by Josh Farrar
“Thanks, Jake. I’ll keep you in mind. If I decide to form a band with senior citizens. Who drool.” I pointed to the batter in his beard. “Seriously, though, this is something I want to do on my own. With kids my age.”
“Yep, I get it. Oh, listen, just a quick word before your mom and dad get in here, okay? I think they’re going to ask you to take care of your brother again today.”
“Jake, when are they going to stop letting you do their dirty work for them?”
“They didn’t ask me. I just wanted to give you … a little warning.”
Just then, Mom walked in.
“Mom, I have to take care of X today? I have band practice.”
“We’re doing an unplugged thing on WBRU today,” she said. “I told you.”
“You did not tell me, Mom!”
“Listen, Annabelle, I know the timing isn’t great. And I know you’re having your friend over to play. You don’t even have to watch X. He’ll entertain himself. You know how he is.”
“I know exactly how he is, Mom.” I could hear Dad walking around up in their bedroom. He was probably waiting until this conversation was over to come down.
“It’s not like I’m complaining because I don’t like being with X. He’s fine. Everybody loves him, blah, blah, blah. But why does it have to be me always taking care of him? Ever since we moved, it’s like I’m the mom and you and Dad are just … not even around.”
My mom looked like she’d been slapped in the face, and I thought, Good. At least you’re paying attention.
“Look, the move’s been hard on all of us,” she said. “But we’re going to get through it. We’re going to get through this album, the shows, your new school, X’s new school—all of it. But we all have to pitch in. And today I need you to help look after X for me. We’ll be back in three hours. Okay?” She looked like she was about to give me a hug or a kiss or something, but then thought better of it, grabbed her bag, and headed for the door.
“We ready?” Dad said, climbing down the loft ladder.
“Yeah, we’re ready, hon.”
Jake took the carrot cake out of the oven and put it on the stove top to cool. It smelled delicious.
“For you and your bandmate, Belle,” Jake said, and then pointed to a small mixing bowl on the counter. “Wait for it to cool, and then put this frosting on top.”
“Thanks, Jake,” I said.
And just like that, the three of them were out the door.
I barely looked up, stirring a spoon aimlessly in my empty cereal bowl. This was not the glorious first day of band practice I had imagined. I was basically going to be babysitting not one but two kids: my brother, a fourth grader who spoke in chants, and a classical music dork who would probably be shoving Wheat Thins and cheese slices down her throat all day long, leaving a trail of crumbs around the apartment like Hansel and Gretel. Some rock band.
X came into the kitchen. “Belle,” he said. “Hang out with me.”
For the next half hour, I was probably the least energetic Texas Hold’em partner X had ever faced. “Are you awake?” he kept saying. “You’re just letting me win.”
“No, I’m not,” I said. “I seriously have no idea how this game works.” It was true. If you ever want to put me to sleep, start explaining to me what the heck you’re supposed to do in poker.
When the doorbell finally rang, I had practically forgotten Crackers ’n’ Cheese was even coming. I slumped down the hall and hit the buzzer, barely caring.
“We’re here,” she said through the intercom.
“Come up to 5G,” I said. We’re here? That was definitely what Crackers had said. I opened the door and waited for the elevator to make its slow climb to the fifth floor.
“Surprise!” called out Crackers and Jonny.
“Jonny, what are you doing here?”
“I was afraid Christine would get lost,” he said, grinning slyly. “I don’t know about being in a band or anything, but I figured I could at least rock out with you guys a little.” He turned around, revealing the guitar case strapped on his back. I tried to play it cool, but I was really excited and couldn’t stop smiling for a full minute. Who knew how many of Ronaldo’s rules I’d polish off today?
In the studio, we plugged in our instruments and a couple microphones and set up the drum set, even though no one, including me, had ever really played it. After that, we puttered around for a few minutes, straightening cords and checking amp levels. I don’t know about those other guys, but I’m ready to admit that I was stalling. The big moment was here. I had a band! The beginnings of one, at least. It wasn’t like me, but, yeah, I felt shy.
