2019-11-13 - Practice and Tryouts

Saturday night and it's time to rock! Though, alas, not at a gig, more in the garage of Augmented Reality's communal home. Park has her bass slung around her but also stands in front of a keyboard and her laptop - the latter to record. She is dressed in leggings, short skirt, and a t-shirt with a pink unicorn upon it. "Has everyone seen my songs?" she asks hopefully. "We don't have to play them, but I'm interested in opinions. Oh! And I met this guy at the carousel, Matt, and he had a brilliant idea I want to share with you all." She can barely restrain her excitement. "How about we do a WinterFest with all the local bands, probably in the park, and also have sideshows, and an ice rink, and all kinds of things like that. Obviously, we need the government to help out with the costs, but we totally should ask."

Lyric has her guitar slung around her and smiles as she checks the tuning, doing it by ear and adjusting one string. She plucks, adjusts, plucks, then declares it good as she listens to park. "I have heard them. I kimda like them all." She strums over the strings. "A winter Fest? That sounds fun. It's a great idea! Who all would we need to talk to? I will go witH you!"

Stepping into the garage, Scott is singing a bit to himself. "Some people stand in the darkness, Afraid to step into the light. Some people need to have somebody On the edge of surrenders inside... Don’t you worry, it’s gonna be alright,‘cause I’m always ready, I won’t let you outta..." Trailing off as he realizes they're all here, he grins momentarily, moving for his instrument. "A winter fest? Sounds like that's something many people would need to help organize. But it sounds fun too."

Park is happy that everyone thinks it is a good idea, giggling and jumping up and down with excitement. "We should go see the mayor?" she suggests to Lyric. "I think the city council will have to be behind it but he's in charge, isn't he? We could get that band that I was in originally...though I don't think I was ever actually in it. We could get Cameron's band. Anyone else too! Oh my gos, this will be so exciting." A wave to Scott. "Hey! Is that one of your songs? That sounds cool. Ico thinks we should do some covers too since that is what people expect these days."

"That's a great song, Scott is it yours?" Lyric is super excited about the winter idea. "Why don't we try and set it up soon? Like make it then get them to come play. Like the show. If you build it they will come. Cause it's the best idea." She bobs her head. "Yeah the mayor! Let's write him a letter!" (Aka Park put in a request for it?) "We can do some covers. I want, this coming spring, to do Parties in the Park. Invite one of the overnight carnivals, have live music, and sell local art. Like we don't sell art, we just play and sell cd's. The artists sell art and listen to music and ride rides."

Scott shakes his head a little. "I wish. It's made by the former lead singer of Survivor. It was the theme song of a TV show back in the 90s." It's offered rather lightly, before he nods, "And yes, the Mayor's probably the best place to start."

"I will totally write the mayor a letter" Park nods enthusiastically (and will put in a request). "That's what I was thinking too, Lyric. Like, an art fest as well as music and fun fair and ice rink. So, like, it won't be a music fest but more a cultural fest." She pouts for a moment. "Is Winter Fest a cool enough name or should it be something like 'Graypalooza'." A shrug, that is a decision for another time. Though she does look a little disappointed that Scott's song was not his. Oh well, they'll just have to write a better one. "We should be playing every place we can find. I am sooo up for that. So, we're generally an alt rock band? But we dip our toes in other things? Or, maybe unite them all into our own sound? Alternative Punk Disco?"

"Winter Cultural Fest! I love it! So the artists can sell their things for Christmas and the holiday gifts. It'll be so amazing. I bet we can do it." Lyric strums her guitar again. "I guess we're kind of an everything band. We play what we want to play and we play what people want to hear." She smiles just a little. "Let's practice a song right now. What does everyone want to play? Pick one, Scott. Something well known and popular, we'll do it, then Park chooses one."

"I think something like WinterFest is nice and easy enough for a name," Scott replies after a few moments of pause. As for the genres, he doesn't say anything. After all, to him, there's no such thing as 'genres'. At Lyric's words, he shrugs a little. "Ladies first," he remarks, with a grin.

