"I know there's somethin' very strange happenin' to my brain..." Suddenly the sound of "Sweet Young Thing" cuts through the silence. Mike glances up at the CCTV monitor and sees his friend at the door. He hurries down the stairs to the front door and lets the man inside.
"Boomer! How the hell are ya?" Mike greets his friend with a big hug. Boomer and Michael go way back to their days in Texas - before Mona and before California dreams became reality. Michael had not seen Boomer much since joining The Monkees. Boomer had been busy with his own musical endeavors.
"Fine, fine. Nice house y'all got here," compliments Boomer in a Texas drawl rivaling Michael's.
"Thanks. Mona an' I think it's a groovy pad. C'mon in." Michael beckons the other Texan into the house. "Make yourself to home. Wait a minute! What am I thinkin'? Let me show ya 'round." Michael gives his friend the grand tour of Chez Nesmith. Once the two men reach the music room, Boomer pulls out a folded paper from his jacket pocket and unfolds it.
"Hey Mike, I've somethin' I'd like to show ya."
"What is it, man?"
"Me an' Murph came up with this tune the other day an' I thought of you as soon as he played it for me."
Mike replies, "Y'all thought of me?"
"Yeah. This one has a country feel, like some of your other tunes."
Mike thinks of what to say for a moment and then says, "Thanks, Boomer. That means a lot to me. Now let's hear that tune!"
"Great!" Boomer walks over to the stand where Blondie, Mike's beloved blonde Gretsch 12-string guitar, sits. As soon as he reaches out to pick her up, Mike taps his hand and scolds him, "Don't do that."
Boomer jumps back and apologizes, "Sorry, man. I didn't know..."
Mike cuts him off, "It's okay, man. I'm... uh... touchy about who touches my baby."
"I dig."
"Hey, how 'bout you try Sunny, the orange sunburst Gretsch. She's Mona's 12-string."
"Ya sure Mona won't mind?"
"Mona's... Mona's not as... uh... possessive... as I am." Mike chuckles softly. "Just don't touch Benji."
"Benji?"
"Her banjo."
"Okay, if you say so." Boomer places the unfolded paper on a Hamilton music stand. He then picks up the sunburst Gretsch and starts strumming the opening chords to his new song.
"Hey Boomer, you forgot this..." Mike hands his friend the plug to his Vox Super-Beatle cabinet amp. Boomer takes the plug and carefully inserts it into Mona's Gretsch. Even at volume level one, the Super-Beatle cab is loud. Boomer stands in front of a microphone and starts the song again. Mike stands there, dumbfounded. It's the grooviest tune he's heard in quite a while.
"Unbelievable! That's it! That's where it's at!"
"You like it?"
"Man, that riff is outtasite!" Mike walks over to Blondie and picks her up. "You gotta teach me that, man!"
"That was my intention, Shotgun."
Mike smiles to himself. It's rare for someone else to refer to him as "Shotgun," even his other fellow Texans. Boomer and Mike sit down knees-to-knees, and Boomer teaches Mike the chords to his song.
"So, Boomer, ya still haven't told me the name of this new tune."
"Sorry, man. I stone forgot. It's called 'Loudmouth Yankee.'"
With a puzzled look on his face, Mike mouths the words "Loudmouth Yankee" back to Boomer. "Hey, now wait a minute! Where have I heard that term before?"
Just then, Mona comes through the front door and starts calling Mike's name. Once she reaches the music room, Mike has an epiphany.
"That's it!" he exclaims.
"What's it?" Mona and Boomer ask in unison.
"Well, hello there, my Loudmouth Yankee," greets Mike, dramatically.
"Hello to you too..." Mona replies. "What's gotten into you, babe? And who's your friend?"
"Merciful heavens!" Mike exclaims in an exaggerated Texas grandma voice (which sounds suspiciously like Princess Gwen). He continues the act, "How rude of me." Mike turns to Boomer and introduces him to Mona, using the same voice, "Boomer, this is my beautiful wife, Mona. Mona, this is my old friend Boomer Castleman."