“Well, we could try this little riff I wrote,” I said. I picked out the same White Stripes rip-off that had totally bowled over my dad on forced-family-fun day.
Christine stood and listened for a bit.
“Sounds like metal,” she said. Metal? What did she know about metal? She might have known Ra-who, but my riff was not a metal riff.
“Sounds cool,” Jonny said, and started playing along, echoing the riff on the guitar. He stepped on a little metal box called a “flanger,” which made his guitar sound like it was underwater. Then he stepped on another one, a Big Muff distortion pedal, and the riff went giant and fuzzy. Finally, Crackers figured out her part: a few spacey chords on my mom’s Nord 2 keyboard. This instant-mix song sounded a little messy and odd at first, but after a few minutes something strange and beautiful started to happen. It really sounded like music. This “band” had its first “song.”
I played around with some ooohs and aaahs before realizing that I might be able to mine my notebook for lyric ideas. I remembered my “Dumb Puppies” title idea from the first day of school and decided to play around with it:
Big dumb puppies
Foul my school.
Sad little dogs
Only know to play the fool.
Puppy, puppy,
Do as you’re told!
Puppy, puppy,
Your act is getting old!
Okay, it wasn’t a masterpiece exactly. These lyrics needed a lot of work. But it was something. It sounded like a song.
It felt really strange to sing in front of Jonny and Crackers. I hadn’t expected to feel nervous—after all, I had sung in Central Park to literally thousands of people—but I did.
“You have such a sweet voice!” said Christine.
“It’s true, it’s nice, it’s … not quite what I expected,” said Jonny. “Pretty,” he blurted awkwardly.
Sweet, huh? Pretty? Rock ’n’ roll isn’t pretty. I didn’t want to sound pretty.
“Let’s run through it one more time,” I said. I sang the melody again, but with more attitude, more growl. I tried one of my full-length-mirror rock star poses, pointing the headstock of the bass toward the ceiling.
“Belle, go back to being yourself,” Jonny said. “It works.”
“Yeah,” said Christine.
Ouch. Did they think I was being a poser or something? I tried not to worry about it. If Jonny thought I could sing, that was enough for me. When Satomi sang, she sounded like a four-year-old child or a baby alien from Jupiter, and she was my hero. So maybe it was okay to sound “pretty,” even if it wasn’t very intimidating.
We kept working on the riff. In honor of Crackers’s early review, we titled it “Belle’s Metal Riff” and broke for lunch.
“This is my little brother, guys,” I said. “X, this is Jonny. And Crack— Christine.”
“Hola, Jonny. What’s up, Crack Christine?” he said, making himself a PB&J.
“Just Christine,” I said, pouring out four Cokes.
“So, Annabelle, you know that place Don Daddio’s?” Jonny asked.
“Ha, I sure do. X almost destroyed the place a few days ago.”
“I thought I recognized you,” Jonny said. “You’re the kid who hangs in the percussion room.”
“What’s left of the percussion room,” I said.
“That�
��s me,” X said, putting a plate with four PB&Js on the table.
“Thanks,” I said. See, my brother could be cool. When it was just us, he was fine. It was only when my parents were around that he flipped out.
“Thanks,” said Jonny and Christine.
“Anyway, what about Don’s?” I asked.
“Well, I was in there picking up strings on the way over,” Jonny said. “Have you seen this?”
He unfurled a flyer:
DON DADDIO PRESENTS
6TH ANNUAL
MINOR THREAT BATTLE OF THE KID BANDS
WHEN: FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 5:30 P.M.
WHERE: DON’S
WHO: ANYBODY, AS LONG AS EVERYONE IN YOUR BAND IS AGE 18 OR YOUNGER
WHY: THE CHANCE TO ROCK YOUR FRIENDS’ FACES
OFF AND ACHIEVE ROCK ’N’ ROLL GLORY,
FAME, RENOWN, STARDOM, ETC.
PLUS: WINNER GETS OPENING SLOT
AT BROWN UNIVERSITY’S SPRING
FLING IN MAY!!!!!!
