A/N: Ok, that's three fics currently on MR in the 60's.....I didn't quite expect this when I began writing my story. Karadarlin's is just too cool, and if I may say so, she has some great things planned for it. :-), so do read and review hers as well as mine.
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Chapter 2- Magic Moments
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"Maaaaaagic mooooooments, when two hearts are caring........time can't erase the memories of.....these maaaaagic moooooments fiiiilllled with love......"
It seemed the weight of his bags or the rather heavy sitar case could not sink Chris' exuberance. They were finally here! He tramped down the road switching between singing and whistling loudly, while Frankie (carrying his even heavier guitar case and music sheets), Tom (carrying his art supplies and one very huge blank canvas), Rico (carrying microphones and audio equipment) and Uncle Jim (bringing up the rear with his large bass, conviently on wheels) all trudged behind him.
"Isn't it wonderful?" Chris asked them when they stopped to look over the hill to where the stage was and where thousands of people already resided, their noise filtering towards them at an alarming rate.
"The hills are alive with the sound of music!" sang Tom in mock-drama, spinning around as best he could weighed down with all his bags and canvas.
"With songs they have sung, for a thousand years....." Chris added, grinning madly at his friend as they stumbled down the hill towards the music.
Upon reaching where the music was, they found a tall wide man with faded red hair and a cheerful place. Chris couldn't help but snicker at the man, who in his purple velvet suit and lace cravat, looked very out-of-place among the fringes, beads and flowing bohemian clothes.
"How do you do?" the man asked, extending a hand which Chris shook. "I'm Harrison Ziedfield, but you can call me Harry if you like. Just arrived?"
All this was said very quickly, so Chris paused before answering. "Yes, I'm Chris. Chris Jones. And this is my band Bohemian Storm, and my best friend Tom." he then gestured to Frankie, Rico, Uncle Jim and Tom, who all took turns shaking hands with the enthusiastic Harry.
"What can we do for you, Mr Ziedfield?" asked Rico.
"Well, Mr Ramirez, I'm here in search of a suitable band for my client. Shall we walk and talk? I can take you to my camping spot." Ziedfield asked.
Chris looked to his friends, who all exchanged glances and finally nodded.
"My client's name is Samantha Woods. She's a singer and songwriter, and very talented. I expect you boys would know the trials of trying to climb the pyramid of fame and fortune, so I hope you'd understand what my little sparrow is going through at the moment. She hasn't any money, but I know the girl has it in her to be a famous singer. She just needs the right band to help her on her way."
"And you want us to be that band?" Chris asked, as they weaved through the sea of tents they'd just entered.
"Well there's you and this other band, Dukey and the Ninettes. They write their own material too, but I'm not so sure they'd be able to cater to Sam's type of music . Here we are!" he announced as they came to an extremely fancy-looking red tent. Chris could not believe his eyes. It looked like it was made of red velvet, and were those gold tassles? It was as weird and wonderful-looking as Ziedfield himself.
"Come in!" he invited, pushing open the flap and standing aside to let them in.
Inside was just as ornate. The whole area reeked of incense, and candles, statues of Indian Gods and exotic fabrics were draped all over the place.
"All done by my designer Sanjeev," grinned Ziedfield proudly. "how do you like it?"
"Ah....it's....." Chris began.
"Splendiferous!" Uncle Jim yelled happily,dropping his bags and immediately examining the paintings on the wall depicting Indian-style people in odd sexual positions.
"Spectacular!" cried Frankie, collapsing onto some cushions.
"Poetic!" shouted Rico, collapsing beside him.
"Bohemian!" finished Tom, throwing an arm around Chris' shoulders. "We love it."
Chris nodded quickly, still somewhat speechless. "Yes, yes.....all that Mr Ziedfield, and alot more."
"Glad to hear it, boy." replied Ziedfield in a sing-song voice. "Now, I trust you all have your own sleeping bags?"
All five nodded, and Ziedfield continued. "Good, you can stay here then! Now, I'll have to arrange sometime for a gig. Dylan is playing tonight. What do you say to being the entertainment before he comes on?"
Chris could've sworn that he saw stars in his own eyes. Opening for Bob Dylan? That was the stuff of dreams!
"Yes!" Chris yelled a little too loudly. "We'd be delighted."
"Good-o. Can I hear you sing something just now?"
Chris looked to his friends, who nodded. Chris pulled his sitar out of his case, Frankie grabbed his guitar, Jim his bass, Rico began to bang out a rhythm on a drum nearby and Tom and Ziedfield settled down on the cushions to watch.
"I got my first real six-string, bought it at the five-and-dime, played it til my fingers bled. It was the summer of '69." Christian sang, as Frankie played.
"Me and some guys from school.....had a band and we tried real hard....."
"I've never seen anyone play a sitar like that," Ziedfield murmured in wonderment. "he certainly has talent."
"He was taught by the legendary Maharishi," said Tom, "one of the greatest sitar players in India...."
