Throwback Thursday: The Great Amp Disaster of 2018
Darklings, let's take a moment to remember one of our more... incendiary early rehearsals.
Picture it: A freezing January evening in Raven's garage. Jane, our ice queen, was actually complaining about the cold (a rare occurrence that should have been our first warning that something unusual was afoot). Evelyn had just finished her third coffee and was vibrating at approximately the frequency of a hummingbird's wings. And Rachael... well, Rachael was being Rachael, silently judging us all while tuning her bass to what she claimed was "the resonant frequency of human despair."
The plan was simple: test out Raven's modified amp setup, which he had "improved" with parts from a mysterious package he'd purchased from a questionable source on the dark web. (In his defense, the listing did promise "supernatural sound quality" and "otherworldly resonance." Who could resist?)
What followed can only be described as a perfect storm of electrical chaos:
🎸 One overenthusiastic power chord from Raven
🎸 A sudden surge of unexplained energy
🎸 Jane's keyboard producing colors we're pretty sure haven't been invented yet
🎸 And finally... the amp achieving what Evelyn still insists was "temporary spontaneous demonic possession"
The resulting explosion left us with:
🎸 One thoroughly toasted amplifier
🎸 A scorch mark on the garage ceiling that looked suspiciously like Edgar Allan Poe's face
🎸 The distinct smell of burnt licorice (we still can't explain that one)
🎸 And four slightly singed but thoroughly enlightened musicians
Looking back, we probably should have taken this as a sign of things to come. But as Evelyn so eloquently put it while examining her smoke-stained drumkit: "Well darlings, if we haven't been banned from at least three rehearsal spaces before we make it big, are we even trying?"
Fun fact: That scorch mark is still there. Raven's turned it into something of a shrine, complete with tiny LED candles and a plaque reading "Here Lies Our First Attempt at Supernatural Sound - May It Rest in Pieces."
