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The rhythms of a lifetime
I woke up to a coffee maker malfunction that spewed an entire pot of coffee all over the kitchen counter and hard wood floor. A roll of paper towel and twenty minutes later I discovered we were out of Q-tips and milk. The milk didn’t bother me, the Q-tips did. Q-tips are essential to my post shower ritual. There is no viable option to replace a Q-tip. Any alternative means at ear duct cleaning will typically result in a punctured cranium blood letting. My uncle used to clean his ear with a car key. You would be talking to him and he would nonchalantly take his keys out, continue talking, grimace, and dig. It kind of looked like he was trying getting a good idea going. I never had the courage to ask him if there were ever any complaints at the car dealership. I could see it now; the mechanic comes out and says “sir your car wouldn’t start because of ignition wax build-up of a foreign matter.” There’s nothing like creating a car malfunction with your own DNA! I wonder if faulty genetics are covered by the extended warranty?
This morning’s stellar beginning coincidentally comes on the verge of the “do or die cage match” rehearsal with “Onion Dent.”
St. Leonard’s parking lot had inhabitants this time. Shill was in the parking lot in what appeared to be serious conversation with Nicole. I just hope they aren’t comparing notes on “advanced tactical testicle foot to nut combat maneuvers on innocent unskilled in fighting defenseless musician types.” That is a curious non-contested demographic to prey on.
Joe was at the trunk of his car and yelled, “hey Shill before I get over there my wife requested no hugging. She’s not a big fan of your cologne.” Joe’s honesty was uncanny and right to the point. I was wondered if it would jettison Shill into a karate stance, but all was well. Shill gave Joe a sly smile and a half-mast “peace sign” of cordial agreement. I made my way over to Joe. “Joe that was some declaration of independence.”
“Dom, I showered three times and I still stunk. That oversized urinal cake cut into any possible chance I had at getting any nookie. You know that I’m a lover at heart.” Loverboy then proceeded to unpack an athletic supporter with a cup. “Joe are you catching today?” I asked. “Just Nicole-proofing so the nookie can be nooked without a blue Hawaii.” “Joe you certainly have a way with words.”
Nicole took up a large corner space on the stage with a percussion smorgasbord of “bells and whistles”
“Is that Sheila Ee’s second cousin twice removed from a previous marriage? I bet you five bucks she mentions Sheila Ee. today.” “You are on Joe,” Donny replied. Jerry was tuning up and adjusting the controls on his amp. They were the first to the stage and the rest of us where still unpacking and settling in. Jerry “warmed up” with a funkadelic groove right out of the Parliament fakebook. Nicole took the rhythmic counterpoint and nailed the backbeat and mesmerizing peripheral syncopation. She put on a clinic before we even tackled a note of rehearsed and Jerry had a “pitching a tent smile” pushing his face to the limit. The “fist tap” ended the warm up session that could have masqueraded as an encore. She was fantastic. Jerry turned to us “I’m pretty awesome, now if I could just get a little cooperation up here!”
We stood in silent awe. There was an over-achiever in our mitts. Everyone had a connected comment that followed.
“So you discovered her in the grocery store, where by garbanzo beans?” “I wonder who leaves and releases a solo album.” “Donny, thanks for the shots, you can go home now.”
Nicole walked off the stage and sat quietly eating her chocolate bar. She didn’t even break a sweat and was totally unimpressed with her God given talent. “Donny, you go practice now and let us know when we should take your training wheels off.” Iam dished out more of the usual. Donny was silent, as he was on his way over to take a seat by Nicole. “Where did you learn to play like that?” Nicole held up her finger to signal “wait a minute” as she finished the last bite of her chocolate bar. She replied “I went to the Sheila Ee. drum camp a few years in a row.” “We all burst out laughing but immediately stopped and turned it into a group coughing spell. “Let’s not piss off Bunny Rich. Balls to the wall boys.” Joe had the last word and an extra five bucks.
