Out of the Rock Band loop? Here is a sample of my family performing Weezer's Buddy Holly. Everyone is a Rock Star! Even that pregnant woman on the couch.
Since Chup was gifted Rock Band this past Christmas we've hosted a few Rock Band parties, mostly with eager family members. One night my brother Steve and his wife Suze showed up at our door and played with us as a spontaneous double-date. For a boy who grew up wishing he were a member of Rush, it was exciting to see my brother sing as though he were possessed by Geddy Lee. I even saw a vein in his head vibrate with blood.
A couple nights later, Suze brought the rest of their crew over for a Family Home Evening-Rock Band style. My teenage niece Emily picked up the instruments and played on a level I have not-yet-achieved. This really hurt my feelings. After the Rock Band Activity was over we tried to have a reverent moment as Alex gave a lesson on Faith. But all I could think about was Emily, on the drums, making me look old.
Then are the random nights when Lucy and Ric stop by just to see if our Rock Band needs to be exercised. They too retain the energy that I can no longer conjure up. If we didn't send them home at a decent hour, those two could jam all night long in our living room. Something about Rock Band drives them to perform. It is a sickness. It hurts.
We've also played via X-box live with MD and Kentucky in Salt Lake County. A demon in the system went berserk and my vocals became distorted by time. Meaning that, as I sang here in Provo on our X-box, my vocals carried off into the technological wind and came across the speakers at MD and Kentucky's house with a two-second delay. Also, they said, my high notes were off-key. Isn't that creepy?
But I've also seen my brother Andrew roll around on our carpet singing Nirvana's In Bloom like a heroin addicted worm. My brother Topher sang Radiohead's Creep and shook the very foundations of my house with his call "run, run, run . . ." Jesse started singing in some ferocious British accent until we made him switch to Weezer. Even I have contracted a horrific blood blister from the drum sticks trying to nail The Pixies Wave of Mutilation.
Rock Band has reached into the souls of people I love and targeted their inner obsessive compulsiveness. It has presented behavior in people that wish I could forget. I am talking about hair pulling in adults. And heated competition between husbands and wives. Even my own sweet sister Stephanie became so involved that she spent the wee hours of Saturday night trying each instrument over and over and over and over . . .
One night as Chup and I were going to bed I suggested that he leave the cursed game at the doorstep of our neighbor's the Colonels. Heaven knows they are already possessed with some sort of devil inside anyway. And I've seen the way their little one pounds on the drum plates like a monkey playing the bongos. So cute.
But Chup replied that perhaps I shouldn't be so
Besides, we just bought My Sharona.