Entry #675381, added on 11-08-09 @ 11:57 pm EST
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| 2900 words! but that's all from the busy weekend. | Entry #675381 |
By noon, Braden had managed to both get out of bed and shower. He emailed Uncle Razz and texted the guys, then started researching “How to Start a Band” sites on the internet.
Matt was the first to show up.
“Good news,” Braden told him. “My Uncle Razz is coming over tonight to help us out.”
“Who is this amazing Uncle Razz?” Matt asked.
Braden crossed his arms and shook his head. Matt wasn’t looking; he was taking off his Converses so as not to dirty Mrs. James’s nice clean floor, which the maid had just finished swiffering. In all their years of friendship, Matt should certainly have known who Uncle Razz was, and why his help was so necessary and awesome.
“Dude, he was in a band?” Braden reminded him, using that tone of voice you use when someone has just asked a really dumb question. “He knows everything we need to do to get famous.”
Matt grinned and shook his head. “That was centuries ago. And they never made it far, did they?”
Uncle Razz had been in a band a long time ago. The 80s, to be exact. He was Braden’s mom’s older brother. He had been the guitarist in an 80s glam-metal band, the kind of band that deified spandex, enormous hair, and make-up on guys. Think Twisted Sister. Uncle Razz’s band was called Shok Shop. They even toured with Twisted Sister through three states. They would have gone far, but Uncle Razz dropped out of the band to marry his pregnant girlfriend and become an accountant, and Phil, the drummer, had gotten a job with Apple. The other guys, well, who knew what happened to them.
The point was, Uncle Razz knew exactly what needed to be done in starting a band and getting huge, and he was as excited about the new band as Braden was.
They went to the rec room – basically the entire basement was dedicated to Things That Amuse Braden. His giant-screen TV, his X-Box, his computer, his Wii, his large erotic posters of mostly naked women, his electronic dart board and his foozball table were all down there. Also, soft squizhy furniture and a bar with a small fridge in it, so he could enjoy cold drinks whenever he was down there being amused by his stuff.
“I checked online,” Braden said. “This is what we have to do. Get a drummer.”
Matt nodded. “Obviously.”
“Get a name.”
“Hmm. Good point. We’ll have to ponder that. Too bad Bobble-Head Jesus is already taken.”
Braden smirked. “Oh, and we have to pick a genre.”
“We already have a genre, dude. One-hit-wonder covers.”
“That’s not a genre, dumbass. It’s like, pop, metal, you know.”
“Yeah,” Matt said. “I think I see what you’re getting at. Like, I thought the whole idea was to get by on our good looks and charisma, so, obviously, our genre is Boy Band.”
Braden thought this over. He had been leaning towards reviving the glam-metal look, since that’s where Uncle Razz’s expertise was, and plus all things 80s were coming back anyway. But dressing up in spandex and make-up with frizzy hair wouldn’t really make the best use of his chiseled Superman-like face.
“Good point,” he said. “Boy Band could work.”
Josh finally showed up.
The first thing he wanted to do was play a round of Guitar Hero.
“Not a chance,” Braden said. “We’ve got important work to do.”
“It’ll help me get in the mood,” Josh whined. He had brought his keyboards and started setting up the stand between the sofa and the foozball game, the largest area of free space in the rec room. “Come help me bring in the rest of the stuff,” he said.
“What did you bring all your stuff for?” Braden asked.
“Uh, to practice?” Josh said, like it was the dumbest question ever asked. “We’re here to start a band, aren’t we?”
Braden shook his head, but still followed Josh and Matt to get the rest of the stuff. There were two keyboards and an amplifier as well as the stand.
“We don’t even have a name yet,” Braden said. “I don’t think it’s time to start practicing.”
“Or a drummer,” Matt said.
“Well, it’ll help me get in the mood,” Josh said. They finished setting up the keyboards, and Josh clicked on a dance beat.
Braden said, “We’re gonna be a Boy Band.”
“Good,” Josh said, “Since we’re boys. How’s this?” He hammered out the intro to ‘Beat it’ and started singing, “They told him don’t you ever come around here!”
