Showing posts with label Molasky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Molasky. Show all posts

Monday, December 23, 2013

Gonna Hurt Tomorra'

LINER NOTES:
“I Love The Way You’re Breaking My Heart”
sounds sincere and slow. Like she was singing directly to him. A different take is her “vulnerable and terrible” voice.  Playing around.  This is closer to Lauren Bacall.

==
SHOWER:
PLOT:
Fight ON THE ROAD:
she’s backing him up & he brings her onstage for encores & intros for 1st & 2nd act.  She’s still his main audience member, young 20’s, he knows enough to keep her out of the spotlight.  BUT maybe he brings her on to sing the SAD songs, because she’s living the heartache every day!! Her emotions are closer tot he surface.
(He knows he can’t seduce her anymore, so he gets at her from the inside.  Coaxes the music from her)
She clowns around with a song
“I Love the Way You’re Breaking My Heart”
(Like she’s Betty Boop)
“Don’t sing that song to me!  Sing it to HIM!”
But what if he’s in the audience?
Sing it anyway!!  That’s what we want to hear!
(Um, okay, give me a second.  Okay. GOT IT>)
She sang with such intimacy, it made him cry to know it wasn’t for him.
“He needs me, much more than you ever have. Don’t be jealous now!”
“I’m not, there’s just something about him that strikes a wrong note,”
“Mental illness is not easy.  I’ve been putting up with yours for years.  Perfect training, I’d say!”
“What does he have”
“Mixed Bipolar”
“What does that mean?”
“He says it’s the worst you can have”
“He does, does he? Gee, poor guy!”
“You just don’t get it . . .”
No, I think YOU don’t get it.  When is he going to come see you?
When we get closer to town!
But I thought you weren’t sure he’d come.  That he’s a shut-in.
Yeah, so?  Maybe he won’t make it that day.  I don’t need HIM to come to prove that he LOVES me!”
If he doesn’t show up for you, how are you ever going to get anything from him?
“He asked me to be patient!
Patient for what?  Are you sure he’s not playing games with you?
Absolutely sure.  He’s womderful! you’re just jealous that someone can love so PURELY.
I see LOVE on your face right now. I see you in love, PURELY.  And I just want to make sure he deserves this BEST part of you.  
Thanks.  He does, trust me. He does.
==
He shows up at a concert and COMPLETELY SURPRISES her.
She tries to introduce him, but he is speechless & grinning like an idiot, or like he’s on something.  Weird.
She drives back to the motel.  5 am.  They had stayed up the whole night.  And he never said a word to her.  Nothing towards explanation.
(This should NOT echo with the ending!!)
She’s glowing.
He sees her in the sunshine in the parking lot.  She’s shivering slightly, hugs him chastley when he comes out with a blanket for her. So in love.  
He’ll be back, he said.  He wrote that’s he’s coming tonight.
Shows the napkin.
“tonite” he scrawled, in handwriting of a 5 year old.
This guy has a PhD.  There is something really WRONG here.
As she walks back to the motel for some sleep, he realizes that he’s suddenly relieved that she came back alive.
==
She sings beautifully that night.  Only a few more nights on this tour left, 20/23.  She makes him cry, although he’s careful to hide it in the sweat towel he uses to wipe down his guitar and face.
She sings like this guyis in the audience, even though he’s asked all the front of house people to point this guy out.
He asks her at intermission if he’s come back.
No, well, at least he hasn’t told me.
(Like that time when he was across the country and didn’t tell you if he had bullets for that gun?)
He might just be hanging out in the back.  Or maybe he’ll sneak in later.  He might just be in the back of the house, among those people we can’t see clearly.  He doesn’t want to disturb my concentration in the middle of a show.  he knows how thrilled I get just by seeing him.
(This is the selfish kind of behavior used by abusers to control their subjects, he thought. She’s letting it happen.  She loves it somehow.  Poor kid.  He wanted to be able to slap the hormones right out of her.  And damn, he wished he had a fraction of that power over her.  Maybe that’s what he had, once upon a time.  No, this power is unnatural.  
Suddenly, he sees this other guy for who he really is.  A selfish bastard.  Like he used to be.  Like he IS.  Suddenly the whole idea of love & devotion sours for him.
He kicks at the ground.
Knowing that there will be a crash coming in her future.
==
When he finds her later, in the motel room, with the “tonite” napkin in her hand and the phone off the hook, the only thing that surprises him is that she left the door open.
“He hung himself.  The woods near where we grew up. I know the tree.  We used to swing from it, like we were Tarzan.”
He tries to hug her but she has wedged herself between the nightstand and the wall.  Like a scared animal.
She cries and stops and cries some more.
He stays with her for as long as he can, sitting on the edge of the bed, unable to look her in the eye.  
He offers to leave, but she won’t let him.
He manages to get her into bed and take off her shoes and some of the outerwear, just enough to get her comfortable.  He treats her like someone in a hospital, sick with some mysterious internal injury.  Must be gently moved.  No jokes, no sex.  But he’s also careful not to touch her too much.
She skips the last 3 shows, he drives 80 miles out of his way to make sure she’s delivered into another friend’s hands.

He doesn’t see her for another 2 years.


Love The Way You're Breaking My Heart

Sunday, December 22, 2013

With Plenty of Money: Revised

If they had a weekly television show of their own, she liked to think this would be their theme song.

Everytime they got into the car on the way to a gig, every time they began singing for the day, every rehearsal, it was the first song they started with.  Like a kiss, an embrace, an exercise you can do well, a reason to remind you of why you do this.  A game.

Vocal exercise as well, there was also enough wiggle room for them to both play around with.  Different every time.

When they did it as an encore (rarely, and only if they were both in a REALLY good mood),

She'd open with a funny (awful) voice, a variation of Betty Boop.  Then she'd flow into the "Honey" voice, and then (supposedly) hand it off to him.  According to signals-she'd hold onto her clothing or not-they would include the Ventriloquist act.  Not something she could pull off everyday, but when she did, it was incredible.  She pulled out her gravely Old Man Voice (which he admitted sounded better than his voice).

She thought about how true it was for them.

They only needed money to go out to breakfast at diners, her one big indulgence.  This life was feast or famine, she knew it well.  They were often feted and treated to great dinners, in people's homes and at great restaurants.

He was a picky eater, macrobiotics,etc.  But she also suspected that it was a Jack Benny affectation; he refused to eat outside his house not because of the non-healthy options, but because he was cheap.  (Of course, there WAS the beautiful refurbished barn in back which showed that his heart and money were both in the right place.  It doubled as a rehearsal space, recording studio and dance floor. It made her feel that THAT was the Standard.  Everything else could be compromised.  But the music was primary)

She preferred diners for breakfasts, mostly because of the unlimited supply of coffee (which made her horny).  Besides, if they had missed the "normal" breakfast window, she was always happy to order any protein.  As long as she could get her coffee.

The only reason to get to a diner before 10 was to get the day off to a good start.

Otherwise, he'd be happy to stay in bed until 12.  (With or without her) and if there was no event at night, he'd be back in bed by 7.  In Winter, the lack of sunlight would reduce the day to a few hours.  As long as there was good sex happening (between them, or them in parallel, ) all was fine.