There aren’t many people in this world that I can vouch for having balls of steel. And boy, I’ll tell you that DJ Buck Nasty was the last person I expected to be up on that list. I’m not talking about just any freak of nature here now—no, no—I’m talking about no other than Bill Wills himself.
Bill is someone I would describe as a very lovable but problematic person. Between his paranoid weed episodes and his blatantly lazy-ass playing, he somehow still comes off as a person you can bear to be around.
Now, with all this being said, you will find here shortly why I respect him so wholeheartedly. It all started with a crowded night at this bar called “The Hitch,” Bill’s lazy go-to spot to book gigs. After you play at the same place for more than half the entirety of the shows you’ve booked—well… you start to get bored.
Oh boy, though—this one night I proved myself wrong. Daniel and I were on our way to the gig, where our story begins. “Alright, dude, you ready for tonight?” Daniel bellowed at me. “Hell yeah, bro! I’ll be deaf by the end of the night, but hey, who needs hearing anyway?”
We both chuckled at the thought of how someone could be so bad at doing sound that they could earn themselves the title of the feedback enigma. Not exactly how I want to be viewed by my band, but hey—B. Wilson can only learn so much, I guess. We pulled up to the gig to see Bill ’s trailer missing and nowhere to be seen. “Fucking cunts! I told these bastards to be here on time!” Daniel yelled toward the blatantly vacant parking spot.
“I know, dude, it’s frustrating. But let’s just unpack all of our shit until they get here.”We both agreed and began to unload all of our gear. During this period of time, I was still carrying around an amplifier that weighed over 70 pounds. This equipment felt like carrying a bag of drug money in plain sight… It’s just something you… shouldn’t… do.
As we slammed our equipment onto the stage, we heard Bill’s nasally voice echo in the distance. We walked outside to see a paranoid lunatic chain-smoking cigarettes like a meth head itching for his next high. “Hey guys!” Bill blurted out with excitement, spraying my shirt with what I could only imagine was a mix between spit and really shit cocaine.
“Let’s get this stuff unloaded—it’s time to rumble!” Alrighty, I thought to myself. I’ve never actually seen this guy with a fire up his ass—probably best to seize the opportunity. Fuck it. What’s there to lose? Shortly after, we began to unload the trailer and set up the show. Set-up went by as normal, until it was finally time for a sound check. . .
“All right, man, let’s try your guitar,” B. yelled toward Daniel in a blind rage.
I observed what looked like a sexually frustrated stare-down between an Oompa Loompa and a slightly more stable Ted Bundy. All of a sudden, the ringing began… oh god… it sounded—what I could best describe as—an almost eerie cry for help.
The amplifier began to screech so loudly that even the most deaf person on earth could hear it. What the actual fuck is going on? We’re supposed to play music to these people, not make their ears bleed.
Anyone in the bar at this time who was still around had already given up hope in us performing a good show tonight. Finally, Daniel unplugged his amp, and the annoying-ass howling of the PA system stopped. Bill , at this point, was sweating profusely and was about ready to have a WWE showdown with anybody within his vicinity.
The whole band began to lose hope as our sound began to worsen the closer we got to play-time.“ It’s all right, I’m sure we can make it work. ”Mike Silvia, our drummer, was doing his best to boost up the morale, but at this point, we all knew what treacheries awaited us ahead.
Before I knew it… boom! It’s go time. Daniel had started the opening speech. “Hey everyone, we are Sour Candy, and it’s an honor to play for you guys tonight! This is our first song of the night—let’s hit it!”
Daniel pointed to Mike as he stumbled through one of the worst intros I’ve ever heard. It sounded like two babies trying to put all and any remaining brain cells together to form a sound that is cohesive. “Shit sticks. We’re off to a rough start. How the fuck do we get out of this one?”
By song two, we had started to get a little more comfortable. And by song three, our lead singer, Sonia, had become much more confident. Okay, maybe things are starting to look up after all—it can’t get worse than this, right? Holy pepperonis—someone is out of tune. Is it me? I began to check my guitar, only to realize I was in perfect tuning still. I looked over to Daniel to see him as confused as I was—until we both looked over to Bill.
Oh my god… he’s not only out of key, but he’s playing the wrong fucking bass guitar and doesn’t even realize it!
“Stop! Let’s restart!” Daniel looked over to Bill as if he wanted to castrate his entire family and told him to change guitars.
“You fucking idiot!” he yelled to Bill in a blinding fit of fury. Bill froze as if he’d lost all hope in humanity. Bill’s eyes locked with Daniel’s, and in pure rage, he had the genius idea to shove Daniel off the stage.
Bill then began to scream intensely in front of the whole band like a disgusting maniac. He called his wife a dog woman and said he was a fun plaything. Oh god, I thought. What the fuck has my life come to? How did I end up here? How does one end up in such a situation? I felt like vomiting. I’m glad these days are behind me.
There is one good thing I can say about Bill: He had gained my respect as he had truly managed the impossible—
He managed to out-crazy Daniel Bailey.
The End