HORROR STORIES: THE SOLO GIG NIGHTMARE

It’s 11.57pm on a humid, relaxed Friday evening in London. It’s one of the warmest summers since records began. The window is open, the dusty old fan is working tirelessly to drag in a breeze with the sound of Diljit Dosanjh’s ‘Peed’ playing from his Spotify playlist. 

He lays there, looking up at the poorly laid pink foam ceiling tiles with his phone on his stomach, wondering which foji his dad had hired for the ceiling. His bed firmly planted as the dominant feature. Next to it is a desk on the left and beside it sits an office chair piled full of clothes. In the corner of the room is a black unscathed hard case with ‘Jas Musicals | Southall’ stamped on the side of it. This man is a musician, he is a drummer, in that case, is a Dhol. 

On the table are his drumsticks – his dagga and tilli. Carved to perfection they lay there waiting in anticipation to be played. 

The music stops, his eyes blink, his attention on alert immediately bringing his pointless thoughts back to reality. He hears a ring, a moment of confusion spurs his curiosity as to where the ring is coming from. The vibration begins sending a deep wave through his chest. His phone is ringing. 

It’s his DJ, his excitement spikes. Has his time finally arrived? Could it be? Has the wait been worth it?

 He answers, “Yo, what’s going on? Yeah bro, I’m chilling just laying in bed.”

“What?!” he says. “Are you serious? Yeah”, “What time & where?” He asks attentively. After a short pause to make a mental note he says “Okay, thanks bro, see you tomorrow”, ends the call and throws his phone on his bed. 

His time has come, he is finally doing his first ever solo dhol gig for a new team he has joined. A team he has envied since he was young, a team he has studied like they were religious teachings. Nothing else mattered, playing for this team was everything. Tomorrow he would put on his new uniform, stand on a stage and entertain for the first time ever. 

He spends the evening pestering his mum about his ironed shirt, his new socks and where he left his belt like a young army recruit ready to go off to boot camp. Unable to control his excitement he goes onto his Instagram and takes a selfie with the caption “My first gig tomorrow”. He gets into bed, sets his alarm from 9am and takes another, final affirming glance at his bags packed beside his hard case. 

He lays there, looking up at the poorly laid pink foam ceiling tiles with his phone on his stomach, this time wondering which foji will he see at the gig tomorrow…

His chest vibrates and his ears perk up to the screeching sound of his alarm. His eyes open to the blinding sunlight of a summery Saturday morning. It’s gig day. Nothing can ruin his day today. Today is the day he is somebody. 

He springs out of bed filled with energy and runs through his daily routine – shit, shower, shave and brush. He takes his uniform, immaculately prepared, hanging off the door like a models dressing room. It’s time for his pre-gig check – He walks over to his desk and…

Uniform – Check 

Dhol – Check 

Mic Lead… 

A distant voice of a woman interrupts his mental checklist “Ajaa, Paronte Khala!” he hears as his mum summons him for breakfast to fuel him for his big day. He runs down ensuring he has enough time to eat then leaves for his gig precisely at the scheduled time. His day is going perfectly to plan. 

Arriving at the gig he is greeted by his DJ and his team. Excitement fills the air and they gather like a friends congratulating a new father on the birth of his baby. The vibe is happy. The venue is glamorous. The guests look like extras from a bond movie. His Instagram is alive with self infatuation. 

The DJ makes the announcement he has been waiting for…

 “Stay tuned for the drummers who will be on in 10 minutes”. This is his call of duty. 

He has spent his entire childhood looking up at the poorly laid pink foam ceiling tiles waiting for this moment. All that time spent table tapping, annoying everyone around him – The moment has finally come. It’s time to get ready. It’s loud, it’s exciting! The hard case opens to reveal the single side of a beautiful Dhol drum made from natural dark wood with a firm black top. First, he puts on his uniform, a majestic coat in team colours. Second, he draws out his drum from the hard case and tunes it to the desired tension, ensuring the sound is nothing but optimum. 

He then looks down and reaches into his hard case. It’s empty. He takes another look but this time, with a sense of urgency. Nothing. He looks around him in panic. But again, he finds nothing. 

His sticks, his drumsticks, his dagga and tilli – where are they? Where could they be? He made sure he has them. Or did he? His anxiety spikes as he desperately tries to make sense of where his sticks are. Could he have dropped them somewhere?  How will he perform? This was his moment! What will his DJ say? What will the team say? Is he ruined? Will he ever play again? Is his Dhol career over before it’s even begun? What if his DJ shares this embarrassment on Instagram? He will be publicly humiliated. 

There they are! He knows where they are! They are… at home, on his table. At home, a 2 hour drive away. He will never get them in time. His DJ walks over and gives the 5 minute warning. He has ruined his moment. “How could he be so stupid he” asks himself? What will the others say? “Are you thick?!” he imagined one of them saying.

He begins to feel faint, he is dizzy, light headed, he needs to sit. “Am I about to pass out” he wonders. He can’t breathe, his chest is tight. This is too much, his eyes go blurry, his vision is obscured. He sees pink, he sees lines, it’s bright! Why pink he wonders in confusion. It gets brighter and brighter. Has he died? Did they kill him because he left his sticks at home?! Surely not. The pink gets brighter and brighter, the lines get stronger and stronger. 

His eyes open and his eyes flicker to gain clarity like a focusing lens. He lays there, looking up at poorly laid pink foam ceiling tiles with his phone on his stomach, he picks up his phone… 

It’s 7.23am, on summary Saturday morning and he’s in bed. It was his first Dhol nightmare!