“Wow, cool. How could I not know about this?” I said, thinking, Yes! Rule number five—our first gig—here we come!
“What do you mean?” Jonny asked.
“I practically lived in that store over the summer. Don’s like my uncle.”
“Well, that’s a coincidence, because Don really is my uncle.” Jonny bit into his sandwich.
“Are you serious? You’re so lucky.”
X had already finished his meal, and Crackers joined him on the floor, ramming monster trucks into the cabinetry. A perfect match, those two.
“So, what about this battle of the bands?”
“Could be cool,” I said. “But does that mean we’re a band? Jonny Mack, Mr. Solo Career?”
“Well, no, it doesn’t. I mean, I really don’t want to be in a band. But I do want to help you.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Well, I’ll tell you what. I’ll sub for you until you find a real guitarist. We can practice, record, whatever. But if you want to play live, it’s got to be somebody else. You’ve got nine weeks till the battle. You’ll find somebody before then.”
“Okay, that works.” I nodded. “So, what’s Spring Fling anyway?”
“Well, it’s basically just an excuse for all the kids at Brown to party before finals, but the lineup is always amazing. Vampire Weekend—”
“Not a fan.”
“Hold your horses, Cabrera. Let me think … M.I.A. did it a couple years ago.”
“Nice, now we’re talking.”
“Brian Jonestown Massacre, Deerhoof …”
I didn’t say a thing. Didn’t want to come off cocky. But I couldn’t stop thinking, what if I could open up for Satomi, again!
“Well, duh, it would be sweet to play with any of those bands,” I said. “I guess I gotta find me a guitar player. And a drummer. But where?”
Where, indeed. Of all the instrumentalists, drummers were notoriously the hardest band members to find. I’d heard my dad say this over and over again, citing the number of dud drummers he’d worked with before he’d met Jake. The ones who could play, he’d said, had terrible personalities, and the ones he could stand to be in the same room with, well, they usually played too many notes, forgetting that they were playing in a band, not a drum solo recital. Yes, it was going to be tough, especially in a middle school, but now that I had a guitarist, or at least half a guitarist, I was starting to feel like maybe, just maybe, it was going to happen.
Rock stars dare to dream. (And they dare to write cheesy rock star rules.)
SERIOUS LUNGS
I found Ronaldo on IM the following Thursday morning, the first day of October. The windows were open, and I could already feel a chill in the air. Autumn was here.
Bassinyrface: so it looks like I might have the beginnings of a band, finally.
EggMtnRckr: yeah? Is Jonny in?
Bassinyrface: no, not yet. He’s definitely playing with us but he says he doesnt want to actually be in the band.
EggMtnRckr: Hmmm … why’s that?
Bassinyrface: yeah I dont know what his deal is.
EggMtnRckr: Is he as cool of a guy as he seemed like at first?
Bassinyrface: Yeah, definitely.
EggMtnRckr: Well, keep working on him. He’ll come around.
Bassinyrface: Ok, thx. How are things in Egg Mtn world?
EggMtnRckr: problemas, mi amiga. looks like no more fast eddie for egg mtn.
Bassinyrface: what?!?
EggMtnRckr: he says he’s outgrown the band. We’re too soft for him!
Bassinyrface: sux!
EggMtnRckr: he says he wants to form a speed metal band!!!
Bassinyrface: Stupid! Although … I’ve got just the band for him. Only thing is, theyre in
Providence!
EggMtnRckr: heh heh … those goons you told me about, eh? Razing Kane?
Bassinyrface: yep. you looking for another guitar player then?
EggMtnRckr: Yep, i guess we both are.
As I signed off that IM conversation, my whole body was tingling. I used to have those tingles, that pent-up feeling of excitement, on Christmas morning waiting to unwrap gifts. That made sense. Presents were exciting! But hearing that your former band had lost its most skilled musician? There was nothing thrilling about that, so why did I have happy goose bumps all over? I had no right to be excited about Ronaldo’s bad luck. But in a strange, upside-down way, I was. Maybe I was just glad that I wasn’t the only band leader struggling to put it all together.