"Oh my gosh! We could even have posters that say 'Winter is Coming'" Park giggles, "Though not sure anyone still likes 'Game of Thrones' much anymore." A roll of her eyes at Scott's use of gallantry as avoidance. "Fine. How about we do something a little old - Fall Out Boy. 'This Ain's A Scene, It's An Arms Race'? I can play the drums on my computer. Oh, when is that Itzhak person joining?"

"We Ico around so we can have him sing for us, but Ico is always absent." Loooong sigh. "But I can drum if we ever need. I'm not as good as him though. But sure, you do the drums on the keyboard and if Ico stays absent, he's already heard Itzhak sing and maybe play. So he already gave his approval. Just wanted you to hear also, Park."

Scott nods as he hears that, taking a few moments to think about that song. "Sounds good," he replies, before he grins a little at what's said, but makes no comment for now.

Park sets off some drum patterns through her keyboards that are close enough but then concentrates on the bass playing. The tune is recognisable...what more can you ask? "You wanna sing this one, Lyric?" She seems to be getting into the playing, bouncing around a little while also watching the levels on her lapto[.

"I am an arms dealer
Fitting you with weapons in the form of words
And don't really care which side wins
Long as the room keeps singing
That's just the business I'm in!" Lyric goes right into it, grinning, full of energy, jumping up and down and having a great time. She looks over at Park, smiling. This is why they had the band. To Sing! Then a look to Scott. "Hey! Winter is Coming!" she yells over above the music.

Everyone is playing well! The sounds of 'This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race' booming out of the garage; Park on bass and programmed rhythm track, Scott on keyboards, Lyric on guitar and vocals. And they all seem to be having a great time doing it too...which is even more important than technique. A thumb up to Lyric as everything gels.

A big Toyota pickup pulls up to the house. It's bright orange, the paint faintly glittery in the sun (not that it's sunny at the moment, but when there's sun!). Itzhak swings out of the driver's side and squints over at the open garage and people rocking out inside it. He unloads his stuff from the truck: a fiddle case in bright glossy cherry-red, slung over his back; a mandolin case; a big old hard-sided suitcase of the sort popular with honeymooners in 1963. This he carries all up the driveway. He doesn't bother shouting, they will never hear him over all the noise! They oughta notice a six-foot-plus New Yorker who looks like he just knocked over a music store, though.

The song was fun, just because the lyrics made it fun and Lyric continues to play, fingers holding the frets as each chord changes. She jumps here and there, dances most all the way through it, and sings like that's her favorite thing to do.

"I wrote the gospel on giving up (You look pretty sinking)
But the real bombshells have already sunk (Primadonnas of the gutter)
At night we're painting your trash gold, while you sleep
Crashing not like hips or cars
No, more like p-p-parties
This ain't a scene, it's a goddamn arms race
This ain't a scene, it's a goddamn arms race
This ain't a scene, it's a goddamn arms race
Bandwagon's full, please catch another!"

Park chips in with some backing vocals and harmonies...as well as the bass, the recording, and making sure the rhythm track is right. She grins at Lyric's enthusiasm. It is contagious. Not that Park needs help in being excited. Oh, there's a giant at the door. Park waves at Itzhak. "Hey! Do you like it?" She has no idea who he is.

Itzhak is a tall dude with curly black hair and a magnificent beak of a nose. He looks Jewish as anything and when he calls back, "Hey! Pretty good," his voice confirms it. He's got a New York accent you could use to strip paint, with the unique, up-and-down Yiddish cadence. He sounds a little more than a little bit like Mel Brooks or possibly Bugs Bunny.

He sets down his suitcase and other cases within the shelter of the garage and hooks his thumbs in his pockets, standing there listening with what is clearly an experienced ear.

Ellis hums along to the music being currently blasted into his skull and it begins to infect him so much that he just can't help himself...