Ziedfield's eyes widened. "Really?! Well, Samantha will be delighted to hear of of this. We must arrange a meeting after the gig."
Tom grinned and applauded as the song finished. Chris grinned, exhausted but happy.
Ziedfield jumped up. "Impressive boy! My, you'll be an asset to Samantha. What do you say to a meeting after your performance?"
Chris considered this for a second before answering "Yeah, sure."
Little did he know just what he was getting into.
~*^*~
Chris couldn't get over how big the crowds were.
"Jesus..." he murmured absently, earning himself a swift slap on the arm from Rico, who thrust forward his tarnished silver cross and kissed it, reminding Chris of his friend's surprisingly high moral standards.
Nervously, Chris took the front microphone, testing it and feeling his confidence rising yelled out "Hello Woodstock!!!"
The response was muted, as the hippie crowds clapped with few cheers coming from the crowd.
Chris wondered briefly about what he'd say next before announcing "My name's Chris Jones, and I'm here from New York with my band Bohemian Storm," he gestured to Uncle Jim, Frankie and Rico, who all waved. "and we've come to celebrate truth, beauty, freedom and love!"
The crowd cheered a bit louder this time, clapping, waving banners and ribbons.
"We'd like to begin with this song my guitarist Frankie and I wrote."
He nodded to the others, and they began to play.
"You can bump and grind," Chris sang slowly, trying to ignore the rivulets of sweat streaming down his forehead from the hot stage lights and warm evening. "if it's good for your mind. You can twist and shout, let it all hang out."
"But you won't fool the children of the revolution, no you won't fool the children of the revolution, no no....." they all sang together.
Chris couldn't help but smile. The crowd were starting to warm to him and the band. When it came to the next chorus, a large number were actually singing along.
By the end, everyone was singing along.
"No you won't fool the children of the revolution, no, no you can't fool the children....." Chris finished. By now, the crowd were on it's feet, cheering loudly.
For the first time in his life, Chris was on a high, adrenaline pumping through his veins and the lights shining in his face. Nothing could compare to this. Nothing.
As he headed off the stage with Uncle Jim, Frankie and Rico, Chris decided that it was the most significant moment in his short life.
Suddenly, a soft sweet voice interrupted his reverie.
"Hi Chris."
All thoughts of the excitement of the stage were lost as Chris came face to face with Samantha Woods.
End of chapter
Songs Used:
Magic Moments- Perry Como
The Sound of Music- Rogers and Hammerstein
Summer of '69- Bryan Adams
Children of the Revolution- U2
______________________
Chapter 2- Magic Moments
______________________
"Maaaaaagic mooooooments, when two hearts are caring........time can't erase the memories of.....these maaaaagic moooooments fiiiilllled with love......"
It seemed the weight of his bags or the rather heavy sitar case could not sink Chris' exuberance. They were finally here! He tramped down the road switching between singing and whistling loudly, while Frankie (carrying his even heavier guitar case and music sheets), Tom (carrying his art supplies and one very huge blank canvas), Rico (carrying microphones and audio equipment) and Uncle Jim (bringing up the rear with his large bass, conviently on wheels) all trudged behind him.
"Isn't it wonderful?" Chris asked them when they stopped to look over the hill to where the stage was and where thousands of people already resided, their noise filtering towards them at an alarming rate.
"The hills are alive with the sound of music!" sang Tom in mock-drama, spinning around as best he could weighed down with all his bags and canvas.
"With songs they have sung, for a thousand years....." Chris added, grinning madly at his friend as they stumbled down the hill towards the music.
Upon reaching where the music was, they found a tall wide man with faded red hair and a cheerful place. Chris couldn't help but snicker at the man, who in his purple velvet suit and lace cravat, looked very out-of-place among the fringes, beads and flowing bohemian clothes.
"How do you do?" the man asked, extending a hand which Chris shook. "I'm Harrison Ziedfield, but you can call me Harry if you like. Just arrived?"
All this was said very quickly, so Chris paused before answering. "Yes, I'm Chris. Chris Jones. And this is my band Bohemian Storm, and my best friend Tom." he then gestured to Frankie, Rico, Uncle Jim and Tom, who all took turns shaking hands with the enthusiastic Harry.
"What can we do for you, Mr Ziedfield?" asked Rico.
"Well, Mr Ramirez, I'm here in search of a suitable band for my client. Shall we walk and talk? I can take you to my camping spot." Ziedfield asked.
Chris looked to his friends, who all exchanged glances and finally nodded.
"My client's name is Samantha Woods. She's a singer and songwriter, and very talented. I expect you boys would know the trials of trying to climb the pyramid of fame and fortune, so I hope you'd understand what my little sparrow is going through at the moment. She hasn't any money, but I know the girl has it in her to be a famous singer. She just needs the right band to help her on her way."
"And you want us to be that band?" Chris asked, as they weaved through the sea of tents they'd just entered.
