First I should explain that I'm a professor of ancient history. I spend my days grading blue books, leading discussions about Hammurabi, and chasing down references in obscure journals. It's been over two decades since I considered myself to be a rock musician. The last time I was on stage was in 1981, playing with my band - then called the Colours - in a crowded smoky LA club. After the show that night I tucked my Gibson bass guitar into its case (with incongruously fluffy yellow padding), rolled up my guitar cords, packed up my big black amp with its tuck-and-roll leather upholstery (apparently designed for cruising Sunset Blvd as much as for amplifying my guitar), bid goodnight to the other bandmembers, my friends Vicki and Debbi Peterson, with whom I had played for years, and Susanna Hoffs, who had joined Vicki and Debbi a few months before, and walked out across a misty parking lot to my car. Just four weeks later I was attending graduate school in London.

So what was I doing, here in 2004, agreeing to play with this band again? Well, the first step in this crazy venture was that they asked me. My former bandmates and I had remained close friends over the years and now the band's bass player was on an extended trip and I was needed. But I wasn't just doing them a favor. I know a lot of former rock musicians like me who, although they are thriving in all kinds of straight jobs-art directors, teachers, academics, lawyers, salesmen-would jump at a chance like this. To feel the drums pound through your feet, see the checkerboard pattern of faceless heads in the audience, stand in a spot light, hear the applause. These are not everyday occurrences for most of us; of course I wanted to do it. Besides, I had often wondered if I still could play. Here was an opportunity to find out. I tried to sound nonchalant as I said yes to Vicki on the phone, but I felt light-headed and decidedly un-professorial as I did so. 

A day or two later, after my name was listed on the website announcing the show, after I had dug out my bass from its fluffy yellow hibernation and played some rather uncertain scales, I began to wonder about my sanity. My band had not remained obscure. Two years after I left, the band, with their new bass player Michael Steele, changed their name to the Bangles and produced a whole slew of top ten hits in the 80's. They broke up in 1989 and reunited in 2000. I was going to stand in as a Bangle, at least for one night, and I hadn't played onstage in 23 years.

Worse yet, the show I had signed on to was a benefit concert for 'Rock the Classroom' to support music education in L.A. schools, with tickets ranging from $50 to $150. Well, these high prices were good for the cause, of course, but I had images of incensed patrons demanding their money back when it became obvious that the guest bass player had ten thumbs and kept hitting sour notes. I had only four weeks to learn at least an hour of songs.

Our first rehearsals, I was surprised to find, were familiar and comfortable. The faces were the same, of course. I've never played with any other band, so it seemed perfectly normal and right to see Debbi beaming at me over her cymbals and Vicki helping me out with the weird chords that come up in the bridges of songs. We practiced in Vicki's cramped basement music room, which bears an uncanny resemblance to her parents' old storage room behind their garage, where we rehearsed in the 70's. Vicki's room has the same damp concrete smell, the same lack of places to put down guitars, the same spaghetti-tangle of guitar cords. Vicki had set up small amps for the guitars, but there were no microphones, and when Debbi sat down to drum it was impossible to hear anyone sing. Susanna arrived wearing a sundress and had to borrow a rainbow-striped sweater from Vicki to withstand the catacomb-like chill of the music room.

The girls gamely played through their hits with me so that I could learn some of the chords, but these songs clearly bored them. They have played them a million times. For fun, we tried an old song, ‘He's Got a Secret,' from their first album, which Vicki had written before Susanna and Michael joined the group and for which I invented the bass line. "Don't try to remember it" Vicki said to me, "just play." She was right. My hands remembered, though my brain didn't. I watched my left hand crawling around the frets with a mind of its own. Had I stopped to think, I would have been unable to continue. Right up to the performance I feared that this song would undo me. Suddenly my hands would forget. But I didn't dare write down the notes because then my brain would take over and I wouldn't be able to play. This isn't particularly logical, I know, but it was true.

With Debbi and Vicki for a Fans (pre-Colours) photo shoot

What about playing more old Bangles songs, someone said - songs that haven't even been released on CD? To begin to learn them we had to move up to Vicki's sunny (and warmer) living room where she dusted off her turntable to play the vinyl records. Susanna broke into a grin as she sang along with her twenty-two year old self on the record: "We were so cool! Listen to those harmonies! We sound like the Byrds!" It's true. The earliest Bangles recordings are nothing if not cool. After a few times through on one song, with the girls trying harmonies, Vicki picking out fragments of her lead guitar part, and Debbi singing the bass parts to me (drummers, Vicki observed, always know the bass lines), Debbi proclaimed "Pee break." She was six months pregnant and her baby had needs too.

