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I’ve Been In The Music Business For 30 Years, So I Made These 111 Comics Based On My Adventures
TheOtherAss celebrates the humorous world of working musicians, and their everyday exploits.
The material is derived from years (and years) of gigging, recording, rehearsing - and yes, they are my own experiences. I grew up in Maine, When in 1996 I started my first punk rock band, the Junkbuckets.
We were horrible - very very horrible.
Later I found myself gigging all over the Boston areas, where honestly most of my material comes from-
I’m now happily living near Seattle, still playing Punk-Rock, and using my media degree to create comics, animations, shirts, and plenty of showposters.These comics are my favorite way to share the many stories I have built up over the last thirty years.
More info: theotherass.com | Instagram | patreon.com | twitter.com | Facebook
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It's better than getting the drum set and when training always being told to stop being it's too loud. My drum set was basically for decoration and 4 years later when I got rid of them because my family would never let me train, everyone was shocked that "I threw away a Christmas present"!
so ur telling me that i came all the way up here spet my life savings and now I cant seven fly home
Been trying to find that for 20 years. The damn thing always shakes loose and never clamps right.
Our guitarist had a twenty year old little mutt named Sam. Sam was adorable but deaf as a post. His favorite thing was to lay in the kick drum during practice and let the pounding vibrations lull him to sleep.
It would be so cool to have a sticker or two on my car, but ... yeah ... bags of drums on the back seat become much more obvious when advertised.
Spanish lady come to me, she lays on me this rose It rainbow spirals round and round, it trembles and explodes It left a smoking crater of my mind I like to blow away But the heat came round and busted me for smiling on a cloudy day Coming, coming, coming around Coming around, coming around, in a circle
A man washed up on an island and was greated by a local tribe. For days the man helped out as best he could to learn all the new customs and language all while drums constantly banged in the background. By the fourth day the man snapped after not being able to sleep. He begged the chief to make to drums stop just for an hour or two. The chief declined each time he begged. The man at his last wit begged the chief why he wouldn't stop. The chief replied "When drums end, bass solo starts."
Been there. Done all this. Needs jokes about chicks in the band . . . the one that plays tambourine or cowbell 'cause her boyfriend is the lead guitar/singer.
A man washed up on an island and was greated by a local tribe. For days the man helped out as best he could to learn all the new customs and language all while drums constantly banged in the background. By the fourth day the man snapped after not being able to sleep. He begged the chief to make to drums stop just for an hour or two. The chief declined each time he begged. The man at his last wit begged the chief why he wouldn't stop. The chief replied "When drums end, bass solo starts."
Been there. Done all this. Needs jokes about chicks in the band . . . the one that plays tambourine or cowbell 'cause her boyfriend is the lead guitar/singer.