Rock of the Middle Ages

A lot of rock bands would balk at playing a gig before 10 p.m. on a Saturday night. After all, when the evening is young, the crowd usually isn't.

This isn't necessarily a bad thing for Exit Wonderland, the band I've played with for about five years now. All five members are 40-something, which means that we have jobs and families and the obligations they bring, as do the friends and family members who make up our fan base. Getting everyone together for a late-night gig can be a challenge.

So I'm cautiously optimistic about our gig this Saturday at the Cupertino Britannia Arms. We're on a bill with four other bands, and while the order hasn't been determined yet, we could go on as early as 6:30 p.m. This could mean that our audience will be made up of Little League players and their families, who just popped in for an after-game nosh and may not appreciate Exit Wonderland's brand of original garage rock.

But it could also mean that folks whose work and family schedules have kept them away from our Thursday night shows at San Francisco clubs will finally be able to come out to hear us play. They can even bring the kids; our bass player's bringing his.

No matter when we end up playing or who we end up playing for, it'll be fun. That's why I joined this band--to have fun making music with my friends. (Not a lofty goal, I'll grant you, but I don't hold out much hope that we'll ever be able to afford roadies.)

Exit Wonderland started as an outgrowth of Hair of the Dog, a bar and open-mic stage I've helped run at Burning Man since 2004. Once you've slung drinks with each other in the middle of the desert and kicked out the jams while playa dust blows into every orifice of your body and your instrument, you've bonded sufficiently to be in a band together.

This is not to say we don't have our differences, creative and otherwise. Writing and playing music is quite the soul-baring activity, and it's hard to keep your ego in check when a bandmate questions the genius of the riff or rhythm you've just come up with.

Frustrating as it can be to find a sound we all agree on, when we do sink into a groove, the resultant endorphin rush can lift me out of whatever funk I may be in. Getting an audience to connect to that groove is both exhilarating and terrifying; I still get stomach butterflies every time we debut a song, though writing new tunes helps create more energy for the old ones so that they don't become so many crusty wedges on a set-list cheese platter.

Speaking of old ones, I'm finding that as I creep closer to the half-century mark, playing with Exit Wonderland is helping keep me agile mentally--writing my own keyboard lines and vocal harmonies, then figuring out how to play and sing them at the same time--and physically, since singing burns calories, as does hauling instruments and sound equipment from garage to gig. It also gives me an excuse to go out and hear other local bands, which has given me a glimmer of hope that the South Bay live music scene may be restored to the vibrancy it had when I was a whippersnapper. All told, it's a great way to ward off a midlife crisis.

I still want roadies, though. Any volunteers?

Exit Wonderland plays sometime after 6:30 p.m. this Saturday at the Cupertino Britannia Arms, 1087 S. De Anza Blvd., San Jose. Tickets are $9 in advance at AftonShows.com/ExitWonderland, or $12 at the door.