Mona laughs at the spectacle. "Nice to meet you, Boomer." She holds her hand out to him. He shakes it. "So, what were y'all two cowboys working on?"
Mike's voice returns to normal, "Boomer brought me over this bitchin' new tune."
"Really? Let's hear it!"
"Okay."
Mike starts playing the riff and Boomer sings the words. Mona starts bobbing her head and tapping her foot to the music. Once the final chord fades away, Mona gets up and gives Mike a big hug.
"Babe, that was incredible! That riff... You're a genius!"
"Thanks, but I can't take credit for that riff."
"Oh, really?" Mona asks in shock.
"Believe it or not, sometimes others teach me stuff too. This one's on Boomer."
"Well, you both made a really happenin' song."
Ever since Boomer taught Mike "Loudmouth Yankee," Mike can't stop trying to make it "his own." He's spent every moment of his limited free time tweaking it, yet he's still not satisfied. After yet another wasted hour, he throws down his headphones and storms out of the music room. Mike's heavy footsteps echo throughout the open areas of the rambler. Mona can hear him stomping from the living room. Mike plops onto the couch next to her and lets out a long sigh.
"What's wrong, babe?" Mona asks, her voice full of concern.
"It's that dang song."
"What about it? You beatin' a dead horse again?"
"Somethin' like that. I can't help but think it's missin' somethin'?"
"What? I thought it was perfect as-is."
"I did too, until I started messin' with it."
Mona thinks to herself, Maybe that's what the problem is. You can't leave well enough alone. "Babe, let me hear whatcha got so far."
Mike pauses and then answers, "Alright."
Mike and Mona both get up and head towards the music room. Mona grabs her banjo and Mike straps on Blondie. They sit knees-to-knees and Mike starts strumming his latest version of "Loudmouth Yankee." Mona listens intently to Mike's riff and starts humming along to it. Without thinking, she starts strumming her banjo along to Mike's melody.
Mike abruptly stops playing and exclaims, "Shit! That's it! That's the missing piece!"
"What is?" asks Mona, confused.
"Play your banjo riff again."
"What, this?" Mona plays her passage again.
"Yes!" Mike's eyes light up. Mona hadn't seen him this elated in months.
The last few months had been rough on both Mona and Michael. The fate of the show had become increasingly precarious because no one could agree on what the third season should look like. The network wanted more of the same, but Bob and the guys wanted to change it up a bit because they were getting bored with the current format. Bob was increasingly less hopeful that he and Upstairs could reach some sort of compromise that the guys would accept. On the music front, Mike was becoming increasingly disillusioned with its direction and he could no longer hide his frustration behind his sense of humor. This in turn started affecting his relationship with the guys, the crew, and most disturbingly - his wife. Mike and Mona have always bickered like an old married couple. It's part of their charm. They trade barbs like a pair of stand-up comics; however, their bickering rarely leads to a full blown argument. And when it does, there isn't anything that some good lovin' can't fix. Lately however, even that couldn't cut the tension.
Mona takes off her banjo and places it back on its stand. She kisses Mike on the cheek and runs her hand through his sideburn. He smiles at her.
"That banjo riff is boss. Will ya write that down for me so I can show it to Pete?"
"Sure thing, babe. I'll notate it for ya." Mona turns around and grabs a stray staff notebook and a pen. "Hey, babe..."
"Yeah?"
"Will you record me playing this so I can notate it easier?"
"Yeah. I can do that for ya."
Unlike Mike and Peter, Mona has a difficult time remembering the licks she creates on her own. Sadly, her memorization ability has faded ever since she stopped playing sessions regularly. Mike has noticed this, but he doesn't bring it up for fear of embarrassing her or killing her already fragile desire to make music.
Mike walks over to the reel-to-reel and sets it up for recording. While he's doing that, Mona puts her banjo back on and stands by the microphone. She turns to Mike and he gives her a thumbs-up, signaling that the tape's rolling. Mona begins to play her banjo lick. Once she finishes, Mike rolls back the tape, so that Mona can listen to it again. He walks over to her, hands her a pair of headphones, and kisses her forehead. He turns to walk out, but stops to tell her, "I'll leave you alone, so you can work in peace."