Shill stood on the stage. He did kind of an inspirational jam send off and walked off. We all got tuned up and ready. I had a song I wrote that wasn’t really going anywhere. It had some solid qualities but a lot of holes. I thought it might be a good starting point of creation and improvisation. We could see how much of a “group” we really are and paint the blank musical canvas. The working title was “lucky finger.” It was loosely based on a gambling story, but you know what the boys in the band dished out when I announced the title. “You know where you could stick your lucky finger.” “Dom I think I have a fever come over and give me a dipstick check.” “Lucky finger, meet lucky dupa!” “If your finger is so lucky, why is it up my emergency exit!” They all laughed as I experienced a humbling ball busting moment. Nicole jumped up and stomped towards the boys with fists clenched in my defense. I must admit it was a treat to see the fear stricken expressions on my detractors faces. I calmed the impending storm. “Nicole it’s ok, they are just kidding in their own charming way. She stopped in her tracks, gave them a last “killer” stare and went back to her seat. They looked like they all needed to be changed from a self-inflicted “scaredy pants dump.” I did enjoy the fact that she was in my corner, maybe I can skip buying an athletic supporter and cup after all. I then imagined overhearing my lower anatomy celebrating by singing a joyous victory duet of “we are the champions.”
Donny said, “how about you just play us the song Dom.” I broke out the acoustic and played it in its entirety. There was a common “not bad” opinion and group intrigue. After a few dozen “you know what we should do’s” we had the makings of a foundation of our first song. It was kind of a “Sex Pistols meets Frank Zappa” with a sax solo and soothing vocal if you can picture that. We ran through it a few times and shaped and shifted the contents. What we ended up with was with was a progressive/pop rock/punk disco/ funkabilly opus. One last run through and we had it down to a science. Next, a jam session followed with a nice feel that fluctuated rhythmically from a defined verse to chorus and back. I grabbed some lyrics out of my backpack and improvised a lead vocal. Three run throughs later and we had a song entitled “fat cat.” “Fat cat…. knows where it’s at” was the funky sing along we all got on the mic for and Joe took it out with a howling sax that was like a cherry on top of an ice cream sundae. Iam and Jerry dueling bass pulsations were magic and Nicole accented and punctuated the percussion. I held on to the reins of the rhythm on acoustic guitar to glue the rest together. Donny then counted us down to the big finish. As the cymbals crashed we all let out some victory howls on our magical shared journey. We were all “buzzing” from our musical accomplishments and for the first time we shared a common smile and energy as a band. It was a moment where handshakes and hugs put it all into perspective. It was so good that for the first time nobody had anything to joke about.
Shill proudly clapped and enthusiastically approached the impromptu celebration. “This is fantastic, I have no doubt you will bring down the house next week.” “Next week” we simultaneously shrieked. “I forgot to tell you, your first gig is at the “single mother’s against deadbeat dad’s and senseless fornication” fund raiser in Paramus.” Donny couldn’t resist “Paramus, single woman, senseless fornication, should I bring my drums or my edible undies?” Shill gave us the lowdown “I’m serious, the advertising campaign is underway, the press will be well represented, and the event is sold out.
Iam had a question “what kind of donations are they accepting? Should I spend the week saving pennies or applying ice packs and herbal oil to the old sacroiliac?”
I decided to get to the heart of the matter “how in the world did you get involved with that nonprofit Shill?”
“I date a couple of the ladies on the board.” That was it, now came the group comment floodgates.
“That is one hell of a charitable contribution Shill, do you smoke after presenting the check?” “I’m sure they wholeheartedly cherish your throbbing generosity!” “I was wondering why he only had one cuff link!”
“You can get to third base as soon as the check clears!” “Sorry to hear about you troubles honey, a little to the left!” “
Jerry kept it going. “I can see the headline now: non-profit pelvis poking produces prostitutional profits in Paramus.”
Joe stood up “this is gonna be pucking pun!” The roar of laughter was spontaneous and contagious.
The laughter eventually died down and reality hit me. “We will have to ‘turn a few tricks’ of our own in trying to make two songs into an entire concert. If we bomb, Shill will have a lot of musical chair makeup sex and hefty donations to redistribute. Speaking of distribution, Onion Dent just might become Jersey’s latest major export if we don’t deliver the goods.”
One show and two songs hold the key.
I just hope it isn’t the key my uncle was using.
Copyright © 2010 Domenick Cassise. All rights Reserved Worldwide.
(Check back for more installments that continue the story)
Onion Dent is a work of fiction and any similarities to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.