You meet an old friend from days gone by. You remember him as smart, creative, funny and kind. He is dear in your memory. He tells you that he's a musician now, an aspiring professional. He is terribly frustrated that he hasn't been signed yet, but he's got a band and he's performing tonight at the Yellow Stain Lounge. It hasn't been a lucrative gig, he says, but they let him play what he wants.
"It's the music I was born to play. No compromises, no pandering."
You eagerly agree to attend the show.
That night your friend takes the stage.
The band strikes up "Brick House."
Then they play "Freebird." And "Stairway To Heaven." Followed by "Margaritaville" and "Play That Funky Music White Boy". The band is ragged, sloppy, lackadaisical. Flubs abound; not charming ones. Lazy ones. Occasional flashes of mild inspiration suggest themselves, but never quite make the gig light up.
After a dishwater rendition of "Louie Louie" the band takes a break and your friend finds you.
What do you say to your friend?