I had prepared for this rehearsal in my kitchen, so that I wouldn't seem completely incompetent, trying to teach myself all the Bangles hits-Eternal Flame, Manic Monday, Walk Like an Egyptian, Hazy Shade of Winter, and so on. But, one by one, these songs were thrown out of the set list until only Manic Monday remained. Perhaps Eternal Flame might be an encore. But perhaps not. The songs chosen for the concert were mostly obscure, personal, brilliant. The Bangles were really two bands at their height-the band that produced the hits - the girls with combed-up 80's hair, singing songs by professional songwriters - and the band on the LPs, the one that performed thoughtful, self-penned songs, each one a kind of short story set to music. Vicki, Debbi, and Susanna seemed to get a thrill from rediscovering and relearning them. Susanna exclaimed "This is so much fun! We can do all kinds of stuff at the benefit. We can tell them how we wrote these songs, how we stole the chords from the Beatles. We can even make mistakes...!" I made a mental note to myself that I definitely didn't want to contribute in the mistakes department.

The good news: playing bass- at least rudimentary bass - seems to be in the same category as swimming or riding a bicycle. You can't forget how to do it. The bad news: I have a job. I was also in the midst of preparing a book manuscript for publication. My editor wasn't about to change my deadline just because I'd agreed to perform in a benefit concert. And, like Vicki, Debbi, and Susanna, I have a family, with all the piano-lesson-baseball-practice-school-play obligations that go along with it. Rehearsals had to be set up around my work schedule (and the band members were kind enough to do so) but we each periodically had to leave early to drive a carpool, prepare for a school fundraiser, or get a kid to a dental appointment. In a matter of seconds a conversation could turn from which distortion pedal was needed in a song to which childhood disease manifests as spots, fever, and achiness. It was like being at a PTA meeting of rock stars.

Although I knew I should be rehearsing a lot on my own as well, some days there just wasn't time. Grading, teaching, and revising my book consumed every hour, often until midnight. My solution was to play Bangles CDs in my car on the way to work (this was perhaps the first time I had found a really good use for my long, slow, boring commute) imagining my bass parts to each song in my head. I think this is much more distracting than talking on a cell phone and probably should be illegal, if only it could be detected.

This upcoming show was billed as "the Bangles and friends" and I was not to be the only "friend." (In fact Vicki proclaimed me an "auxiliary Bangle" which brought to mind a little-used fashion accessory.) Vicki's husband John Cowsill would drum on some of the Bangles songs - Debbi tired easily, with the baby kicking up a storm inside her - and singer-songwriters Jules Shear and Matthew Sweet were also slated to perform. This sounded good to me. If they each did a set then I was responsible for only maybe an hour of Bangles songs, and those were coming along fine. I assumed that Jules and Matthew would simply play their guitars, and perhaps a Bangle (or three) would sing harmony with them. Wrong.

Those Girls, as seen in the gentlemen's magazine  "Oui"... no, seriously...

At a grand sing-along/rehearsal/pizza party (and, for the rest of them, nostalgia-fest) at Susanna's house, it materialized that we would all play on Jules' and Matthew's songs. I covered sheets of college-ruled notepaper with scribbled chords. I was afraid my brain might burst with memorizing all this. This must be how my students feel in the days before final exams. But Jules and Matthew were charming. Jules, who is a tall man with no pretensions, broke into "All Through the Night" (a big hit for Cyndi Lauper). After he finished, John Cowsill sat down on the couch next to him and exclaimed, in a compelling, heart-on-my-sleeve way that he has, "I hate to admit it, but I didn't know that was yours. That gave me chills!" Jules looked pleased. Later, he patiently sang chords to me - interspersed among the lyrics - for "If She Knew What She Wants" (a Bangles hit that he wrote and planned to perform at this concert): "If she ‘D' what she wants, I'd be ‘G'-ing it ‘A' her..." then commented earnestly "It's really nice of you to learn my songs." To me!

Matthew Sweet meanwhile initially couldn't seem to think of any of his own songs that he might perform. Looking around at the rest of us over his guitar, he asked for suggestions. When pushed hard, he chose two songs, "Sick of Myself" and "I've Been Waiting." And then everyone started suggesting songs by other bands that would be fun to do and breaking into verses to show the rest-Badfinger's "No Matter What" (internal cheers from me on that one; it was one we used to perform, and I almost remembered it), the Byrds' "Feel a Whole Lot Better," the Dave Clark Five's "Got to Have a Reason," and P.F. Sloan's "Here's Where You Belong."  It was worth agreeing to do this concert just to hear these six musicians sing spontaneous harmonies on the songs right there in Susanna's living room. I'm not a singer, so I was the lone audience member to some amazing music that day.

I had told a few people at work, and a few friends, about the coming show. But I told them that the tickets cost $150, which was only sort of true. "Have you told your students?" Debbi asked at one rehearsal. Heaven forbid. They knew nothing of my musical past or of this event. So, mercifully, no one I knew (other than my family members, who were on the guest list) was planning on coming to the concert.

