clothes and took them to Goodwill. (Some lucky ladies are going to have some fun threads!). Driving the sound equipment over to the Guitar Center and leaving it behind felt a little strange. Almost like leaving a dog at the pound, except I got a nice check. We had been through a lot together, that equipment and me!
But what was next? How would I feel after the dust settled and something I had been doing my entire adult life was now over?
Stay tuned…..