~I've got this burning, burning
Yearning feelin' inside me
Ooh, deep inside me
And it hurts so bad~

He sounds good, but he sounds a little out of breath. He twirls unsteadily down the sidewalk to avoid a root invading the pavement and then comes to a stop when he sees the open garage and people. He's wearing an oversized double breasted jacket that smells faintly of mothballs like he might of plucked it from some old guy's favorite chair, suspenders, and a dark blue undershirt. His hair is wily and sticky with sweat, and his jeans could use some patching. Looking rather pale and clammy, he squints at the scene as if to bring some kind of understanding into focus.

Lyric closes out the song after the last verse and lets the guitar reverberate a little, just for kicks. She doesn't lift the strap off but she offers a high five to Park. "So fun. I love music so much."

She notices the new arrival and smiles at Itzhak, motioning to him from Park. "The guy I told you about." But then seeing Ellis surprises her. Or hearing him mostly. Glancing past Itzhak, she looks bemused. "Itzhak, this is Park. Or Mee. She doesn't mind which, mostly."

Park returns the high five, a big grin on her face, adrenaline flowing through her. "Our own music will be even more awesome!" Her gaze returns to Itzhak. "Oh, this is the new singer?" She takes off her bass guitar so she can rush over to him and greet with a hug. "Nice to meet you. You have instruments too? Awesome." A wave for they mysterious Ellis too. "Is that your boyfriend?" she asks Itzhak, her tone totally innocent. "He doesn't look well" she frowns, obvious concern for the complete stranger.

"Hey, how's by ya." Itzhak upnods to Park. "Which one is it, Park or Mee, pick one. Uh, I dunno if I'd call myself 'the new singer' just yet, you ain't heard me sing." He glances around, scowling in confusion, then he realizes who Park and Lyric are looking at. "He's not my boyfriend," he says, putting the stress like he has a boyfriend but that ain't it. "'Ey, pal, you don't look so good. You sick?" he calls, eyeing him suspiciously. "Don't fuckin' come over here if ya are."

Ellis starts to sing again, but immediately starts coughing. That deeps chest cough should send up some real flares for some people who have gone through the most recent rash of illness. "What are you leprechauns singing about? Your gold?" he asks indignantly, and loudly, still not having silenced The Supremes. "/Boyfriend/?! I could do way better than that guy," he raves into another coughing fit. "He might be able to do better than me...right now," he admits as he lowers himself to the ground and finally takes out his earphones. ~Ooh, Ooh, baby, baby/Where did our love go?-~ He coughs again.

"I think he's got headphones on so maybe he can't hear us." Of course as soon as Lyric says it, he gets louder. Then she just laughs and rolls her eyes, looking back at Park and Itzhak. "I call her Park." The words are given with a shrug. She moves aside, "Show us what you got. Sing, play anything. Something you think would interest us most?" A glance to Park if she had any requests for him.

"Park is fine" Park nods. "If I ask people to call me Mee, which is my first name, then people get confused. Park is slightly less confusing. Sure, we can hear you sing first. But you should be positive" she grins. "Can you sing...umm...'Mister Brightside'?" Though she is also rather concerned with Ellis dying in their drive. "Should we call an ambulance?" she asks the others, taking a few tentative steps in his direction. "Hello? Are you alive?"

Itzhak snorts in annoyed amusement. "I have done better'n you, pal. Look, just...just stay over there. If you reinfect me I swear to God I'm gonna kick your ass." He crouches, all knees and long legs, to set the suitcase on its side and open it, looking at Lyric while his calloused fingers flip the latches open. Inside is a pair of drum pedals and a tamborine (wrapped, so it doesn't jingle constantly). Then he looks at Park as he latches the suitcase closed, sets it back upright, and starts bolting the pedals to it. "I could sing Mr. Brightside, but Lyric here promised me I could sing what feels good, so that's what I'm gonna do." He pops his eyebrows at her sassily, like, whaddaya gonna do about it?