It was more like screeching than singing, the kind of sound a cat might make if you were pulling its tail and simultaneously refusing to feed it. Braden and Matt laughed hysterically and Josh started undulating like MJ, grabbing his crotch and howling.
“Enough!” Matt shouted.
Braden threatened to unplug the amp. The maid appeared at the top of the rec room stairs, holding a swiffer, and then disappeared again.
The guys laughed some more. “She wanted to see if she needed to call 9-1-1,” Matt said.
Braden told Josh that Uncle Razz was coming over, and started listing the items on his check-list, counting them off on his fingers. Matt told Josh the ideas they’d already decided on.
“We have to pick a name,” Braden said.
Josh nodded. “And find a drummer,” he added.
“Yeah, but let’s pick a name first,” Braden said. “The drummer will be harder. We should do the easy stuff first. Wiki says the name should be short, easy to remember, easy to spell…”
“So Blow-it-out-yer-arse-hole-with-a-side-of-chips is no good then,” Matt said.
“And memorable,” Braden said, ignoring his friends as they laughed and punched each other’s fists.
Josh kept zinging off bits of songs on his keyboard. “It has to be something Boy-Bandy,” he said.
“What do you mean, Boy-Bandy?” Matt asked.
“Like, what are other boy bands called?” Josh asked.
Braden started listing. “Like, Backstreet Boys, N-Sync…”
Matt said, “New Kids on the Block.”
Josh stopped hitting his keys. “They’re all gay,” he said. “You want us to be gay?”
Braden corrected him. “They all get by on good looks and personality, and don’t actually write music. They’re all about making girls scream. That’s what we’re gonna do. Be good-looking and make girls scream.”
“Guys, too, if they’re gay,” Matt added.
Josh looked unconvinced. “Those guys don’t play instruments or anything. They sing and dance. They’re not actually bands,” he said.
“Ok,” Braden said. “So we’ll be the first good-looking boy band who actually play instruments and are actually a band. We’ll be so original and hip, nobody will notice that all our songs are covers.”
Josh said, “Ok,” and hammered off a riff from Lady Gaga. He was always so agreeable.
Matt, who was now sitting on the sofa and firing up the Wii, said, “Good-looking boys with instruments.”
“Exactly,” Braden said. He threw a dart at the electronic dart board.
“No, that’s our name,” Matt said.
Josh laughed. Braden threw another dart.
Josh said “Really Good Looking Boys with Instruments.”
“Like, RGLBI,” Braden said.
“Yeah,” Matt said, chuckling. “Like LMFAO. RSGLBWI – Really Shockingly Good-Looking Boys with Instruments.”
“Just Boys with instruments,” Braden said.
“What about the good-looking part?” Matt asked. “We got more than just instruments, baby.”
“It sounds gross,” Josh said.
“What does?”
“The thing about instruments. It sounds like…”
“We weren’t serious,” Braden said.
“Oh,” said Josh. He played a Karaoke version of the chorus of ‘I was Made for Loving You’. “I want a name with X in it.”
“What?” Matt said.
“X. I like the sound of X.”
Matt said, “Exceptionally good looking boys with instruments?”
Braden made as if to throw a dart at him, but since he was sitting facing the enormous-screen TV, maneuvering a car through the advanced track on Need for Speed Nitro, the moment was lost.
“Like ‘Extra’,” Josh said.
“That’s gum,” Braden said.
“But like that. I like the way it sounds. X is a cool letter.”
“Ok,” Braden said, “We’ll have a name with X in it. Josh likes the letter X.”
Matt said, “Sesame Street is brought to you today by the letter X.”
Braden added, “And by Josh’s IQ, the number four.”
Josh played the Blue’s Clues theme song.
“We could do an Eminem thing with our initials,” Braden said.
“We don’t know our drummer’s name yet,” Matt said.
“Plus, that would only work if our drummer had a name that starts with X,” Josh said. “Like…”
Nobody could think of a name that started with X.
“Xavier,” Braden finally said.
“Wanted,” Matt said. “Drummer named Xavier to join new boy band. Must be good-looking.”
“Just start thinking of X words,” Josh said.
They started listing X words.
