Chapter Three: We Will, We Will, Rock You (Hopefully!)
"Oof! Oof! Oi! Too tight!" Lance panted, wearing only a three-sizes-too-small-for-him black T-shirt and struggling to step into his skintight pair of black leather pants, adorned with a scattering of silver chains and spikes around the lace-up crotch area. Just then, Rikki passed by the hopping Lance, spraying God only knew what into his already mousse-augmented hair and looking perfectly comfortable in his own pair of equally tight (if not even tighter!) leather pants. The belligerent lead singer, looking every bit the part of heavy metal front man in his black leather and hairspray, stopped in front of a cracked, dusty mirror and began applying kohls of midnight-black mascara around his eyes to make his scarlet-tinted contacts stand out even further. Morgan, meanwhile, stepped out from behind the screen that had been set up for her in the changing room, all glammed out in a shiny plastic purple jacket over a homemade black fishnet top and a red leather miniskirt. She stumbled and nearly tripped in her clunky black thigh-high boots, but otherwise seemed perfectly comfortable in her hideous heavy metal stage costume. Just as Lance finally succeeded in squeezing into his leather pants, Jericho and Pietro emerged simultaneously from the bathrooms, the former decked out in only a pair of glossy plastic turquoise pants and nothing else, the latter crammed into a sleeveless white T-shirt and a pair of faded and shredded jeans that looked like they'd run into a pair of highly unfriendly scissors. Jericho got to the only other mirror in the room first, and began brushing his already perfect hair. Unfortunately for him, Pietro had by then decided that, as rhythm guitarist (and soon to be lead guitarist, as soon as Lance screwed up and got demoted), it was his job to look as perfect as he could be and thusly outshine his partner in crime. Pietro promptly arrived in front of the mirror as well, elbowed Jericho out of the way, and began brushing his own perfect hair. Jericho glared at his snotty, silver-haired band mate, before using his strength advantage to return Pietro's favor with extra force, and resuming brushing his golden locks. Pietro scowled, before sticking his tongue out at the taller blonde and worming his way back in front of the mirror to tend his perfect hair. Jericho grew annoyed, as he grumbled, "Hey, shove off; it's my turf!" Pietro didn't bother to even look at the drummer as he sang out in that maddening tone of his, "Don't you know how to share?" The irate Jericho responded by drawing himself to his full height of six foot five, and snapping, "No, I guess not!"
"Come on, you two prima donnas,
learn to play nice!" Lance called out from his corner, gingerly testing
out his skintight leather pants and ending up walking as though he'd been
riding a horse all day. A skittish, angry horse. Who jumped and bounced.
A lot. Morgan, meanwhile, gloated from her tiny little area of the dressing
room, "Ha! That's what you two get for having such pretty hair!" Her tiny
nose squinched up, as she then proceeded to grumble, "Although, it's still
not fair that you two get such gorgeous hair; I mean, I'm a girl, and girls
are supposed to generally have prettier hair than boys, and you know who
has really pretty hair? Oh, no wait, I forgot! Oh, well. But seriously,
you know who had really ugly hair? Wait...I forgot that, too. Oh, oh, I
know! Jennifer has really pretty hair!" Jericho and Pietro, apparently
having settled out their differences on their own, turned around to gawk
at the rambling Morgan, before a clueless Jericho broke into the purple-haired
bassist's rants to inquire, "Who's Jennifer? Is that one of our ex-band
mates who quit the band?" Morgan shot him a weird look, as she reminded
him, "No, you silly Jerky! Jennifer's our manager, remember?" Jericho frowned,
biting down on his lower lip.
"Oh, gee, I thought her
name was Janelle," he mumbled. Darting an annoyed look in Morgan's direction,
he added, "And quit calling me Jerky, you...you Minnie Mouse!" Morgan pouted.
"Hey! That's mean!" she
whined.
Fortunately for the band,
Jennifer peeked her head into the dressing room before Morgan could go
off on another one of her rambling spaz trips, calling out sweetly, "Hey,
is it safe to come in now?"
"Yeah, we're all done!"
