In 1996, members of Narrow Road were invited to be interviewed and to perform on a local, college-sponsored television program. We were happy to do so, and all seemingly transpired well. Until the playback...
As our images appeared on screen, our names were switched around. No big deal: Those running the control room didn't really know who we were.
The sound was a bit sparse and tinny at times, fading in and out. Again, no big deal: This was a college-operated outfit, after all, not a newsroom filled with seasoned studio veterans.
Yet, it was difficult what to make of it when our booking contact information whizzed by at 100 mph across the screen, multiple times. Add to that the contact number being incorrect upon each "fly by."
"Man," I finally piped up, "What's going on here?"
One of our members then fessed up: "Well, that might be my fault," he sheepishly stated.
"What do you mean?" I inquired.
"Well, the girl that runs the control room, the producer... I broke up with her a few days ago," he submitted. "I think she's probably mad at me."
It was spilled milk; there was nothing we could do but laugh it off.
"Ya think? Ah, man, couldn't you have waited until after the interview?" we teased.
There is, indeed, a time for everything... (including knowing when to break up with your girlfriend).
Evidence of a woman scorned?
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- K -
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