The upside-down feeling continued all day. Just before first period, I was looking for Jonny. We were going to practice at his house after school, and I needed to find out how to get there. I turned a corner and saw him standing in front of his locker, but he was talking to some tall guy. The tall guy’s back was turned to me, and Jonny was so concentrated on what the guy was saying that he didn’t notice I was there. But something about the way the two stood together made me hesitate. They were talking quietly, but with a nervous energy I could sense from fifteen feet away. I ducked behind some lockers and watched. Actually, all the tension was coming from Jonny, who was visibly shaken up. The tall guy was completely relaxed, talking quickly but calmly and making his points with confident hand gestures. As he turned toward the left, I got a better view of his ugly mug: it was Jackson Royer. What could Jonny possibly have to talk about with Jackson Royer? Although, really, it looked pretty one-way as far as conversations go.
Jackson had only a couple of inches on Jonny height-wise, but the way he carried himself, he looked a lot bigger. Jackson had his arms folded, and Jonny seemed to slump in response. He looked like he didn’t want anybody to see him; his bangs hung over his glasses and, as usual, he kept his eyes down, like he was bowing to Jackson the god. Could Jackson really be bullying a kid as big as Jonny? My first urge was to go over there and make some noise, defend my friend. But something held me back. Fear, maybe, but it was more than that. I just had a feeling that if I interrupted them, something bad might happen.
Jackson leaned in farther, just inches away from Jonny, still speaking too quietly for me to hear. He poked Jonny in the sternum with his index finger. Jonny nodded, reached into his front pocket, and gave Jackson a big wad of bills and change. Jackson took it, looked around to make sure no one was watching, pocketed the wad, and was gone. I waited to make sure Jackson didn’t turn around, then snuck off in the other direction.
More upside-downness. As I walked to English I heard music blaring out of Mr. V’s classroom. Rock music. The man had set up a giant pair of desktop speakers and was playing none other than Bon Jovi. As I sat down, everyone around me was pointing and giggling as Mr. V sat cross-legged on his desk, sandwiched by the speakers, which must have been cranked to eleven. The music was so loud I could barely think, but he wore his usual expression of Buddha-like calm.
“Students, today we have no blue bowl,” Mr. V said, turning the speakers down, but just a little. “Today we will do something a litt
le bit more interesting. Everyone likes music, am I correct?”
“Yeah, good music maybe, not this trash!” said that goon McNamara. More upside-downness—I actually agreed with the goons.
“Mr. McNamara, I will tolerate insults to Shakespeare, to Emerson, to Hemingway, but please lay off Jon Bon Jovi. Many of his songs are on the soundtrack of my life.”
“What soundtrack of your life?” another goon asked.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Amado, for providing such a convenient segue. Pause a moment and listen to the words of Mr. Bon Jovi.”
He turned up the speaker volume again, and the class was treated to some cheesy lyrics about how life is like a huge open road and how you could die any minute, so you need to go down that huge open road in a giant white Cadillac with the wind blowing your long wavy hair, and blah, blah, blah. There was also something about a guy named Frankie, but JBJ never explains who Frankie even is. Yawn.
“That’s truly beautiful,” said McNamara. But you could tell he meant the exact opposite. Maybe McNamara and I would be friends one day?
“Thank you. Now, students,” he said, smiling and raising that left eyebrow of his. “Some of you might not care for this particular song. I happen to find it quite invigorating. And it would certainly be on the soundtrack of my life. It was playing the first time I saw the woman who would become my wife.
“I want all of you to think about the songs that would be on your soundtrack. Take these.”
He passed a handout around:
The Soundtrack of My Life, Part One
Instructions: Songs are the poetry of our everyday lives. Find some poetry in your life by choosing your soundtrack. Many songs have a meaning, or a message. But some songs are just fun and enjoyable. Don’t think too hard. The thinking will come in parts two and three. For now, just look at the categories below and choose a beloved song that fits it. Start hunting while also making sure that your choices are of a school-appropriate nature!
1. Opening Credits
2. Receiving a Gift
3. Treasured Memory
4. Disagreement
5. Making Up