Lance replied, shouldering on his electric guitar and gingerly testing
out the strings, which, at Morgan's suggestion, had been soaked in honey
before show time. Jennifer entered the room, and a pleased look swept across
her features as she noticed that the entire band was sober, dressed, and
ready to go as soon as the second opening act finished their hour-long
set.
"Great, looks like we're
all set to go," she chirped brightly, surveying the band members. Rikki,
fully glammed out, was standing in front of his mirror, pumping his fist
into the air and hollering, "I am a rock star!" while a shirtless Jericho
sat on his drum stool and chatted casually with Morgan, who was distractedly
testing out her bass. Their newest guitar players, Lance and Pietro, nervously
paced back and forth, wearing their guitars too low and fiddling around
with the strings, looking somewhat nervous about having to perform and
appearing totally uncomfortable in their heavy metal gear. Jennifer shrugged.
That was only natural--both the nervousness at having to play lead and
rhythm guitar after only three and a half hours of lessons, as well as
the discomfort at having to stumble around onstage in skintight leather
pants and strategically shredded jeans. Clearing her throat and whistling
to get the distracted band's attention, Jennifer called out some basic
instructions, starting off with a basic pep talk before delving into an
explanation of how the performance at Valentino's was supposed to go.
"All right, the second opening
act's just about done now, and after a five-minute intermission, you guys
will be on," she began. Just then, Pietro spoke up.
"Um, question?" At Jennifer's
nod, the platinum-haired rhythm guitarist demanded, "How the hell are we
supposed to know when to go on?"
"That would be when the
owner of the club announces the band's name," Jennifer spoke condescendingly,
and Pietro retorted irritably, "What the hell is the band's name,
anyway?" Jennifer blinked in surprise.
"You mean nobody has told
you yet?" She turned accusing blue eyes to the original three members of
the band. Rikki ignored her and continued striking poses in front of the
mirror and shouting out, "I am a rock star!", Jericho stared stupidly back
at her with wide, innocent eyes, and Morgan eeped and lowered her gaze
to the floor, fiddling around and pretending to be fascinated by the torn
linoleum tiles. Jennifer placed her hands on her hips, as she began admonishingly,
"Morgan..."
"I forgot!" Morgan wailed.
Jennifer shrugged, and decided that she could afford to let that particular
mistake go.
"Okay, the band's name is
Ömega," she began, to which Lance burst out laughing as he mocked,
"Ömega? That sounds like a frickin' sports car!" Pietro joined in,
snickering, "Yeah, I can just see it now: the 2002 Ford Ömega, goes
from zero to sixty in five seconds! No interest fee, zero down payment,
fifteen hundred dollar cash back--"
"Okay, okay!" Jennifer snapped
irritably. "So it's not exactly as cool as Metallica or Guns N' Roses!
You're not exactly at liberty to complain, ya know!"
"So, what exactly are band
members called? Surely not something as cool as Gunners," Lance scorned.
"Listen, the two of you
better stuff it, or else I'll sic Motor Mouth Morgan on you!" Jennifer
threatened. Lance and Pietro's eyes widened impossibly, as both guitarists
shrieked, "NO!" Morgan, meanwhile, turned away from her conversation with
Jericho, long enough to inquire sweetly, "Did you say something about me?"