"You don't have to. I don't mind if you're in here."
"Ya sure 'bout that?"
"Yes, babe."
"Oh well, if you insist." He flashes her a flirty grin and takes a seat across the room so he can watch her compose without disturbing her.
Mike enjoys watching Mona work as much as she enjoys him watching her. If only the feeling were mutual, she thinks to herself. Mike doesn't like anyone watching him create, including Mona. The perfectionist in him fears anyone seeing him make a mistake. Mona is grateful for those times when Mike asks her for her opinion or her assistance, like right now. It's rare that Mike will share a song before he's perfected it or at least has it in "demo quality" as he calls it.
"Hey, Pete!" calls out Mike.
"Hey, Michael!" Peter replies to his friend.
"Hey, I got this new song that I want you to hear. It'll blow your mind."
"Really?"
"Yeah. My buddy Boomer wrote it an' he told me I could use it."
"What's it called?"
"'Loudmouth Yankee.'"
"'Loudmouth Yankee,' huh?"
"Yeah."
"Does Mona know that?"
"Yeah. She don't care. She likes, no, loves the song. In fact, she composed the banjo part."
"Banjo part?"
"Yeah. It's outtasite. It really makes the song."
"Well, let's hear it. I'm interested to hear her banjo part." Peter is quite impressed with Mona's banjo picking skills, despite feeling inferior compared to her.
Mike and Peter walk into the nearest recording room and enter the booth. Mike carefully pulls out the tape from the box he was carrying and delicately places it onto the tape recorder. He and Peter then don some cans and listen to the tape. From the looks Peter makes while listening, Mike senses that Peter approves.
Once the song ends, Peter exclaims, "That's incredible, Michael. We gotta record that."
Mike hands Peter Mona's composition. "Here's Mona's banjo part for ya."
An awestruck Peter looks up at Mike and replies, "Thank you, Michael. I'll start rehearsing it right now." With the precious sheet music in hand, Peter quickly exits the booth, grabs his banjo from its case and starts practicing Mona's composition. Mike already likes what he hears. After a few minutes, an idea pops in Peter's head and he abruptly stops strumming. He blurts out, "Hey, Michael! I have an idea."
"What is it, Pete?"
"Why don't you name the song 'What Am I Doin' Hangin' 'Round?' It's in the refrain and it sounds nicer than 'Loudmouth Yankee,' even if Mona approves."
Mike thinks for a few moments before responding, "Ya know what, Pete? Yer right. I like that title better. We'll call it that."
"Thanks, Michael."
"No, man. Thank you!"
As soon as Mike opens the front door to his house, he hears banjo music playing. He stops and listens intently, thinking to himself, That's not Mona picking. Curious, he searches all over the house, but can't find anyone. Suddenly, Mona emerges from the bedroom, towel drying her hair and wearing her short emerald green Japanese silk bathrobe that Mike gave her for their last anniversary.
"Merciful heavens!" he cries, "You damn near gave me a heart attack, woman!"
"Sorry, babe." She kisses him. "I was in the shower and didn't hear you come in."
"I see that. Hey, who's pickin' banjo?"
"Oh, the music? That's Doug Dillard. I put on an old Dillards record that I hadn't heard in a while. You like it?"
"Yeah, it's real groovy. Hey, do you know if this Dillard cat lives in the area?"
"Last I heard, he still does. He was a session player around the same time I was."
"Who wasn't a session player when you were? You seem to know every musician in this rotten town."
Mona sashays over to Mike and pulls him close to her. "Well, most guys got their start as session players. There were more sessions than players. If you struggled to get live gigs, you always had session work to fall back on."
"So that was the secret. Man, had I known that back then..." Mona interrupts him with a kiss on his lips.
"Babe, if you want to find Dill, check the recording studio."
"'Dill'?"
"Yeah, he goes by 'Dill.'"
"I'll go by there and see if I can find him." He kisses Mona on the forehead.
