DJ DAYS-DRIVING TO AN APPEARANCE
"Who's coming home on the old ninety five?" Does that mean the highway?? Boston/New York?
I don't know. Yeah, maybe.
I really love this band.
This one? Glad you do. Ever hear of a band called "Buffalo Fish"?
No, HA! Was it a cover band for this one? A parody band?
A parody band? Um, no, it was a proto-version. It was this lead singer and a few other guys. And me.
YOU!?!?! What do you mean?
I mean, I knew these guys. We all came from New York to LA together. He recommended me for an audition. They wanted someone who looked twice as good, but could sing half as well.
Audition? You mean, The Audition?
Yep. And when I got it, when I was the one making all the money. God, $100K in a single year! That was Hollywood money, baby! In those days. I loaned him money to buy a sailboat. I believed in him when nobody else did.
And now? Have you ever tried to get your money back?
What? Now that he's been knighted by the Rock gods and I've been forgotten?
No, I mean, well, he could do a show with you or something . . .
YOU negotiate that one with his agent!!
Okay, I will! Have you even asked?
Never mind. DON'T.
(They were silent for a few miles. She didn't want to bring out that alcoholic-pity tone in his voice. The bitter, sour notes that came into his conversation, like that awful "Auntie" song he had to sing during concerts with the group. Fitting into his old minstrel show of himself, lines well-rehearsed. Mr.Bojangles, dance. He got that look sometimes when he flipped through record bins. All of them young and happy. His friends in the "Classic Rock" bins, and his best work in the "Novelty" section.)
He was driving. And dry-eyed.
You know, I work very hard to keep myself in the mindset of being the virtuous folk/blues guy. Playing for anyone who will show up. Keeping the faith that it's a matter of persistance. Or that I used up all the recognition when I was 22. But there are moments, y'know? When this seems like such a sham. I don't understand how our paths diverged. I was the one who took the road more traveled, and that HAS made all the difference. But the thing is . . . if I hadn't signed that pact with the devil, I don't think I would've had a career at all. I think I'd still be washing dishes.
(That hit her hard. Was it possible that all the Stars in Hollywood and Rock were NOT preordained to be famous? Growing up on Entertainment Tonight, it had all seemed like a modern version of the Roman Gods she'd studied in school. Now even those seemed like random hype. Fame was all fiction. It was like discovering that Columbus knew America was there.//Like Alice had taken opium, like Snow White had been raped by a necrophiliac. It was the same feeling. The world shifted slightly on its axis as they pulled into Canobie Lake Park.
She had a month of Sundays in her mind, days when her father was still alive and had taken her there on Company Picnic Days. Her heart stuck in midair as the plastic log reached the summit, before it slid down on the flume. The idea of not being able to stop it, the point of no return. Some of the more simple, delicious days of childhood and early summer. All the rides were free and there were no lines. As if she had the place to herself. And now, here he was, her hero, ready to announce the lineup of other acts. Not even asked to sing.
His guitar case was in the backseat. Like it always was. She couldn't remember the last time he had taken it out. She wasn't even sure if there was a guitar in there.
Buffalo Springfield, Nowadays Clancy Can't Even Sing
"Who's coming home on the old ninety five?" Does that mean the highway?? Boston/New York?
I don't know. Yeah, maybe.
I really love this band.
This one? Glad you do. Ever hear of a band called "Buffalo Fish"?
No, HA! Was it a cover band for this one? A parody band?
A parody band? Um, no, it was a proto-version. It was this lead singer and a few other guys. And me.
YOU!?!?! What do you mean?
I mean, I knew these guys. We all came from New York to LA together. He recommended me for an audition. They wanted someone who looked twice as good, but could sing half as well.
Audition? You mean, The Audition?
Yep. And when I got it, when I was the one making all the money. God, $100K in a single year! That was Hollywood money, baby! In those days. I loaned him money to buy a sailboat. I believed in him when nobody else did.
And now? Have you ever tried to get your money back?
What? Now that he's been knighted by the Rock gods and I've been forgotten?
No, I mean, well, he could do a show with you or something . . .
YOU negotiate that one with his agent!!
Okay, I will! Have you even asked?
Never mind. DON'T.
(They were silent for a few miles. She didn't want to bring out that alcoholic-pity tone in his voice. The bitter, sour notes that came into his conversation, like that awful "Auntie" song he had to sing during concerts with the group. Fitting into his old minstrel show of himself, lines well-rehearsed. Mr.Bojangles, dance. He got that look sometimes when he flipped through record bins. All of them young and happy. His friends in the "Classic Rock" bins, and his best work in the "Novelty" section.)
He was driving. And dry-eyed.
You know, I work very hard to keep myself in the mindset of being the virtuous folk/blues guy. Playing for anyone who will show up. Keeping the faith that it's a matter of persistance. Or that I used up all the recognition when I was 22. But there are moments, y'know? When this seems like such a sham. I don't understand how our paths diverged. I was the one who took the road more traveled, and that HAS made all the difference. But the thing is . . . if I hadn't signed that pact with the devil, I don't think I would've had a career at all. I think I'd still be washing dishes.
(That hit her hard. Was it possible that all the Stars in Hollywood and Rock were NOT preordained to be famous? Growing up on Entertainment Tonight, it had all seemed like a modern version of the Roman Gods she'd studied in school. Now even those seemed like random hype. Fame was all fiction. It was like discovering that Columbus knew America was there.//Like Alice had taken opium, like Snow White had been raped by a necrophiliac. It was the same feeling. The world shifted slightly on its axis as they pulled into Canobie Lake Park.
She had a month of Sundays in her mind, days when her father was still alive and had taken her there on Company Picnic Days. Her heart stuck in midair as the plastic log reached the summit, before it slid down on the flume. The idea of not being able to stop it, the point of no return. Some of the more simple, delicious days of childhood and early summer. All the rides were free and there were no lines. As if she had the place to herself. And now, here he was, her hero, ready to announce the lineup of other acts. Not even asked to sing.
His guitar case was in the backseat. Like it always was. She couldn't remember the last time he had taken it out. She wasn't even sure if there was a guitar in there.
Buffalo Springfield, Nowadays Clancy Can't Even Sing
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