Two band members recall a wild MySpace-era party at a fireman's house that cops couldn't shut down because the host's dad was a firefighter. Miscommunication about a deal nearly split the group, but Glenn, John, and the speaker ended up staying together after a tense hotel conference room meeting.
And MySpace is a hell of a place. I throw a party at my parents' house and these guys come back and we threw a rager with like 50 people. The cops wind up coming, like, you know, but my dad's a fireman, so they didn't shut the party down. Like, they came, were like, listen, you gotta kind of pretend like it's like 2 in the morning. Like, hey, quiet up. But at that point we met, like, tomorrow we get to work.
So we went out, we bought a bunch of drinks, we got messed up, we celebrated. And we like talked to them in the morning, they're like, well, it's not like done, it's not like done done. I'm done. No, like, what do you mean? You said go celebrate. You said the deal is done. Like, yeah, there's just a couple of things left to do. And then that whole thing exploded. But again, like that was a whole, a whole thing that culminated in like, like Glenn, me and John sitting in like a conference room at a hotel, like like, like, like, ready to, ready to drop the articles of dissolution, like, like, in skinny jeans and a tie, vividly sitting on that conference call just being like—
and, and this other, this person on the phone trying to, to lead it while the three of us who've been fed three different narratives and are ready and in the middle of, like, the middle of the US somewhere. Needless to say, we're still a band, so, you know, it didn't—