Now Mike has a dilemma on his hands: Which banjo player will he ask to play on this song? He thinks long and hard about this. He likes Peter's playing quite a bit. He's a solid player with nimble dexterity. However, his playing seems to lack heart. Mona, on the other hand, sounds like she's making love to the fretboard. She has equal technical skill and dexterity to Peter. She also picks in the Scruggs style, which is an adaptation of Appalachian mountain picking. It's this picking that she has adapted to her guitar playing, which gives her a unique sound - usually too unique for most record producers. Doug Dillard also has his own unique picking style. To Mike's ears, he's the perfect combination of Mona and Peter.
Simply picking Dill would be the easiest solution. However, it isn't the fairest solution. While both Peter and Mona would understand if Mike chose Dill outright; it's Mike's decision to make, after all, but it would also be a slap in the face to both of them - especially Mona. She's the one who so lovingly composed the banjo part. Peter's his bandmate, so he rightfully should be the one to play on their band's record. The perfectionist in Mike wants to ask Dill, consequences be damned. For once, his sense of fairness wins over his perfectionism. He needs to do the only fair thing - hold a blind audition.
Later that day, Mike and the guys are finishing up in the recording studio. Mike calls them over for a little meeting.
"Hey, fellas! Come here a moment, will ya? I need your help with somethin'."
Davy sneers back, "You need our help? Since when does Michael Fuckin' Nesmith need anyone's help, 'specially from his lowly bandmates?" Michael ignores him. He's too excited to let Davy suck him into an argument.
"Cool it, Midget," snaps Micky.
Peter interjects, "Yeah, Davy. Calm down and let the man speak."
Davy shoots an annoyed look at Peter and Micky, but backs down.
"I've been working on a new song, but I have a dilemma."
"What sort of dilemma?" Peter asks.
"Well, Pete... It kinda involves you."
"How so, Michael?"
"Well, I... uh..."
"Well, get on with it!" snaps Davy, annoyed at the stuttering Texan.
Michael continues to ignore the agitated Brit. "I... uh... I need to choose a banjo player."
Dejected, Peter stammers, "I... I... I get it..." Peter looks as if he's about to cry.
Michael sees Peter's eyes well up and he puts his arm around him. "Look, Pete. It's not like that. Uh, ya see, I can't choose because... uh... y'all are so good. I like all of you an' I can't pick one. You're my bandmate and... uh... you're really good on banjo. My wife's great too an' she wrote the part. An' then she introduced me to this guy named Dill Dillard..."
Peter pipes up, "Mona knows Dill Dillard? The Dill Dillard of The Dillards?"
"Sorta. She played one of their records an' I heard it an' I really liked the pickin'. She used to pick with him when she was a session player."
Peter's face brightens up a bit more. "Well, in that case, I can see your dilemma. So what's your plan?"
"I need to hold a blind audition of you, Mona, an' Dill." He turns toward the two percussionists, "But I need Micky an' Davy's help."
"A blind audition. That sounds fair," states Micky.
"That's the stupidest idea I've evah heard," hisses Davy.
"You have any better suggestions, Shotgun? 'Cause if you do..."
Peter interrupts Mike, "Yeah, Davy. Do you have a better solution? I think it's fair, and I'm the one auditioning."
"Can't argue with that logic, now can you, Midget?" asks Micky.
Davy just crosses his arms and flashes snide looks at the other three.
Mike declares, "Then it's settled. Mick, I'll need you to come into the booth with me."
"Now?"
"No, not now. At the audition."
"Oh. When's the audition?"
"Tomorrow, if I can get Dill."
"An' what do you want me to do?" asks Davy, still annoyed.
"I'll need you to bring each one into the studio and say their number into the mic. I need a different voice, so I won't be able to tell who is playing."
Davy finally agrees, "Alright, Snide. I'll help you."
"Thanks, guys."
"So, when will we get to hear this new song?" asks Micky, excitedly.
"At the audition," states Mike.