Jennifer shot a gleeful smirk at the two cowering guitar players, before
turning to Morgan and whistling innocently, "Oh, nothing, it's just that
a little birdie told me that Lance and Pietro think Ömega is a stupid
name for a band." Morgan's chin jutted way out, as she opened her mouth
to the horror of Lance and Pietro, before shrieking, "Hey, you take that
back you mean...boys! That is so incredibly not nice, and totally rude,
and besides, I'd like to see you two come up with a better name! I mean,
when this band originally formed two years ago, we were a cover band, so
we called it B.E.E., after W.A.S.P., ya know? And then, when we started
writing our own songs, did ya know that we were gonna change our band name
from B.E.E. to Anthrax? Did ya did ya did ya? Well, so then anyway, our
original lead singer, Trina Joyce, pointed out that the name Anthrax was
already taken! Grr, I hate smart people, so then Jericho came up with the
name Ömega, and then when Trina left the band because she and Jericho
used to go out, before they broke up "on account of his airheadedness"
and so when Trina left, we thought about changing the band name to Anthrax,
since she was no longer around to point out that we'd ripped off some funny-looking
bald guy with a bigass goatee, and--"
Just then, the club owner's booming voice announced that the headliners that night would be Ömega, thankfully sparing not just Lance and Pietro, but by then a murderously pissed off Rikki Stixx as well from a spazzed-out Morgan and her mighty mouth. Rikki tossed back his headful of steel-black locks, growled out, "Well, we're on!" and stormed out of the dressing room and toward the stage, with the rest of the band following at his heels. Ömega took the stage, as the fans cheered wildly (and, in many cases, drunkenly as well), with Rikki immediately going up to the microphone and commanding all of the attention. Jennifer, meanwhile, peeked out from behind the stage, noting nervously the several record label execs and noted producers in the front row. Mentally going over the setlist that night, she remembered with immense relief that out of the fifteen songs chosen, the ten originals were relatively clean with very little swearing or sexual references, whereas the five covers, including Van Halen's "Panama" that was slated to kick off the show, were also fairly non-explicit. Just in case though, knowing how Rikki liked to improvise...Jennifer decided that she had a highly unpleasant and grueling task ahead of her, mentally going over all the lyrics to Guns N' Roses' "Welcome to the Jungle", Def Leppard's "Photograph", Mötley Crüe's version of "Smokin' in the Boys' Room", and AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long" to see if there were any blatant opportunities for Rikki to insert the occasional sexual innuendo or explicit curse words.
Meanwhile, as Jennifer fretted and frantically ran through song lyrics, Ömega itself had already kicked off the set with a cover of "Panama", delving into the familiar intro and with Lance and Pietro playing surprisingly well. Rikki, looking every bit the rock star that he'd claimed to be back in the dressing room, took the microphone off its mic stand so that he could move freely about the stage without a long metal pole trailing behind him, and began to sing.
"Jump back, what's that sound?
Here she comes, full blast and top down
Hot shoe, burnin' down the avenue
Model citizen, zero discipline!"
Jennifer nodded along to the lyrics. So far, so good. Rikki had yet to add one of his infamously for the worse ad-libs. Lance and Pietro, meanwhile, were handling guitar duties rather effortlessly, especially considering the complexity of Eddie Van Halen's playing. The tall, slim manager absently brushed a strand of honey-colored hair away from her face, beginning to relax and enjoy the show as the three guitarists joined Rikki's trademark abrasive vocals, offering a starkly contrasting alternative to the voice of Diamond Dave that old school Van Halen fans were used to.
"Don't you know she's coming home with me?
You'll lose her in the turn
I'll get her!"
The quartet sang together,
their vocals soaring above the playful guitar riffs. And then, as the song's
self-titled chorus began, disaster struck, much to Jennifer's dismay. Morgan,
ever the hyperactive one, gleefully screeched out her part in a high-pitched
squeal that would have outshone Rikki's own keening, abrasive voice, had
it not been lacking so much harmony. Meanwhile, Lance, in his desperate
effort to maintain his masculinity amidst all the glammed out stage costumes
and eye makeup, belted out the chorus of "Panama" in as low a voice as
he possibly could, and ended up croaking out the lyrics. And Pietro outright
mixed up the chorus altogether, happily trilling a chorus of, "Animal!"
Suddenly, as Pietro happily sang out his own made up chorus of, "Animal!"
while the rest of the band was shrieking, "Panama!" one of the groupie
wannabes tossed up her bra onstage to join the numerous items of lingerie
already cluttering the stage. Unfortunately for the band, though, this
time, the lavender satin bra smacked a startled Pietro squarely in the
face, something he wasn't used to, especially when concentrating on picking
his way through his newly acquired rhythm guitar.
"Oh, my God! I'm blind!"
Rikki, fortunately, blinked dazedly for only a second amidst the messed-up
chorus and Pietro's comical flailings as he wailed about and ran around
the stage with his rhythm guitar bouncing against his crotch and a violet
brassiere tangled on his face. Rikki, ever the efficient front man, quickly
brushed off the chaos surrounding the stage and his rhythm guitarist, before
resuming his duties as the lead singer, effectively drowning out the backup
vocals and allowing the guitar players to resume their duties.
