“I thought, ‘Well, it couldn’t hurt…’ It did hurt”: Noodling alone at home is fine. But you’ll never be a great guitar player unless you join a band

Male guitarist performing on stage with his bandmates in the background.

So we’re wrapping up Mr. Brightside when the bass player gives me that look again. I’ve already come to recognize it: the furrowed brow of a man finding dog-shit on his Persian rug. Something isn’t quite right. He nods at my amp.

“How much reverb have you got on there?” I check the dial: “Erm… all of it.” A shake of the head: “We can’t hear anything you’re playing. It’s just soup. Go on, take it off.”