At that, the guys all file out of the recording room. Mike's the last to leave, and he turns off the lights. Instead of heading to the parking lot, he decides to check the other rooms to see if anyone is holding a late-night session. Mike thinks to himself, Maybe I'll catch Dill here. While walking down the hallway, lost in his own thoughts and giddy with excitement, Mike smacks into another man who also isn't paying attention to where he's going.
Mike apologizes, "Excuse me, sir. I do apologize for bumping into you."
"I'm sorry too. Name's Dillard, but you can call me Dill."
Mike stares at the man, dumbfounded. Has his luck finally turned around? Mike can barely spit out his words, "You mean... yer... the Dill Dillard? The banjo player?"
"Yes, son. I am. And you are?"
"Nesmith. Michael Nesmith." Mike starts rambling nervously, "You can call me Mike or Nez or Nesmith..."
"Nice to meet you, Mike."
"And you as well."
"I've heard of you. You're a record producer, aren't you?"
"Yeah, sometimes. I'm also a musician. Hey, I know we just met an' all, but I have a favor to ask of you."
"What is it, Mike?"
Mike starts talking a mile a minute, "See, my friend wrote this song for me an' my wife wrote this banjo part, but the problem is that my bandmate also plays banjo, but I've heard yer records an' I want you to audition with them." Mike hands Dill a copy of Mona's banjo composition.
Dill accepts the sheet and asks, "You said that your wife wrote the banjo part?"
"Yeah. She's an incredible banjo player. Her name's Mona."
"Mona... Jensen?"
"Yes!" Mike exclaims. "You know her?"
"I haven't seen her in ages. We played a few sessions together. She plays a whole lot of instruments. She's quite a talent."
"Thanks. I'll tell her you said that."
"When is this audition?"
"Tomorrow at 7pm."
"Okay. I'll be there."
"Thanks!"
The two men part ways. Mike can barely contain his exhilaration. Life seems to be looking up for the ornery Texan.
Seven p.m. arrives sooner than anyone had expected. By some miracle, everyone arrives at the recording studio early or on-time. Micky and Mike occupy the control booth, while Davy explains the audition process to Peter, Dill, and Mona.
"Hey Mona, did you wear your Nudie hat today?" asks Davy.
"Shit, I think I left it in the recording room."
"I'll retrieve it. Hold just a sec." Davy goes into the room to retrieve Mona's white cowboy hat with the pink stars and rhinestones that Nudie Cohn designed for her back in 1964. He brings back the hat and flings it onto Mona's head. She takes it off and deposits three numbered slips of paper. Mona instructs the other two contestants to pick their numbers. "Okay, Dill. Go ahead and pick your number." Dill chooses a number. He picks the number two.
"Okay, Peter. Your turn." Peter picks the number one. "Well, that leaves number three for me."
Now that everyone has picked their numbers, Davy leads the three contestants to the very back of the room, just out of sight of the two Monkees in the control room. He strolls over to the microphone in the middle of the room and gives a thumbs-up signal to Micky. Micky comes over the speaker and declares that he's not ready yet. Davy flashes him an impatient "what the fuck" gesture.
Unbeknownst to Davy, inside the control booth Micky has a devil of a time trying to keep Mike from turning around. Micky comes up with a "brilliant idea" to keep the Texan from peeking.
"If you won't stay turned around, then I'm going to blindfold you," Micky threatens Mike.
"Blindfold me? That's stupid, Mick. I won't be able see the start and stop buttons."
"I guess you're right."
After the failed attempt at blindfolding Mike, Micky just tells him to turn around and face the wall. However, Mike keeps turning his head because Micky won't stop talking to him. Mike tries desperately to keep his cool. Finally, everyone settles into their proper places.
Micky announces, "Welcome to Michael Nesmith's Banjo Duel. I'm Micky Dolenz and out in the recording studio is my handsome, debonair assistant, David Jones." Mike slaps his forehead and tries not to sigh audibly.
Micky continues, "Would the first contestant please silently step up to the microphone. Mr. Jones, please tell us the contestant number." Peter steps up to the microphone and Mike hits the record button.
"One," states Davy.
"Thank you. Contestant Number One, please begin playing."
When Peter finishes recording, Micky comes over the speaker again, "Thank you, Contestant Number One." Mike hits the stop button.