"Well there's you and this other band, Dukey and the Ninettes. They write their own material too, but I'm not so sure they'd be able to cater to Sam's type of music . Here we are!" he announced as they came to an extremely fancy-looking red tent. Chris could not believe his eyes. It looked like it was made of red velvet, and were those gold tassles? It was as weird and wonderful-looking as Ziedfield himself.
"Come in!" he invited, pushing open the flap and standing aside to let them in.
Inside was just as ornate. The whole area reeked of incense, and candles, statues of Indian Gods and exotic fabrics were draped all over the place.
"All done by my designer Sanjeev," grinned Ziedfield proudly. "how do you like it?"
"Ah....it's....." Chris began.
"Splendiferous!" Uncle Jim yelled happily,dropping his bags and immediately examining the paintings on the wall depicting Indian-style people in odd sexual positions.
"Spectacular!" cried Frankie, collapsing onto some cushions.
"Poetic!" shouted Rico, collapsing beside him.
"Bohemian!" finished Tom, throwing an arm around Chris' shoulders. "We love it."
Chris nodded quickly, still somewhat speechless. "Yes, yes.....all that Mr Ziedfield, and alot more."
"Glad to hear it, boy." replied Ziedfield in a sing-song voice. "Now, I trust you all have your own sleeping bags?"
All five nodded, and Ziedfield continued. "Good, you can stay here then! Now, I'll have to arrange sometime for a gig. Dylan is playing tonight. What do you say to being the entertainment before he comes on?"
Chris could've sworn that he saw stars in his own eyes. Opening for Bob Dylan? That was the stuff of dreams!
"Yes!" Chris yelled a little too loudly. "We'd be delighted."
"Good-o. Can I hear you sing something just now?"
Chris looked to his friends, who nodded. Chris pulled his sitar out of his case, Frankie grabbed his guitar, Jim his bass, Rico began to bang out a rhythm on a drum nearby and Tom and Ziedfield settled down on the cushions to watch.
"I got my first real six-string, bought it at the five-and-dime, played it til my fingers bled. It was the summer of '69." Christian sang, as Frankie played.
"Me and some guys from school.....had a band and we tried real hard....."
"I've never seen anyone play a sitar like that," Ziedfield murmured in wonderment. "he certainly has talent."
"He was taught by the legendary Maharishi," said Tom, "one of the greatest sitar players in India...."
Ziedfield's eyes widened. "Really?! Well, Samantha will be delighted to hear of of this. We must arrange a meeting after the gig."
Tom grinned and applauded as the song finished. Chris grinned, exhausted but happy.
Ziedfield jumped up. "Impressive boy! My, you'll be an asset to Samantha. What do you say to a meeting after your performance?"
Chris considered this for a second before answering "Yeah, sure."
Little did he know just what he was getting into.
~*^*~
Chris couldn't get over how big the crowds were.
"Jesus..." he murmured absently, earning himself a swift slap on the arm from Rico, who thrust forward his tarnished silver cross and kissed it, reminding Chris of his friend's surprisingly high moral standards.
Nervously, Chris took the front microphone, testing it and feeling his confidence rising yelled out "Hello Woodstock!!!"
The response was muted, as the hippie crowds clapped with few cheers coming from the crowd.
Chris wondered briefly about what he'd say next before announcing "My name's Chris Jones, and I'm here from New York with my band Bohemian Storm," he gestured to Uncle Jim, Frankie and Rico, who all waved. "and we've come to celebrate truth, beauty, freedom and love!"
The crowd cheered a bit louder this time, clapping, waving banners and ribbons.
"We'd like to begin with this song my guitarist Frankie and I wrote."
He nodded to the others, and they began to play.
"You can bump and grind," Chris sang slowly, trying to ignore the rivulets of sweat streaming down his forehead from the hot stage lights and warm evening. "if it's good for your mind. You can twist and shout, let it all hang out."
"But you won't fool the children of the revolution, no you won't fool the children of the revolution, no no....." they all sang together.
Chris couldn't help but smile. The crowd were starting to warm to him and the band. When it came to the next chorus, a large number were actually singing along.
By the end, everyone was singing along.
"No you won't fool the children of the revolution, no, no you can't fool the children....." Chris finished. By now, the crowd were on it's feet, cheering loudly.
For the first time in his life, Chris was on a high, adrenaline pumping through his veins and the lights shining in his face. Nothing could compare to this. Nothing.
As he headed off the stage with Uncle Jim, Frankie and Rico, Chris decided that it was the most significant moment in his short life.
Suddenly, a soft sweet voice interrupted his reverie.
"Hi Chris."
All thoughts of the excitement of the stage were lost as Chris came face to face with Samantha Woods.
End of chapter
Songs Used:
Magic Moments- Perry Como
The Sound of Music- Rogers and Hammerstein
Summer of '69- Bryan Adams
Children of the Revolution- U2