Wackos to Obliterate: Book Two (Chapter 8)
As the common ground was being cultivated, Nils, Sophie and Ryuji learned about the Mardens.
“Yeah, I remember that dude’s name; particularly since he not only worked in A&R but produced several songs for some of the groups signed to Summit,” Ryuji said.
Trink smiled and said, “I didn’t know that, but it makes the opportunity even better than I thought. If he worked in production, he should still have connections with recording engineers, studio schedules; even distribution networks.”
Nils and Sophie grinned as well when Ryuji added that it was pretty ironic, lucky or what, but a year or two ago he had written a couple of songs they might be able to use for this new project.
“I’ve been an on-and-off member of a nationwide organization campaigning for decriminalization; I had planned to use the songs to help the cause, but …”
“No shit; that’s great,” Trink said.
“Hell, it’d be pretty cool if we could see what you’ve got,” Nils said, still grinning. “You know, maybe this town has one of those small rental studios college kids sometimes use. We could spend a couple of hours jamming or something.”
“Actually, Madelyn and I used to buy old instruments at flea markets and web auctions. I don’t know how in tune they are, but we’ve got an old drum kit, some guitars, and an electric keyboard. If we had rough drafts of the songs, we could kind of play with them here.”
“If I’m not too senile, I can’t recall when the TRinkets were ever in tune,” Sophie said.
“Speak for yourself,” Nils said.
“You know, I think those songs are backed up on the cloud. I could probably find them if I had a computer.”
“There’s a desktop in there,” Trink said, pointing towards the office. While Trink helped Ryuji log on to the computer, Ryuji explained that he never got around to submitting the songs to the decriminalization group; no doubt, his procrastination was a good example of how fans of the ‘herb’ oftentimes do not accomplish everything they set out to do.
Both Nils and Sophie had booked motel reservations online, so once Ryuji printed off a few copies of the songs and passed them around, they decided to go back to their rooms for a few hours and take a look at what Ryuji put together; maybe make a few suggestions.
“Dinner’s on me,” Trink said.
“Are you going to make it?” Sophie asked.
“We could order a couple of pizzas.”
She looked at him with a sneer on her face. “I don’t eat that pus anymore. I brought myself something vegan to tide me over.”
“You know, there are a couple of decent macrobiotic restaurants in this town.”
“That sounds like a good plan for lunch,” she said.
“So, what are your plans for dinner? You going to order pizza?” Nils asked.
“There’s a good local pizza joint that delivers.”
Ryuji raised an arm in the air. “Pizza’s fine with me.”
Nils raised his right in the air as well. “I’ll be back around 7:00. I’ve got some correspondence to take care of, but should be finished by then.”
“Okay, I’ll make it back around 8:00 or 8:30,” Sophie said.
While the other two were gone, Ryuji and Trink set up the instruments and sound equipment Trink had in a small room he had soundproofed shortly after he bought the house. It had been a storage room of some sort, with no windows, maybe originally intended as a linen closet or wine cellar. He never really knew for sure, it was a little larger than the typical walk-in closet, but it was not connected to a room; instead, its door faced a hallway shared with the bedrooms and main bathroom. Whatever it was, it made for a pretty decent private studio. Since neither Trink nor Madelyn played instruments very well, though, it served as a repository for the instruments they purchased.
For Ryuji, a jam session with a majority of the original members was something he hoped would happen eventually. He had been the bass and keyboard player and occasionally arranged music for the lyrics that Trink or Sophie wrote. As is typical with most bands, since he and Nils (the drummer) supplied the rhythm, they acted as the essential glue that held the group together, but Ryuji was more crucial due to his collaboration on many of the songs. Even so, since the majority of fans tend to focus on the singers or the lead guitarist, neither he nor Nils were in the limelight as much. In the case of the TRinkets that was even less surprising since their signature uniqueness was the vocal interplay between the singers. As a result, the musical careers of the other members were dependent on how well Sophie and Trink got along.
Unfortunately, when the band dissolved, none were able to survive in the music industry. Both Ryuji and Nils, in particular, had tried for a couple of years to hire themselves out as a rhythm section for solo acts or other bands. Since they did not have any formal musical training, however, they found the life of being studio musicians too competitive. As a result, after the breakup, they were eventually forced to leave music for other directions. That was true with Barry as well, but throughout his time with the band, he had continued to take university classes in psychology, so it was easy for him to build on that foundation as a career. It was harder on Ryuji and Nils since they had devoted most of their time to the band.
Eventually, however, both Nils and Ryuji were able to piece together lives after the TRinkets. Nils went into a spiritual direction, while Ryuji found he could manipulate an interest he had in photography and pursue that for profit. Even so, his primary interest continued to be music.