This process continues for the other two contestants. At the conclusion, Micky continues his game show host act. "Thank you, gentlemen and lady. This concludes Michael Nesmith's Banjo Duel. I'm Micky Dolenz reminding you to save the Texas Prairie Chicken and don't forget to tip your waiter. Have a good evening. Good night."
Mike hits the stop button. Although he was annoyed at first, Mike is grateful that Micky provided some much-needed levity to the evening.
"Mick, thank you. You did a terrific job emceeing." Mike pats Micky on the shoulder.
"Aww, Mike. It was nothin'. I had fun."
Mike comes over the speaker and thanks everyone in the recording room, then he enters the room itself and thanks everyone personally. "If y'all want to stick around for another fifteen or twenty minutes, I'll let ya know who won the 'contest.'
"Sure," they all declare in unison. Mike kicks Micky out of the control booth so he can listen to each audition alone and without any distractions. After twenty minutes, he emerges from the control booth so he can personally inform the winner. "First, I want to say that all three of y'all gave impressive performances. Unfortunately, I can only choose one. After careful consideration, I choose Contestant Number Two."
"Oh, my stars! Dill, that's you!" exclaims Mona. Mona gives Dill a congratulatory hug.
Mike shakes Dill's hand and adds, "Congratulations, Dill."
"Yeah, Congratulations, Dill," Peter chimes in.
Dill gushes, "Thanks to all of you, especially to you, Mike."
"No, Dill. Thank you. I want to record this thing as soon as possible. Are you free next week?"
"I think so. Just call me." Dill hands Mike his business card. Mike takes it from him and puts it in his wallet.
Everyone starts filing out of the recording room, with Mike and Davy trailing behind. Mike places a hand on Davy's shoulder and the smaller man turns around.
"Thanks, Midget. I appreciate your help tonight."
"You're welcome, Snide. I hate to say it, but I actually had fun tonight."
"I'm glad ya did."
The two men walk out together, each one a little less frustrated at the other one. For now, all is well in the Monkee universe.
"Hey, Mick! Where's Peter?"
"Aww man, Mike. I thought he talked to you. He said he's not coming tonight."
"Well, why not?"
Davy interjects, "'Cause you bloody hurt his feelins, Snide."
"Wait, what?! Hurt his feelins? Why? I thought he was cool with everything."
Micky explains, "Well, he was at first. He told me to tell you that once he thought it over, he felt hurt. I'm sorry, Mike. I thought he'd talked to you."
"That's not like Pete to not tell me what's botherin' him." All eyes turn to Davy.
"Hey, man! Don't look at me like that! I didn't say shit to him." Mike glares at the Mancunian in disbelief.
Mike gathers himself together and clears his throat. "Alright. We'll just have to record this one without him. Mick, Midget, y'all two sing backing vox. Chip, you can join too, if ya want. I'll sing lead and play 12-string. Tonight, we got Fast Eddie on drums, and of course, the man himself, Dill Dillard on banjo."
Dill pipes up, "Hey, Mike, I hope you don't mind that I brought something special tonight."
"Somethin' special? Whatcha bring, Dill?" Mike asks, trying to hide his trepidation. After Peter's sudden absence, Mike's in no mood for any more surprises.
"I brought my electric banjo."
"Electric... banjo?" Mike asks, now intrigued.
"Yeah. I thought that it would be less likely to get lost in the jangle of your Gretsch. I hope you don't mind."
"Naw, man. I don't mind a bit. It's just that I didn't know that such a thing existed. That's a great idea, though. Thanks."
"No problem. Hey, where can I plug her in at?"
Mike points to the Super-Beatle amp closest to Dill. "You can plug in there."
"Thanks." Dill plugs in his banjo.
Chip announces from the control room, "Hey, you guys ready to begin?"
Mike turns to the other guys and they all nod their heads. "Yeah, Chip. We're ready to roll."
"Okay. Mike, what's the name of this track?"
"'What Am I Doin' Hangin' 'Round?' You can call it 'Loudmouth Yankee,' if that's easier. But... uh... 'Hangin' 'Round' is the official name."
