The next day, the pups woke up in the Patroller. Robodog never woke them up once they had gotten home.
"We did it, pups! We won!" Zuma said, wake all the other pups up.
"We sure did! We still got a lot of work to do and a long way to go until we get big though," Chase encouraged.
"Looks like it's time to record!" Rocky motivated.
The pups first carried in their trophies with pride. Since all the pups got a solo trophy but Chase, and technically Rocky, but Everest was sharing, he got to carry in the band's trophy. They set them all down next to the TV. The band's trophy was as tall as Rocky, Zuma, and Rubble standing on top of each other.
"Now we need a trophy case," Skye said.
"Hell yeah we do!" Tracker agreed.
The pups took their instruments out of the Patroller, then set up. It was time to make some demo recordings! The problem was… they had no recording gear. Time to go back to the music store! They packed into the Patroller and headed to Adventure Bay Music. The same salesmen that were there last time came up to them again.
"I heard you won Battle of the Bands! How did it go?"
"It was amazing! We took home seven trophies!" Marshall bragged.
"That's amazing! Are you looking for recording equipment now?"
"Yup! We need to get ouaw music out theaw!" Zuma said.
"Right this way, we'll show you what's best to buy!"
The salesmen took showed them some recording equipment. An hour of debate and $1,800 later, the pups got enough equipment for the eight of them to record together. They got directional recording microphones so another pups' instrument wouldn't get in the sound of the instrument that it was supposed to be recording. They had to get 16 of the microphones for Chase alone, a module for those 16 microphones, seven more for Rubble, a module for his seven, then six for the rest of the band. This was all hooked up to a server, and controlled through a tablet that Marshall had.
"This is going to be so exciting!"
"What song should we do first?"
The pups decided pretty much unanimously to have their first recorded song be The Rider. They wanted to record, but instead they just messed around and didn't get much done.
"Man, last night was so fun!" Chase said.
"It was nothing like we'd ever done before!"
"It was so different from the talent show!"
"I can't believe I almost bailed! That would've been the biggest mistake of my life! I had so much fun, it was so priceless, nothing would've been able to compare to that!" Marshall reminisced.
The pups had their lives set now. Their performance was life changing. Words really couldn't describe how it felt, what it was like, how close it brought the eight of them. The rushing adrenaline, feeling like a complete badass, delivering the sound to thousands of people, knowing those thousands of people have all their attention on you. Even across the eight of them, the experience was way different for Marshall than it was for Chase, but it was very similar for Rocky and Everest.
"You seriously had us worried!" Rocky said.
"I could feel Ryder there. I knew it was him. It was what motivated me to come back, and with a bigger entrance."
The pups reminisced more about their performance, then just started playing random things. Eventually Marshall got bored.
"Hey Chase, can I try your set?"
"Yeah, go ahead!"
Marshall put on Rubble's gloves, grabbed some drumsticks, and pounded away, bypassing the pedals.
"You sound like Donald Trump." Marshall sang.
The pups laughed. Rocky aimed a mic at Marshall. Even being a couple feet away, it could pick up Marshall's voice because it was a directional mic.
"Shoot me and dump me into a truck!
You'll send me to Mexico, then you'll build your stupid wall!
You'll build your stupid wall!
And then we'll play, and it will fall.
Then we'll destroy Hillary Clinton!
With a simple mitten! There are too much politics
But I really don't care, because I live in Canada.
The sin comes strong within because SATAN! SATAN! SAAATAAAN!"
Marshall didn't want to add to the stereotype that metal is satanic, but you should never avoid stereotypes to have fun. Plus the pups were all some form of Christian, so even if someone tried to say they're satanic, they're not.
"Satan is real! SATAN IS REAL!
I can feel the horns growing out of my head!
The horns growing out of my tail!
The spikes! The spikes! Just like…
SLIPKNOT! SLIPKNOT! ANNIVERSARY!
Calling back on me! Calling Judas, Brutus,
And Black Ops 2! Zombies! Nacht der Toten!
Alcatraz! No!
III! Aaaam! Juuust! Aaaa! Puuup!"
The other seven pups were on the floor, busting their guts from laughing so hard. They were laughing until they were crying. It didn't help when Marshall went absolutely crazy on the set and started screaming nonsense. When Marshall was done going crazy, he got his breath, the pups crying from laughter. He started making a beat and singing again.
"No! Please!" Everest begged.
"Excuse me, but I must say
Satan is here today
God please help us all
Because Satan is here, today!"
Marshall just kept going crazy, then out of nowhere, stopped.
"Rocky!"
"What?"
Marshall just stared awkwardly at Rocky.
"What's wrong with you?"
Marshall started screaming and going insane again. Eventually, he finally stopped, hot and completely out of breath.