In the last week, rehearsals moved from living rooms to a professional studio. The band planned one Bangles-only rehearsal (well, Bangles-and-John-and-me) on Wednesday night, then one Bangles-and-Jules-and-Matthew rehearsal on Friday. And that was all. The show was on Saturday.

"Backstage" at McCabe's

The studio was in a seedy-looking part of Hollywood, with no sign on the building to reveal what was inside, just a small piece of paper taped to the intercom at the gate noting that you should state which band you are with. "Amanda. I'm with the Bangles," I said, and the gate opened. I squeezed my car into an unimaginably cramped parking space and carried my bass into the building. Our room was set up like a stage, with microphones and lights and a soundboard and huge speakers. Technicians and other people who wandered in and out glanced at me with surprise, perhaps wondering where Michael was and who I might be (or was that just paranoia on my part?). The band's manager Maria and road manager John Calacci (I probably have their titles wrong) showed up with CDs for the Bangles to sign and questions about which equipment would be used in the show. In the 70's we didn't even have roadies, let alone managers. (Not even they-don't-pay-me-but-it's-enough-that-I'm-with-the-band roadies - other bands seemed to have those, but we never figured out how.) John Calacci looked bemused to discover that I have only one bass guitar and that I don't even need picks because I've always played with my fingers. I was very low maintenance.

Through rehearsal, I had to listen all the time to the kick drum. Bass is really a percussion instrument that happens to play notes and you can't lose the beat even for a split second. John asked for my bass to be piped into his monitor-the speaker to his left. This made me extremely nervous. He was listening to my every note. I immediately started messing up. Gradually the rehearsal degenerated into laughter and improvisation. We never made it through all the songs. As John carried his sleeping son out to his car after rehearsal he frowned and said "Vicki's pretty worried." She was. She had said at the end of rehearsal, with gallows humor, "With another two weeks of rehearsal, we'll be ready." But of course, we had no more rehearsal.

I spent much of Saturday back in my kitchen with a stack of CD's, playing along to each song in the set. I finally figured out what the chords were behind the instrumental in Matthew's ‘I've Been Waiting.' My family members wandered through from time to time, making encouraging noises. But would I remember all this? I had memorized 25 songs, and some of the bass lines were scarily similar to one another. I decided to make myself an elaborate set of cheat sheets, listing the notes that I played on every song. That way if I went blank and found myself paralyzed in front of the audience I could at least look down and follow what I had written.

The concert was at McCabe's in Santa Monica. The stage is about the size of the conference table that my department uses for meetings. The seven of us performing that night would be pushing the limit of the number of musicians they'd ever had appear on it. 150 seats were being set up in what is, by day, a showroom, every inch of the walls lined with guitars. To the left of the stage, stairs lead up to rooms-offices and storerooms, I think, one of which was passing as a dressing room.

Getting the rock star treatment... from a rock star

We had a blissfully long sound check, long enough to play just about every song. I only got completely lost on one song, one of Matthew's. I think I was playing the chorus when they were playing the verse. It sounded horrible. Matthew signaled that I should bring my bass upstairs after the sound check to go through it again. He was nice about it, but I felt like a student getting a nice fat D on a test. Really, I do know this stuff, I do...But the atmosphere was much lighter after the sound check. The show would, after all, be fine.

My family met me in the alleyway behind McCabe's right after sound check. My husband and brother didn't stop smiling all night. For them, as for me, this was time travel. They had both been at many, many shows back when I was a member of the band. They didn't see tonight as a Bangles show with a guest bass player, but as a reunion of the Colours, a band that almost no one else remembered at all.

Milt and Jeanne

The kids - my two and John's two, who are all good friends - were allowed during the concert to sit on the stairs that lead down to the stage, so they had free reign of the backstage before the show. They took much more advantage of the complimentary sodas and fruit than we did. Vicki helped me with my makeup. Milt and Jeanne Peterson looked as comfortable around the chaos of the dressing room as if they were in their own living room. And then there it was "...the Bangles!" and we were walking down the stairs to the stage. Vicki and Sue went first, then me, then Debbi. Someone, I suspect it was my brother, shouted "Amanda!" in the waves of shouts and applause as we walked into the lights and picked up our instruments.

Vicki set the tone of the night by starting with a conversation with the audience. And right away, she introduced me, explaining that she and I had formed a band together in high school. She said with a smile "Unlike the rest of us, Amanda has a real job." Susanna added "She's a professor." The audience applauded and I could feel my hands start to shake. No. I couldn't get nervous. I had to be able to play. I willed my hands to stop, and Debbi counted us in to Manic Monday.