As they worked together at getting the equipment set up, Ryuji asked: “What has life been like after no longer being hounded by groupies, journalists, paparazzi, and the other flies that buzz around shit?”
“I was just going to ask you the same thing?”
“Oh com’on man, you and Sophie were the TRinkets,” Ryuji said, shaking his shaggy black mane of hair as a broad smile covered his thin face. Trink had to admit it, that of all the members, Ryuji had changed the least physically. Looking at him was really like what he remembered.
“If that were true, either one of us could have continued on without the rest of you. Once the group flew apart, all the King’s horses and men couldn’t put the TRinkets back together again.”
“It really got ugly.”
“The lawsuits were the worst …”
Ryuji shook his head in agreement. “I know they’re mostly what kept me from trying to keep in touch.”
“I think that was true for the rest of us; at least, for me. I mean, I was sure that everyone hated my guts.”
“It did hurt when you went public calling all of us sexists and homophobes or whatever. I mean, really, the few interviews I got to have before we were all put into the media ‘shadowland’ …”
“Is that what you call it?”
“Huh?”
“Shadowland?”
Ryuji looked at Trink holding a Fender. “The way we ceased to exist as a cultural event?”
“That’s what I call it as well. Where’s that term from?”
“I think from a member of some 60s group; one of his more recent songs.”
“Graham Nash,” Trink said, placing the guitar on its stand.
“Possibly, but what I wanted to say was that everyone wanted to know why I was such a prejudiced jerk. What really got to me was that most of the people who interviewed me got really ugly in stating things like, ‘being the member of a minority, how could you be so intolerant?’ It sounded as though it was okay, somehow, to be a bigot if I was Caucasian, but being Oriental made it especially bad.”
“Like, ‘haven’t your people been through enough? How can you treat others with such disdain?’”
“I was some evil Fu Manchu cat in one of those anti-Asian films from the 1930s or something,” Ryuji said.
“Sorry, but we were shattered by what happened. I guess I just wanted to hit back,” Trink said, looking down at the guitar on its stand.
“It was such a shock to all of us. It shouldn’t have been, but it was.”
“Why did it matter so much anyway?”
“You know why, man, you know why. Hell, your singing style and interplay with Sophie on stage were very macho. So, when it was revealed that abruptly: the fans, the media, us, everyone went berserk - wacko.”
Trink looked up and said, “Especially, Sophie.”
“From there, the name calling started and the media, like locus, swooped down and ate all in its wake.”
“Let’s hope we can scrape together a few remaining seeds tonight.” Just then the doorbell rang.
Surprisingly, there were a few seeds still lying around; even without a lead guitar player, they were able to get into a groove and put a distinctive polish onto the one song of Ryuji’s everyone agreed would be best to work on first. Overall, the lyrics were pretty trite and a little preachy, but once Ryuji played on the keyboard a couple of ideas he had for the melody, Sophie was able to improvise a couple of interesting lines, which Trink was surprised to discover he could build from and reply with another good phrase or two.
He looked down at his dog sitting on the floor of the improvised studio. “That had nothing to do about Limey.”
“Who’s Limey?” Sophie asked.
“Recently, the only lyrics I’ve been able to come up with, have been when I fed Limey, the dog snoozing over there.”
By the end of the evening, they had hammered out a pretty decent song. After Sophie and Nils had returned to their motels, Ryuji and Trink shared a final joint before his friend came by to pick him up.
“So, do you really think Marden is going to like the song?” Ryuji said through clenched teeth as he handed the joint to Trink.
“He’s really obsessed with legalization. He wants to make a media blitz around it. No doubt, he feels that a song by an older group with a back-story like ours combines enough disparate elements to appeal to a large voter block.”
“Let’s hope that at least it helps to generate a little buzz for the band.”
“You really think something may come of this?” Trink asked, handing back the joint.
Ryuji put it to his lips and gave it a good suck. Once he exhaled, he said, “I dunno, but it’s pretty amazing we’ve been getting so many hits online.”
“But no sales.”
“It’s a new world out there,” Ryuji said, handing back a greatly reduced doobie.
“Still, there should be some sort of revenue stream starting if we can get a little traction with this new venture.”
“As they say, whoever the fuck: don’t count your eggs before …”
Trink tried to maneuver the small pinner between his fingers, but decided it was too short, so dropped it in the ashtray on his desk. “Unfortunately, there’s not a lot of time.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re pretty strapped at the moment. There’s even a chance we might lose this house.”
Ryuji looked around at the upper-middle-class trappings of the room they occupied and nodded his head in agreement.
“What do you mean by nodding like that?”
“I don’t know, but I was really surprised at seeing this place. You should check out where I’m living. Hell, Malcolm and I are just squeezing by. Things have gotten so expensive compared to the old days. I was wondering where the hell your money’s been coming from since I haven’t gotten very much in royalties for quite some time. My photography business has been pretty shitty as well.”