Ellis decides to lie on his back. Yeah, that should help with the stomach. And these sweet sweet serenading ladies. So far from the ears. Odd. He's wondering why when his body is wracked by a heave that doesn't come to anything. He grabs his stomach. "Oh the fuckers. I fight you!" Yeah you Itzhak. "The gold-mongering little shits and their grills." Is he raving about the grills of leprechauns? Yes, even without the earphones. He slaps a hand down on the pavement and pushes himself up to crawl toward Park when she asks the question, "Can you h-" but she will never know what he wanted to ask, because he heaves again, only this time his last meal comes up in Park's direction. Why is he binging on burgers and french fries and possibly a chocolate shake...in autumn, is anyone's guess. "Oh God."

"Park you want to get him an ambulance?" Lyric isn't a healer, probably wouldn't work on this anyway, and Itzhak was set up and ready to play. Park seemed concerned about him, Lyric faced the new artist, "Go ahead, play what you want to play. Park may want to hear something more specific after, but I want to hear the stuff you like." So she seats herself and watches him, wearing an encouraging smile.

"Oh, sure, play what you want to. Of course" Park assures Itzhak with nods and smile. A curious look at the equipment he gets out. "Are you a one man band?" But before she can hear him sing, there is an incident that needs attending to. "Pink Death" she frowns to Lyric before nodding about the ambulance and Park is quickly on the phone.

"Hello? Hey, how are you doing? Gosh, I bet you get busy on Saturday nights. Oh, how rude of me, my name is Park and...pardon? Oh..." She blushes a little at the others. "I have to press '2' for ambulance" she explains before she is back on the phone. "Hello. My name is Park Mee." A pause. "Yes, that's my real name." She looks confused for a moment; why is the person on the phone laughing. "Anyway, I have a medical emergency. Someone has the Pink Death...the flu thing that was going around. Yeah, he is very sick. Like, sprawled out in the driveway mumbling about fighting something with a gold grill." A beat. "I dunno...could be a rapper? Nine Elm Street. Thank you, see you soon. Well, not you, whoever you send, but you have a great night." She ends the call. "Help is on the way."

Itzhak sighs heavily, hand going over his eyes as Ellis loses it. He feels kind of bad, but not bad enough to go over there! One round of Captain Tripps was enough thank you very much. "I can't believe that shit is still going around," he grouses to the world at large while he gets out his mandolin and works on tuning it. "I had to spend a few days in the hospital too, that sucked." He coughs on a laugh as Park suggests maybe Ellis wants to fight a rapper? "I'll fight ya when you can stand up," he calls over to Ellis.

To Lyric, he says, "Well, turns out I like all kindsa stuff," and to Park, rescuing angel, he adds, "I ain't a one man band, just a little percussion really rounds out the sound. 'Course, you GOT percussion, just, this is the stuff I bring, so here's all my stuff." He finds a quarter-inch jack to plug into his mandolin, which is apparently wired for it.

"Oh no," Ellis says in the wake of his blunder, "My lady," and then crawls two crawl-paces to the left to avoid his own mess. Then he curls up, tugging his jacket closer around him, eyes half-closed as he mumbles more about epic matches of the century and something that sounds like it might be a pyramid scheme pitch to a friend. "It's a great deal," he mumbles earnestly, his hands parting from his jacket to gesticulate, not minding the mild scraping from the ground. "Anytime, any grill, any face." Is that to Itzhak?...whatever it is?

Park cracks Lyric up, the phone call, the rapper, just about all of it. She remains near Itzhak though, serious about hearing him play. Once he's hooked in, she smiles her approval and anticipates a beat by tapping a foot. Or maybe that's the beat to the song she's always hearing in her own head. "Anytime you're ready," she offers her encouragement.

"Is that an electric mandolin?" Park's eyes are wide with astonishment at such a cool instrument. "Yeah, that flu really sucked. I was having these really weird dreams. Lots of nudity and cucumbers. Not sure what it meant. Hospital? You poor thing. Oh, do you want us to play chords or anything, or just want to kick it solo style?" Park blushes at being called 'My lady' - though it was by an apparent homeless person wallowing in fevered misery. "Don't worry. People are coming to help." And the ambulance people will be rewarded by Itzhak's song.

