If I haven’t mentioned it before, my husband sings in 2 synth bands – Art Fact and Sine City. He has a concert for each coming up soon, plus a record album coming out for Sine City. Yes, I said RECORD ALBUM. If you can dust off your player from the attic, you can buy one to hear – or you can be a normal person and just go to Spotify after it comes out in April. 🙂 (Art Fact is already there, they’ve been around a while.)
Anyway, I like to embarass him with my lack of synth-ness. I like to wear polka-dot dresses to his concerts (“but it’s black!”) and smile a lot (trust me, doesn’t fit in with the synth-attitude).
I asked him if I could play tambourine on stage or be a go-go dancer in a cage behind him. He doesn’t take me seriously, but I bet everyone would enjoy it! I could see Depeche Mode with go-go dancers. It would work.
I tell him he should write more cheerful songs. Apparently this is also not “synth.”
So he rehearsed yesterday evening with loud thumping beats and misery pop while I watched Doris Day movies in my bunny slippers with a hot chocolate.
I am his shameful secret.