“We were doing pretty well with investments, until the bottom dropped out.”
“You mean a couple of years ago?”
“Do you know about the Forest scandal?”
“Ahh …”
“You know the Ponzi scheme that blew up a few months ago? It was pretty big news, I think. Anyway, we had most of our eggs in that bloody basket.”
“So, you’re saying that if this reunion doesn’t bear fruit, you’ll be out on the street?” Ryuji asked.
Trink noticed Ryuji had a smirk on his face. It could have been the result of hearing what Trink said, or it could have been from the pot. He hesitated before he said, “Maybe not that extreme, but it’s a possibility.”
The smirk vanished as Ryuji stared into the aging face of his old band member and a one-time close friend. He was a little surprised at how much older and stressed Trink seemed to him than the last time he saw him. At that time, Trink was so full of his own self-importance and determination to let everyone know how clueless they were to the special relationship he and Madelyn shared. He was angry, but not stressed. Now, however, he appeared very worried about what was to come.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“So are we.”
“How much did you lose?”
“Pretty much everything and we took out a half-a-million mortgage on this place.”
“Ouch.”
“Repossession is looking us in the face. Things could be worse, I guess. I could be working for minimum wage in the local Daily Stop,” Trink said with a smirk on his face. “By the way, who’s Malcolm?”
“My roomie, the dude who drove off with my camper; he’s supposedly scouting out the area for some good hunting spots.”
“Your roomie?” Trink asked as he noticed an unease appear on Ryuji’s face.
“Yeah, we’ve been sharing the same place for a couple of years. His name’s Malcolm and he should be here shortly.”
“He’s a hunter?”
“We both are; I guess that’s the main thing we have in common.”
“What kind of hunting?”
“Mostly water fowl like ducks and geese. Duck season just started. I’ve heard the countryside around here is pretty decent for quackers.”
“Don’t bring that up around Sophie, she’ll go ballistic I bet. Remember, she’s vegan and called pizza, ‘pus.’”
“Getting her pissed off is something we’ve got in common, I guess.”
“That and having same-sex roomies; I don’t know about the hunting, though.”
“We’d like to get a couple of tracks down on tape if possible,” Trink told Brad over the phone.
Marden sitting in his solar-powered wheelchair, surrounded by two-meter-tall marijuana plants, said over his smart phone: “I’m delighted you decided to do this; even more, it’s fantastic to hear you got your band reunited to help out.”
“We’ve got a major problem, though. Our lead guitarist couldn’t come along. So, if you could shake a few branches, we’d appreciate some help in getting one.”
“You know, it might not be a bad idea to see if your little groupie from the store could find you someone a little younger. That would be an interesting angle,” he said, gazing at one of the hydraulic injectors installed to ensure proper delivery of fertilizer and water to the plants.
“Diamond in the rough.”
“Yeah, something like that,” Marden said.
“So, what’s the next step?”
“I’d say, try to get your guitarist lined up. If he doesn’t work out, let me know, I may be able to find someone suitable; I wouldn’t count on it.”
Trink looked out a window in his office and watched his ‘bandmates’ looking bored and not conversing while seated on the lawn furniture in his backyard. “We really need to record something in the next day or two. The natives get restless pretty quickly.”
“Why don’t you drop them by and Chelsea can give a tour of the greenhouse, while I jabber about how great it is that they have decided to pull their resources into the service of such a worthwhile cause.”
“So, when do you think we can get into a studio?”
“It depends on when you can get a complete band assembled.”
“Tomorrow too soon?”
A smile crept across his wrinkled face. “Tonight if you’re ready; you can use the studio in the house. I’ve got better than fair skill at the mixing board.”
After his conversation with Brad, Trink called Emily on her cell phone. She was working but told him she’d have Diamond call him ASAP. Not surprisingly, within fifteen minutes, Trink’s phone was ringing.
He decided to let the answer machine activate. His recorded message said: “You have made contact with Mars. Please speak after the beep.”
“Ah, Mr. Mars?” Diamond said, flustered by the machine.
“Is that you Diamond?” Trink responded. “I’m glad you could get in touch so quickly. I know we met only once, but I’m in a little bit of a bind. I was wondering if you knew an excellent guitarist who’d be willing to record a track with my old band.”
“Huh? You mean the TRinkets?”
“Yeah, several members of the group are in town to record a song or two, but an emergency came up that makes it impossible for our guitarist to join us.”
“Barry?”
“That’s right, so …” Trink hesitated, waiting for Diamond to pick up the slack.
“How about me?” he suggested.
“We’d have to hear you play first. We’re in quite a bind, so the sooner the better.”
Links to the previous chapters of Book Two
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Copyright (©) by Kenneth Wayne