"Fine. I'll call it 'Hangin' 'Round' while we're recording."
"Fine. We're ready to roll."
"'Hangin' 'Round' Take 1A. Rolling."
The guys record the song. This first take is just a rehearsal take. After a few more of these, the guys record their individual instrumental parts. When Chip records his bass line, Mike takes over the control booth. The studio had just recently replaced its 4-track equipment with the latest recording innovation, 8-track. Now, Mike and Chip don't need to stop and mix down the instrumental tracks to make room for the vocals. After Mike, Micky, Davy, and Chip record their vocals, the guys call it a night.
"Hey, Chip?"
"Yeah, Mike."
"Hey, I'd like to take that tape home tonight. There's a certain someone who needs to hear it first."
"Sure, Mike. Here it is." Chip hands Mike the master tape of that night's session. Mike takes the tape and holds onto it as if it's a precious jewel. He can't wait to show it to Mona.
Mike flies through the front door, over the moon with excitement. Mike announces his entrance, "Mona, babe! I'm home!"
Mona wakes from the couch and mumbles sleepily, "Huh.. What... What time is it?"
"It's time for you to listen to this!" Mike dangles the master tape box in front of Mona's face. She snatches it and can barely read the chicken scratches on the label.
"What's this?"
"It's the master tape from tonight's session."
"Why do you have it?"
Slightly hurt and taken aback by Mona's indifference, Mike pleads, "Because I wanted you to hear it first. It's your song." Mike sits down next to Mona.
"My song?" Just then, Mona's brain kicks into gear and she remembers, "Oh?! The banjo song Boomer gave you."'
"Yeah, that's it! And you wrote the banjo part, remember?"
"Yeah. Wow, I must have been sound asleep when you came in because I hadn't the foggiest idea what you were carrying on about." She catches a glimpse of Mike's face softening and senses Mike's hurt. "Babe, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to let you down." She kisses him and he wraps his arms around her. "Let's hear that tape, babe!"
Once they unwind from their embrace, Mike and Mona head to the music room to listen to Mike's master tape. Both Mona and Mike don headphones and sit down to listen. Mike watches Mona's reactions intently. As soon as she hears the banjo, she starts moving her hands as if she's playing it herself. She's beside herself with delight. Once the song ends, she takes off her headphones and kisses Mike on the forehead.
"Babe, that's incredible! What kind of banjo did Dill play? You can hear him quite well."
"Uh, he used an electric banjo."
"An electric banjo? I didn't know they made such an animal."
"Neither did I until he told me that's what he brought. I was just as shocked as you."
"Well, that banjo sounds sublime."
"I think so too."
"Babe, I'm glad you chose Dill. I wouldn't have been able to top that. I don't have an electric and either you or Chip would have had to employ some fancy mixing tricks or doubletracking to keep your Gretsch from burying my banjo."
Mike sighs, "Thanks. You're right about the advantage of the electric. I just hope Peter feels the same after he hears this tape."
"What's this about Peter? Was he upset tonight?"
"According to the other guys, yes. But he wasn't there tonight. He never told me he was upset. I had no idea anything was amiss until he failed to show up."
"Michael," Mona begins, "You need talk to him. Show him that tape."
"I was going to do that tomorrow at the studio."
"No. You need to do it when y'all are alone. Just you and him."
"Now?"
"Would he be up at this ungodly hour?"
"Maybe."
"Well, go call him."
"Yes, ma'am."
And with his marching orders, Mike finds the closest phone and gives Peter a call. Mike picks up the phone and dials Peter's number. Mike thinks to himself, Please let the answering service pick up. Please let the answering service pick up. No such luck. Peter picks up and sounds wide awake for this time of night. Mike hopes that he hasn't interrupted any of Peter's "extracurricular activities."
"Hello?"
"Hey, Pete! This is Mike."
"Michael, why are you calling me so late?" Peter asks, a bit irritated.
"Hey, sorry, man. Is this a bad time?"
"No..."
"Am I... uh... interrupting anything?"