"Oh buddy," Itzhak says to Ellis with a pitiless kind of sympathy. "You are gonna love the IV they're gonna run for ya. If you're lucky maybe they'll juice you up with some Xanax." A true Yiddish blessing: may the nice medical people give you the happy stuff. Like most Yiddish sentences, it has a curse in disguise, since first Ellis is going to have to get the IV run. That part is not so happy.

He grins then at Park and her excitement. She's so excited! "Nah, it's a regular acoustic mandolin, but it's got pickups. So it's kinda like a hollowbody electric guitar like that." He runs a couple of scales, then steps up to the mic. Itzhak is the first to inform anybody that he's not an entertainer really, he's a musician in terms of he loves music and he loves to play it. Getting the crowd hype is not in his particular wheelhouse (so he'd claim, anyway). So there's no theatrics from him, no 'how y'all doin', no joking around or flirting. He just plucks the opening riff of 'Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time' and leans into the mic.

"All right, all right it's a hell of a feeling though
It's a hell of a feeling though
All right, all right it's a hell of a feeling though
It's a hell of a feeling though!"

Did you ever want to hear Panic! At the Disco played on a mandolin? It's your lucky day if you did! Itzhak's voice is rough and full of character, and he is bang-on key. He backs the volume down, to go into the part that's almost spoken, strumming along.

"Who are these people?
I just woke up in my underwear
No liquor left on the shelf
I should probably introduce myself
You shoulda seen what I wore
I had a cane and a party hat
I was the king of this hologram
Where there's no such thing as getting out of hand
Memories tend to just pop up
Drunk pre-meds and some rubber gloves
Five thousand people with designer drugs
Don't think I'll ever get enough!"

It's possible he's inspired by Ellis's state to sing this song.

Everyone is fortunate that the music is drowning Ellis out. He groans softly under the music and doesn't really respond to Itzhak's reassurance. Park is right. The ambulance does eventually come, check out Ellis' state, and then decides to strap him to a stretcher to load him into the ambulance where they'll wrestle the Ellis into getting a bag of fluids or end up having to sedate him.

Honestly, he doesn't have to hype up the crowd, the voice does it for him. He's got a radio announcers voice. Or those voices that were so memorable from the artists. If Lyric was interested in more than the voice she'd be swooning, but that ship sailed. This is all professional interest and she looks to be completely enjoying it. Completely. She doesn't applaud, doesn't whistle or offer any obvious encouragement other than sparkling eyes that prove she's enjoying it very much, and not stopping him from continuing.

There's a very weird percussive sound to Itzhak's playing and Park isn't sure how he is making it. Oh, he isn't. It's the ambulance siren. Once that is turned off, she settles in to enjoy the singing and the song. He certainly doesn't have to play to the crowd in a garage audition, but someone will have to when they're on the stage. Park votes for Lyric. The bass player is rather fond of the mandolin sound...and she goes crazy for harpsichord...so she is more than happy with the performance. Though she does find time to wave Ellis goodbye and thank the paramedics. No doubt, the neighbors will assume it was rock band drug use that was responsible. A smile for Lyric; Park approves so far.

Itzhak charges into the chorus like he's going for the winning touchdown, hitting bright mandolin power chords hard. Hard like they said something about his girlfriend. His eyebrows tip up, his eyes mostly close, he stamps on the bass pedal bolted to the suitcase for a rough and powerful THUMP!.

"Champagne, cocaine, gasoline
And most things in between
I roam the city in a shopping cart
A pack of camels and a smoke alarm
This night is heating up
Raise hell and turn it up
Saying 'If you go out you might pass out in a drain pipe'
Oh yeah, don't threaten me with a good time!"

