I may have mentioned that my dad is a musician. At 55, he’s never been lucky enough to hit the big time, but living in a small town, you get to be somewhat of a big fish. My dad is a mediumfish in Durango. He’s like a very eccentric, peace-loving Tuna. He’s also been a character actor of career paths throughout his life, but deep down, he’s always going to be a songwriter.
When I was in high school, trolling main street in small packs of fellow teenagers, I’d sometimes see my dad’s flyers posted. Lurking in the shadows of the coffeshop announcement board, there would be a shoddily designed piece of paper, blatantly showing my dad’s lack of computer skills. I’d try to disappear when boys would tease me about my dad’s latest band name.
Beartown. Lawnmower. Das Samba. Shades of Blue.
My dad had a different band for every musical phase of his inspired Aquarian soul. I selfishly started fantasizing about future band names that wouldn’t expose my family name to public mockery. As soon as my dad’s latest band dissolved, I’d start hinting at names I’d carefully constructed for him. He’d usually laugh at me.
almost 10 years later, and I still catch myself daydreaming about names for bands. Today, I was working and came across a course title from the University of Wyoming:
I think it would be a good name for a country band.