“Extreme”
“Been done.”
“Example.”
“Excellent.”
“Exceptional!”
“Taxes.”
“Taxes?”
“And Death.”
“Death and Taxes…”
“Too Heavy Metal.”
“Socks.”
“That doesn’t have X.”
“It does if it’s a baseball team.”
“Rocks.”
“Sticks.”
“Wax.”
“That does have an X.”
“So?”
“I thought we were thinking of words that don’t have an X but would if you were a baseball team.”
“I think Sticks has been done. Stix.”
“Isn’t that a guy from Motley Crüe? Nikki Stix?” Josh said.
“Your rock trivia knowledge is phenomenal.”
“Thanks.”
“Thanx.”
“For what?”
“No, for a name.”
“Blah.”
“Styx. Mr. Roboto,” Josh said.
“Whaaaat?”
“It was a big song in the 80s.”
“How do you know these things?”
“One-hit wonder?”
“Don’t think so,” Josh said. “My dad has all their albums.”
“Pop Rox!”
“Not bad… Pop Rox.”
“Like the candy.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Josh said, “I saw it on Mythbusters. This candy was supposed to make your stomach explode. But they fed it to a pig and he was fine.”
“Poprox,” Matt said.
“Poprox. I like it,” Braden said. “It makes us sound kinda pop, kinda rock, and kinda sweet like candy.”
“And kinda fizzy,” Josh said.
“Yeah, maybe,” Braden said. “Poprox.”
“Look it up,” Matt said. “See if it’s been taken.”
Matt Googled ‘pop rox.’
“s***,” he said. “Looks like it’s a bar, and a DJ, and a band.”
“A real band?” Matt asked. “See if they’re real, or just some garage band with a MySpace page.”
“Looks like they’re some kind of lame 80s cover band,” Braden said.
“Like us,” said Matt. “Anything else?”
Braden kept clicking. “A blogger. Someone on Twitter.”
“Well, I guess if that other lame 80s cover band hasn’t copyrighted the name, we could use it,” Matt said.
Braden said, “I don’t wanna. Those guys look too gay. It puts me off the name.”
“I like it,” Josh said.
“Oh, well,” said Braden.
Braden’s phone rang. It was Uncle Razz, and he was on his way over.
“I like the letter Z, too,” Josh said.
Uncle Razz came in with two guitars and an amp. He was wearing a silver loop earring, eye-liner, black nail polish, ripped up jeans and a yellow mesh t-shirt. His thinning hair, which was usually pulled in a neat pony tail behind his head, was frizzed out as if he had made the ol’ knife-in-the-toaster blunder your parents are always warning you about. His overall look didn’t go very well with his mustache.
“Go out to the van and get my briefcase, Brae,” he said, “and the other amp.”
Braden introduced the other guys and went out to Uncle Razz’s van. Uncle Rass made pretty good cash as an accountant, but he stuck with his old clunker of a 1980 Ford Econoline, which is like a VW campervan only bigger. Uncle Razz’s Econoline was dark metallic brown in colour and had crescent moon-shaped windows in the back end.
Inside, the van was completely covered in tan shag carpet, even on the ceiling. As well as the amp, the back of the van contained a set of golf clubs and a mysterious black metal trunk, about big enough to hold a body. The briefcase was on the passenger’s seat.
Matt and Josh had already helped Uncle Razz take his guitars down to the rec room and were plugging things in when Braden got down there with the other amp and the briefcase.
Uncle Razz was saying, “Don’t worry about the name, man. A name will come to you. You need to sort out some other stuff first. Jam with me.”
Braden put down the amp in front of Matt, who was holding one of Uncle Razz’s guitars, the red one with black lightning bolts, and said, “I don’t know, Unc. We’re not actually a band without a name.”
“Or a drummer,” Josh added.
“You don’t have a drummer?” Uncle Razz asked. “You can use my name. Let’s get you a drummer.”
“You want us to call our band Uncle Razz?” Josh asked.
“Razamanaz,” Uncle Razz said. “It’s actually a song by Nazareth, but I always thought it would be a good name for a band. So I copyrighted it in 1984.”