There's that riff again, plucked from the mandolin fast and pure. Itzhak goes back to murmuring, dirty-like, really getting into it now.

"I'm a scholar and a gentleman
And I usually don't fall when I try to stand
I lost a bet to a guy in a chiffon skirt
But I make these high heels work
I've told you time and time again
I'm not as think as you drunk I am
And we all fell down when the sun came up
Oh yeah I think we had enough!..."

When he hits the final Don't threaten me with a good time!, Itzhak spangs off the mandolin strings, shoving them around on the neck to make them warble (there's very little neck to do this in but he pulls it off), and strokes down the strings to finish the song. Then he looks at Park and Lyric, eyebrows up, grinning a lopsided grin.

Ok, ok so maybe there's a little bit of swooning. Because damn! He was a rock star waiting to happen. After several moments Lyric lifts her fingers and whistles loud! Her excitement is in her features, the simple love of the music. "See?" She asks Park. "See>" She can't say much more about it.

"He's like the Pete Townsend of the mandolin mixed with a Rob Dougan growl and a Dave Grohl sexiness" Park tries to explain before nodding to Lyric's excitement. "Yeah, he's pretty good. Have you played to audiences before, Itzhak? Like, one day we'll be performing at stadiums, so we'll need to put on a show. So you can play mandolin, guitar, percussion, and sing pretty damn sweet? Anything else? I mean, not that that's not enough. Oh...and would you be moving in with us?"

"Uh--" Itzhak blushes as Lyric whistles, turning red as a tomato, and laughs, turning away from the mic. "I, uh, I dunno about all that," he waves to indicate Park's statement on Pete Townsend et al. "Violin. Not guitar. Violin and mandolin are tuned the same way, G D A E. Mandolin has 'em in pairs, violin has 'em in singles. What I really am is a fiddler, but if you know violin, you get mandolin along with it, like a bonus. Yeah, of course I played to audiences, I'm just a terrible front man. I played in youth orchestra, I've been in bands. Was in a Cajun folk band for years, in New York. We even went to New Orleans a couple times."

He's rambling, a little anxiously, even though what should be the hard part is over. Now he's really got their attention! Itzhak's eyebrows go up, his eyes go wide, and he laughs again and shakes his head. "I ain't movin' in! God, I had enough of living with musicians, no offense. I live at number 15," he jerks his thumb up Elm, "I almost live here already."

Lyric lets Park do the questions, she'd already been convinced mostly anyway. She leans over and glances down the street as if she'd be able to see his house from here. "Doesn't matter if you live here or not, cause you can come down for practices. We're going to talk to the mayor about an event this winter. Would you be interested in playing with us for that? We've also got some possible gigs set up in some of the neighboring towns and if we do good at one here soon where a guy is going to be. we'll have a gig in Seattle."

"Seattle?" First Park has heard about that. "Wow, that would be pretty cool. Oh, do we have to do grunge songs for Seattle? I have some flannel shirts." That's sorted then.

"If you're going to be lead singer, Itzhak, and you totally should be, you're gonna be front person. Maybe we can give you some hints?" Park purses her lips while looking him over. "What kind of image are you thinking about? And, remember, no image is an image too. And if you want to play at WinterFest, and I hope you do, we need to do lots of rehearsals. Fifteen? So, like..." Some quick mental calculations...okay...she used her fingers too. "...three houses up? You should be able to hear us and come down to rehearse."

"Oh, and we're also the only band with a dental plan! I'm studying to be a dentist."

Itzhak listens, idly fingering his mandolin, then unplugging it and putting it in its soft case. While the girls talk, he gets out his violin and starts to tune and rosin the bow and do all the fussy stuff a violinist needs to do. He pulls a face. "I ain't got no charisma, as you can see." Ironically he waves at himself in a flick of fingers. "And I also got a real job, I can't practice during the day. But evenings, I'll show up. Everything else, uh, we'll work it out."

With that he sets his violin under his chin and points his bow at the two women. "Lemme show you what else I can do." And he does!