The guys didn’t get the chop, though judging from the expression on the super-star singer’s face, it was a close shave in more ways than one; the guillotine loomed over their heads, but she didn’t get to taste blood – yet!
After a lot of not so gentle persuasion the bass player, under threat of a good thumping from the drummer, and their management, managed to get through Rock n’ Roll with plenty of attitude.
The super-star beamed with delight. They all breathed a sigh of relief.
Next, he wanted a medley of his greatest hits and so everyone tuned-up ready.
His biggest hit was about half way through when suddenly the drums came to a deafening halt.
Everyone stared at the drum kit. Where was the drummer?
They soon found out; he was lying beside the kick drum, puffing and panting, puce in the face.
Looks were exchanged, they all ran towards him. Had he had a heart attack?
Management knew he wasn’t drunk or drugged, so what else could it be? They wondered if someone need call 911 and the Paramedics.
He sat up, grasping his manager by the shirt, pulling him close.
Everyone leaned forward, straining. Wondering.
‘A what?’ His manager shouted.
Then he turned round.
‘Anyone got a brown paper bag?’
Everyone stared, wondering what the hell he was on about. ‘He needs a brown paper bag, fast.’
Luckily a runner had been out to get Mexican food earlier and soon the drummer had a greasy, smelly, brown paper bag covering his face as he blew frantically into it.
Everyone watched, fascinated.
Soon his management realised what had happened
The super-star singer looked at him as if I were losing the plot.
‘They recommend blowing into a paper bag if you hyperventilate.’
The band crowded round and watched as gradually the drummer recovered.
The super star’s manager chewed frantically on his gum.
‘Happens when I get over-excited, I can’t breathe, so I’ve got to blow into a bag.’
The drummer beamed.
Oh God. Why us? Why us? Management stressed.
The ground remained solid despite them both wanting it to open up ad swallow them.
‘It’s so cool playing with you guys, just thinking about it; playing your stuff. I can’t help it.’
The drummer gushed.
The other musicians tried not to giggle, unsure what sort of illness this English guy had.
Violent thoughts filled his manager’s mind. His business partner was having similar ones.
‘Jeez, can’t imagine what you’re like getting over-excited with a chick.’
The iconic guitarist commented, sending everyone into fits, except the bass player.
He glared at the drummer.
‘Make sure you blow Poison, so you’ll remember it in a minute.’ Management fell about; the others looked puzzled.
The super-star regarded the drummer for a while and then asked him if he’d be all right to carry on.
‘Yeah I’m good to go now.’ Getting behind the kit again, he gave the thumbs up.
‘Why a brown paper bag?’
The super star didn’t get it.
‘Do you need any more?’
The drummer thought for a moment and then said, ‘No I think I’m OK now.’
He smiled at everyone in the studio, and flicked his hair, obviously feeling so much better.
‘It doesn’t work with any other colour; brown is sort of cool, sort of beautiful.’
After they’d run through all the songs the super-star singer wanted them to play, it was time to leave and let the next hopefuls take their turn.
The super-star and his management called both managers, and they chatted for a while.
They loved the guys, thought they looked cool, and were fun.
The managers felt their hearts sink…but…
The super star’s manager nodded enthusiastically, the musicians’ managers groaned.
They’d been around the block a few times don’t forget.
The super star stood next to them and smiled.
They could certainly play to the standard required, they were sort of really cool.
They’d audition the other hopefuls and they’d get back to the guys (management) by the end of the week.
Everyone shook hands, got their gear sorted and waved goodbye.
‘Don’t forget to take your brown paper bag with you,’ someone yelled.
The drummer called back, ‘Thanks, it’s OK, keep it. I’ve got loads back in the car.’
Part Four of The Auditions and more to follow:
Microphone photo (c) Jane Risdon All Rights Reserved.
Do let me know what you think and thanks again for dropping in and reading about this continuing saga.