Peter pauses for a few seconds and tells a fib, "No. Not really."
"Good. Look, we missed you at tonight's session. Mick and Davy told me that you're upset..."
Peter interrupts Mike, "I'm sorry, man. I flaked out because I was hurt about not getting picked, but I'm over it now."
"It's okay, man. Are you sure you're cool now?"
"Yeah, Michael. We're cool."
"Great! Hey, Pete... Would ya like to hear the master tape from tonight's session?"
"Yes, but can we do it some other time? I'm kinda busy right now."
"Hey, I thought you said..."
"Well, you know how girls are. They only have so much patience..."
"I dig, Pete. I'll let you get back to whatever it is that you're doing."
"Thanks, Michael." With that, Peter hangs up.
Mona walks over to Mike and kisses his neck. He grabs her by the waist and pulls her close to him. "Mmmm... I love it when you do that." She looks up at him and flashes a seductive smile.
"So... How did it go?"
"Pete's cool now."
"Are you going to show him the tape?"
"No need."
Mona resists the urge to pry further. Instead, she enjoys Mike's loving embrace. "Let's continue this in the bedroom," she suggests.
"I love the way you think, Witchy Woman."
Mona smiles and Mike releases her from his arms. The two lovers head to the bedroom.
A few weeks later, the guys film the "Monkees In Mexico" episode on the Columbia Ranch lot. It's an unusually hot day. Bob and the guys are sweaty and miserable. Today, they're filming the instrumental scenes, which feature Mike's new song, "What Am I Doin' Hangin' 'Round." These scenes are supposed to feature close-ups of Peter playing the banjo. Problem is, Peter usually doesn't even pretend to actually play any of their songs. Since he's supposed to be one of the silly ones, he just messes around. That, and like Mike, he doesn't like having to fake playing, so as his own personal "fuck you" to the system, he just parodies it instead.
"Hey Peter," Bob calls out, "let's film those close up shots of you playing banjo."
"I can't, Bob."
"You 'can't?' What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You're an actor."
"Well, I'm a musician first..."
"Don't go giving me Snide's routine. I can't deal with two Snides. One's too much as it is."
Peter pleads to Mike, "Michael, you tell him."
"Tell me what?" Bob demands.
"Uh, Bob, Peter doesn't know how to play this song."
"So, what! All he needs to do is strum. He can play 'Cripple Creek' for all I care. It's not like the audience will know any different."
"But... I will..." sniffs Peter.
"What the fuck is going on here? Will someone please explain it to me? Time's money and we're wasting both."
Just then, Mona appears with her banjo slung on her shoulder and dressed in Peter's blue eight-button shirt, grey pants, black sideways hipster belt, and black boots. She's even wearing a blonde bob wig. Underneath her shirt, she wears a bandeau to flatten her ample chest. From afar, she looks like Peter's doppelganger.
"JENSEN! Where the hell are you?"
"I'm right here, Bob."
"Where?"
Mona raises her hand, and she and the boys all shout in unison, "Here!"
"What the fuck?" Bob asks, confused and agitated.
"Peter asked me to play banjo during the close-ups because I wrote the part and I can play it. Susie and Phyllis dressed me like Peter. They even made my boobs disappear." Mike gives a sullen look. Mona smiles a bit.
Bob lets out a big sigh, "Alright, whatever's clever. I don't care. Let's shoot this fucking thing before I change my mind and scrap it all."
A/N: This chapter is a fictionalized account of the creation of the song "What Am I Doin' Hangin' 'Round," which appears on The Monkees' 1967 album Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn & Jones, Ltd. Mike Nesmith's friends Michael Martin Murphey ("Murph" in the story) and Owen "Boomer" Castleman ("Boomer" in the story) wrote the song. Doug Dillard ("Dill" in the story) plays electric banjo.
Song Credits:
"Sweet Young Thing" (1966). Written by Michael Nesmith, Gerry Goffin, and Carole King.
"What Am I Doin' Hangin' 'Round?" (1967?). Written By Michael Martin Murphey and Owen "Boomer" Castleman.