“How about Razz Rox?” Josh asked. “Then we can have Z and X.”
“I didn’t know you could copyright a name,” Matt said.
“Maybe not, but I’m pretty sure it’s still available,” Uncle Razz said. “Now. Let’s get you kids all sorted out. Who does what?”
Josh said, “I’m keyboards.” He played a dazzling riff.
“What’s that from?” Braden asked.
Josh shrugged. “I just made it up,” he said.
Matt said, “I’m guitar.” He played the opening bars of ‘Smoke on the Water’ to demonstrate.
Uncle Razz kept on going with the Deep Purple till about halfway through the song, then stopped and said, “What about you, kiddo?”
Braden cleared his throat. “I,” he said with as much flamboyance as he could muster, “am the flamboyant front-man of this band.” He did some sexy dance steps and shouted, “Ow!”
“The flamboyant front man?” Uncle Razz said. “Your mom finally got you to take singing lessons?”
“No, dude,” Braden said. “I can’t sing.”
“How are you going to be lead singer if you can’t sing?”
“I’m flamboyant,” Braden said.
“And good-looking,” Matt added.
“So, you’ll be like Menudo, then,” Uncle Razz said.
The guys stopped jamming. “Huh?” they said.
Uncle Razz explained about Menudo. “This one time, in the 80s, this guy got a bunch of cute little boys from Mexico or something together and recorded some songs and toured them around. They got pretty famous for one band, but they kept growing up and stuff, and he had to keep replacing them with younger kids. Just a bunch of young kids who looked good and could dance, but didn’t have any actual musical talent.”
“Yeah, like that,” Braden said. “Only we’ll stay good-looking, so we won’t have to replace ourselves with younger guys.”
Uncle Razz nodded. “Let’s hear you sing something then,” he said. “How bad could it be?”
“Turn on that drum beat,” Braden said to Josh. Josh did, and Braden started singing his version of the Britney Spears song. Josh tried to follow along with his keyboard, and Matt hammered out a few riffs on the red guitar.
After the first few lines, Uncle Razz couldn’t stand anymore. “Stop!” he shouted. He leaned over and unplugged the red guitar. The amp made a protesting noise and then all was quiet except the keyboard’s automatic drum beat.
“Ok, that’s pretty bad,” Uncle Razz said. “You’d better take singing lessons.”
Braden laughed. “Any other ideas?” he asked.
“You’d better have an excellent drummer,” Uncle Razz said.
The keyboard was still doing its drum beat. Matt plugged the guitar back in and started actually playing it. He’d taken classical lessons until he was eleven, then added rock lessons too. He was a pretty good guitarist. Pretty damn good.
Josh started playing some back-up to Matt’s guitar. He had been taking piano for as long as he could walk. His keyboards could do some really neat stuff, which, along with his fingers, produced an amazing repertoire of musical effects.
They settled into a very funky “G-Get up and Dance” and Braden started doing his flamboyant front-man stuff, sans singing. Uncle Razz started bopping his head, and then joined in. They jammed.
The maid came to the top of the stairs again, this time holding a wooden spoon. She was bopping her head, too, and her hips were swinging in a way that would have been very evocative if she were not about fifty and very chunky.
When the jamming finally ceased, Uncle Razz nodded his head. “You boys have something, I think. Here’s what we have to do. Get a drummer.”
The guys nodded.
“Then we’re going to pick a few songs. We’re going to record Braden singing each one about fifty times. He’ll have to get some parts right some of the time. I’m going to edit all the good bits together into one song. It’ll sound like he can actually sing.”
The guys were awed. “You can do that?” asked Matt.
“Of course I can. We’ll have to book about two weeks at a recording studio. It’ll cost heaps, but I’m sure your parents will be happy to foot the bill. Then, when you guys perform, we’ll play the recording of Braden singing, and he can lip sync.”
“Like Britney Spears,” Josh said.
“Yes, Josh, like Britney Spears,” Uncle Razz said. “The rest of you can perform live. Until Braden takes lessons and learns how to sing, that is.”
Braden laughed. “After all that hard work recording and editing, why bother?”
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© Copyright 2009 katt (UN: kattbee at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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