"Ain't nothin' like it, her shiny machine.
Got the feel for the wheel, keep the moving parts clean
Hot shoe, burnin' down the avenue
Got an on-ramp comin' through my bedroom
Don't you know she's coming home with me?
You'll lose her in the turn
I'll get her!"
The song delved into its
chorus once again, the backup vocalists churned out their screwed up version
of the extremely simple chorus of, "Panama!" before Lance, proudly basking
in the glow as the lead guitarist, slid into the guitar solo of "Panama",
struggling to do at least some justice to Eddie Van Halen's original
version with his pathetic beginner skills. Rikki impatiently cut back into
the vocals at his cue, beginning the spoken part of the song.
"Yeah, we're runnin' a little
bit hot tonight," he murmured seductively into the microphone. "I can barely
see the road from the heat comin' off of it/Ah, you reach down, between
my legs..." Rikki blinked suddenly, as realization dawned upon him that
he'd flat out forgotten the next sentence. Ömega's three guitarists
played own, stretching the notes for as long as they possibly could, while
Rikki stood planted behind the mic stand, staring cluelessly into the crowds
as he struggled to remember his lines. Meanwhile, from behind the stage,
Jennifer gazed in dismay at the suddenly unimpressed record company bigshots,
pursing their lips thinly as they alternated between glaring in disdain
at the band onstage, playing aimlessly on while their crassly belligerent
front man struggled to remember the lyrics, and glaring in disdain at the
drunken headbangers and skimpily-clad groupies going wild around them,
trying with growing success to storm the stage. Jennifer sighed, and rubbed
her throbbing temples. It seemed as if Ömega seemed determined to
screw up their one last chance at getting signed.
Rikki stormed into the dressing
room, angrily throwing away the towel he'd used to wipe off both his mascara
and his sweat, as he growled in a biting tone, his words aimed at Pietro,
"It was the simplest chorus in the history of arena rock! Panama! How can
you possibly screw that up?" Pietro blinked cluelessly up at the furious
lead singer, before tee heeing nervously under Rikki's murderous glare
and quickly apologizing, "Eh heh. Sorry?" Jericho glanced up from his own
corner, calling out lazily, "Oh, lay off the kid, Rixx! It's his first
show!" Morgan joined Jericho by chirping brightly, "Yeah, Rikki, don't
be such a big meanie! Besides, weren't you the one who forgot the lyrics
to "Panama"?" A furious Rikki turned around, his bad temper diverted toward
the tiny Morgan, as he launched into a scathing verbal assault.
"Hey, I've been fronting
this rock & roll band for damn longer than all your other lead singers
combined!" he snapped acidly. "I think I've earned my right to screw up
every now and then!"
"Oh, come on, Rikki, everyone
gets to mess up the chorus every now and then," Morgan pouted. Rikki scowled.
"The whole frickin' song
was called "Panama"!" he sulked. "How could someone possibly think
that a song titled "Panama" would have a chorus of "Animal"?!"
Morgan shrugged.
"Well, plenty of songs have
choruses that have nothing to do with the song title," she pointed out
reasonably. Snapping her fingers as she remembered something, the tiny
bassist chirped, "Like Pearl Jam's "Evenflow"!"
Rikki shot her an incredulous look.
"The word "Evenflow" is
in the song, ya waste of brain cells!" he exploded. Morgan shrugged, brushing
her mistake aside.
"Eh, who can tell what Eddie
Vedder's singing? He mumbles a lot," she whined sulkily, while Rikki glared
at her.
"Aw, chill out, both of
you," Jericho groaned. He then tipped his head over to Jennifer as he added,
"C'mon, Rixx, even that...that...manager chick, whatever her name is, seems
to be cool with the whole "Panama" thing!" Jennifer, meanwhile, was mumbling
to herself, "I will not kick his ass, I will not kick his
ass, I will not kick his ass..." Whether she was referring to Pietro,
who'd managed to convert a chorus of "Panama!" into "Animal!" and then
proceeded to have a heart attack over a bra thrown onto the stage, or whether
she was referring to Rikki, who'd forgotten a vital chunk of the lyrics
after the part of, "Ah, you reach down between my legs..." and thus turned
what had at first been a relatively innocent and fun party song in "Panama"
into something far naughtier, one couldn't tell.