"Ow… I don't know what happened. Must've fell asleep."
"I recorded that!" Rocky said.
Marshall ran, grabbed a microphone and lyric sheet and casually started rehearsing his part. That was funny to the pups. Marshall just kept finding a way to add pain to the pups' guts and tears of laugher to their eyes.
"Let's get serious, let's try to get three songs recorded," Rocky was determined.
The pups got behind their instruments. It was hard to get serious without the crowd. Even with the months of practice, it wasn't going to be the same now that they played in front of that kind of crowd. The started jamming randomly, and accidentally made a really cool, sinister sounding song. Marshall didn't have any lyrics, and he can't freestyle serious lyrics, so he just sat back and listened to music the pups created.
Double bass from Chase, downtuned and distorted guitar from Rocky, and screeching guitar from Everest, Zuma's bass going crazy, Rubble hitting the steel and keg drums, then Skye's synthesizer track, along with some mixing from Tracker every now and then. It sounded really good! He was glad he started recording. With just playing random things, he was impressed with how well they stayed together. Eventually, they got to a chaotic ending, but it matched the character of the song.
"The Lookout's Anthem!" Marshall named.
The pups were confused.
"I recorded that. That sounded amazing! That's what that song's going to be called!"
The pups were enthusiastic. But Marshall, had to intervene to get them to play The Rider.
"Skye, Tracker, do your thing with The Rider!"
Skye went to do her keyboard track, but she didn't start in time. She played again, but Tracker messed up. After a few more attempts, Marshall got to his serenade.
"After our loss
We needed a…"
Rocky was making stupid faces at Marshall, and he started laughing.
"Hey, don't do that! I'm trying to sing!"
After a few more attempts, Marshall made it through his serenade. Zuma and Chase got to their duo. Problem was, Zuma's amp wasn't on.
"Hey, your amp's not on! You can't play without an amp!" Marshall gave Zuma hell.
"Hey, I just turned it on, it's…"
"No! Go die Zuma!"
Marshall and Zuma seemed to be getting closer and closer. After about an hour, they finally got the song perfected. It took an hour to perfect a six minute song. They worked on their own version of Moskau, which they would call Home Town. It also took about an hour for that. Not only were the pups just simply not in the performance mood, but they also wanted it to sound perfect.
They worked on their self titled for a little bit. That's when Marshall got a call. Not a call… THE call. Well, it wasn't Marshall's phone, it was Ryder's old pup pad. It would be what they used for the band. Marshall answered.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is Mick Hunt from Roadrunner Records, and I was at your performance at Battle of the Bands last night. I was wondering if you were interested in a record deal."
"If you're a telemarker, I don't want anything you're selling."
"I'm not a telemarketer. In fact, I wanna buy from you!"
"You wanna buy from us? We're not selling anything."
Chase intervened, "Who is that?"
"Some guy from Roadrunner Records."
"Marshall you idiot! Put it on speaker!" Rocky yelled.
Marshall put it on speaker, then set the pup pad down.
"Yes we'aw intewested!" Zuma said immediately.
"Really? Great! You live in Canada, right? We have an offices in Seattle and Vancouver, which ever works best for you, we can sign a contract and get you in a studio by the end of the month."
The pups were stunned! A record deal just like that! A day after they performed!
"Uh… Um… yeah! That… that's amazing… that… that'd work!" Rocky agreed.
"Seattle or Vancouver?"
"Sea… Vanvou… uh… which uh… fuckin… Vancouver!"
The pups looked over at Rocky, who stunned himself. They've never heard him say that word! The one time he ever said it, it was when they should probably be the most formal and respectful. He just stepped away from the phone, then started laughing. They were relieved to hear the Roadrunner representative didn't care. He probably thought nothing of it.
"Great! It's Monday the 13th now, how does the Wednesday the 15th sound?"
The pups, silenced, all looked across each other. In the studio after Christmas, get their album done by March, tour by May!
"That's amazing! That… deal!"
"Great! I will see you Wednesday!"
After the Roadrunner representative hung up, that pups all yelled and celebrated and jumped around like they did when they won Battle of the Bands!
"We did it! We're going big!" "Roadrunner is Slipknot's label!" "We're going worldwide!" "I love you all!"
They continued recording their demos, becuase they figured it'd help out with the actual recording. In just two days, their lives had turned around completely! Ryder was helping them! He was making sure they're successful! God was on their side! The torment they went through, Ryder's death, this was redemption! They've made it this far, now it's time to go all the way! Time for the fame and fortune! Time to kick ass!
AN: Rest In Peace Jerry Heller, former manager of NWA. He died yesterday after suffering a health complication while driving. The health complication caused a fatal accidence.