One song after another went by in a blur. The girls were obviously having a ball. Susanna launched into humorous explanations of the origins of various songs. Debbi's pregnancy was delightfully obvious through her sheer black blouse and warranted comments from the others, especially when she had to squeeze back behind her drums after playing guitar on several songs. John came onstage to take over drumming duties from her for some songs and was ribbed by his wife for missing his cue. Vicki then called my daughter, Emily, down to the stage to explain how a comment Emily had made when they were cooking together had inspired Vicki to write "Stealing Rosemary," one of the songs on their latest CD. It was all very informal. I finally got brave enough to look away from my hands and away from my friends on stage and to look at the audience. They seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves. No signs of anyone heading for the box office for a refund. I could see my husband's broad grin a few rows back, and it made me smile. This was going fine.

And then, after an hour, we were done with the first half - the Bangles half - and were heading up the stairs, the kids having ducked out of the way. Emily was at the top, arms outstretched "You did it, Mom!!!" she cried. And then Vicki and Debbi hugged me too. I think they were as amazed as I was that I had made no major mistakes.

The second half was the "and friends" part of the show. Even though these were the songs I knew less well, I was more comfortable. I stood at the back of the stage, next to the drumset, while Matthew, Susanna, Vicki, Jules, and Debbi lined up at the front. I could watch John's drumming, which helped me stay on beat (and come in at the right moment) and I knew that no one in the audience but my family was watching me. The rest of the performers were too good to miss. I just enjoyed the experience. I loved the songs that started with a simple guitar and voices. There's that jolt of energy that you get when the bass and drums join in. That was me. I was playing that bass. I found myself smiling stupidly.

We had planned to end the show on the reflective ballad ‘Grateful' but it was just not in the spirit of the night, which had been one long celebratory party. So we closed with the Byrds' ‘Feel a Whole Lot Better.' It was appropriate. We all felt better.

Now from upstairs we could hear the audience cheering and calling for an encore. The planned encore had been "Eternal Flame" but, again, it was too calm of a song for this night, this crowd, this adrenalin rush. Vicki, Susanna, and Debbi decided to do "Walk Like an Egyptian." I had never rehearsed it with them. They just trusted me when I said I knew it. And Vicki dragged John into the song too. As we walked down the stairs I saw that everyone in the sold-out audience was standing. What a thrill. Professors don't often get standing ovations. Even though this one certainly wasn't for me, I had been here onstage for this magical night.

"We've never played this song with John and Amanda before..." Vicki confessed to the audience. It didn't matter. Debbi sang Michael's verse and at the end the audience went quite mad. Then Matthew and Jules joined us onstage and we played "No Matter What" with Debbi drumming and Matthew and John singing lead. John didn't know all the lyrics, so he just watched Matthew on the other side of the stage, trying to read his mind. I stood next to Debbi as the bass and drums came in together after the first chords, and she smiled at me and shook her head, sharing my sense of deja vu. And I never did need those cheat sheets.

Then it was over. The houselights came up. The audience noisily made their way out. Backstage everyone was hugging each other. Matthew stopped me in a hallway "I had no idea this was your first show in 23 years. I just thought you were a musician. You did great. Are you going to keep playing?" What a question. History professor? Rock musician? Both? Not possible. Vicki grabbed me by the shoulders "I knew you could do it!" she exclaimed. My husband appeared with a huge bunch of flowers that he had retrieved from the car. He said he had trouble convincing the security people that he really was with the band.

Vicki and Debbi persuaded me to join in a meet-and-greet with the fans who had paid $150 for tickets in the front. They were friendly but some were a little nervous. Some had presents for Debbi's forthcoming baby. One man asked me if I was going to be performing with the band again. "No" I said - we had no plans for any more shows, and I certainly didn't want anyone to think I had designs on Michael's job. Perhaps the fans would have preferred it if I hadn't been in their pictures with the Bangles, but they didn't let on. And one little girl even asked me for an autograph, my first, I think since I was in a production of Alice in Wonderland in ninth grade and performed at an elementary school (but perhaps that doesn't count because I had to sign my name "March Hare").

The next day, Vicki sent us all a sweet, congratulatory email with the subject heading "The morning after..." listing all her favorite memories from the evening. Susanna wrote back "When can we do it again?" Fans started posting their reviews on the Bangles' message board. They were so thrilled with the unusual songs chosen, the onstage banter, Debbi's highly-visible pregnancy, the meet-and-greet after the show, and everything else, that they seem not to have minded my presence. Except that one fan had stolen a couple of my cheat sheets from the stage and scanned them onto the website. I felt like writing in to say "Hey, I didn't actually use those. I really did know the songs."

Monday morning found me back in the car on the way to work, thinking about the senior thesis drafts that I needed to grade and the meetings that were scheduled for that afternoon. I'm happy in my career-I love teaching and research. I'm in the right place. But if the Bangles ask me again, how could I say no? And next time I might even tell my friends the real ticket prices.

*Black and white McCabe's photos by Julian Hills