"Ma'am, you can't come in
here, unless you've got a...um, well, a special, ahem, "lady friend" pass,"
the voice of one of Valentino's bouncers broke into the chatter and noise
of Ömega's dressing room. Suddenly, the doors slammed wide open, and
a slim, stylishly-dressed Japanese young woman who appeared to be in her
mid-twenties burst into the room.
"Outta my way, old tall,
dark, and stupid!" she snapped rudely, making shooing motions with her
hands as if to swat the six foot seven bouncer away like some fly on her
window. The band started up in bewilderment at this intruder in their dressing
room, and Jericho hurriedly zipped up the fly of his shiny blue plastic
pants.
"Hey, who's this broad?"
the handsome blonde drummer remarked, sounding far more amused than he
did puzzled, while Rikki glowered and Morgan just stared up at the dark-haired
woman with wide blue eyes. Jennifer got up from her seat, her mind taken
off the humiliating performance that night, as she started toward the Japanese
woman and asked warily, "Can I help you, Miss...?" Her voice trailed off,
as the other woman extended her hand and spoke in a very curt, business
fashion, "Oyama. Roxanne Oyama, call me Roxy, hon, we should do lunch sometime,
what do you think of May, I'm booked for the next three months." She paused
to take a breath and flip back her dyed honey-colored hair, before continuing.
"Anyway, I've come to discuss
the possibility of a record contract for your band--is it Ömega something?"
She arched her eyebrows questioningly, as Jennifer hastened to correct
her, "Just Ömega, Ms. Oyama."
"Please, call me Roxy, hon,"
Ms. Oyama--Roxy--requested, then pushed past Jennifer on her way to front
man Rikki Stixx. "You the lead singer, kid?" In response, Rikki darted
a bored, condescending look in her direction.
"Who wants to know?" he
demanded in a belligerent tone of voice. Roxy, however, was unabashed,
as she shot right back, "Well, unless you want to be playing crappy nightclubs
for the rest of your singing career, then you'd better spill the details,
and you'd better do it right now." Glancing at her watch, she added, "I've
only got fifteen minutes with which to make a deal with the band, and unless--"
"We'll be more than happy
to cooperate with you, Miss...um, Roxy," Jennifer cut in quickly, before
Rikki could insult Roxy any further and send Ömega's last chance at
signing a record deal storming out the dressing room in a huff. Roxy smiled,
looking pleased with the way things were going.
"Good, good," she murmured
in satisfaction, then reached into her briefcase and pulled out a stack
of documents. "Well, here are the papers for you to sign. Just read through
the contract and sign on the dotted line," she instructed, watching as
Jennifer carefully went over the documents, before giving the go-ahead
for the band to sign.
"So," Jennifer began, as
all five of Ömega's members signed on the dotted line. "Which record
company are you representing? Atlantic? Elektra? Warner Bros.?"
Roxy shook her head, before promptly replying, "It's my own record
label, and I'll be working as the band's producer, publicist, and evil
dictator...um, I mean, mentor!"
"Right," Jennifer nodded
pleasantly, as Roxy went on.
"I call it Red Zeppelin
Records," she added, sounding quite pleased with herself as she named her
cleverly-titled record company. Jennifer nearly did a double take.
"Red Zeppelin?" she
choked out, her voice rising incredulously. Roxy nodded, all business.
"That's right," she confirmed.
"I wanted a company name that record buyers could tell for sure worked
with only quality hard rock and metal acts."
"Well, I've seen and heard
weirder things after living with the band for over two years, and am thus
in no position to judge," Jennifer muttered. She watched as all five band
members finished signing the contract, then handed the papers over to Roxy,
who eagerly returned them to her briefcase before latching it shut.
"So, then," Roxy began.
"I'll see you at my studio at eight o' clock next morning. Be prepared
to record your first rock album."
*Ta da! Chapter Three's done! Next up, Ömega tries to record its first album and shoot its first music video, which will be their so very spectacular cover of Van Halen's "Panama" (or "Animal", according to Pietro!), complete with bungee jumping and everything, before going out for the cliché drunken rock & roll partying! ~_^
