 Rank: Advanced Member
Groups: Registered
Joined: 03/04/2009(UTC) Posts: 1,433  Location: Seattle Thanks: 22 times
Was thanked: 33 time(s) in 16 post(s)
|
The Troubadour, Sunset Blvd.
8:05 PM
BackstageOOC: Gonna warn you ahead of time, this rp switches perspectives a good deal. I'll try to make the changes clear, but bear with me, cause this is my first time dabbling in first person live performance. Here's the points of view used: Chris Jasta - BassJason Byrne - VocalsKarim Peters - Suicidal Maniacs' Tour ManagerMatt Lozinack - DrumsCrowd View/3rd PersonIC: (Perspective Of Jason Byrne) The energy backstage is always so fucking intense man. I mean, it feels like a bomb's gonna go off here any minute now. Some people, like Matt and Frank, try to drown it by abusing drugs and alcohol, respectively. Then you got the guys like fucking Chris, that ripped beast, who just start punching fucking cement walls of all things to let off steam. Me, I personally like to save all that energy for the stage, cause it's a common belief for us that if you finish a show covered in blood, ya played damn well, and the only way I can ensure that level of energy will be released is by lying low right before the action. Generally it helps to pass the time by chatting it up with Karim about the latest merch (or lack there-of), or maybe programming the venue music, and often times as I find myself to doing more and more frequently, writing the night's setlist. That one always works.
Karim pokes his head in from the side of the stage, 'Hey you filthy hobos, shows in 5 minutes, get ready'.
By now we all know the drill, each man breaking from his individual pleasure and huddling up, ready to lay everything on the line. I find the words coming out of my mouth without even consciously feeling them, 'Guys, we gotta do this for fucking Wayne. Think of how pissed you are that he's willing to endanger the band like this, tap into that energy onstage'.
'Hell yeah man', says Chris, joining in,'Also let's try to get that rage for those "Wall" guys goin, that'll really knock the crowd right fucking over'.
'Coolio', mumbles Matt. I punch him playfully,'Yeah, and maybe we can play a speed benefit show after this to clear up those fucking debts, you junkie'.
'3 minutes' reminds Karim, queuing us to split the circle. Matt and Frank leave the room, guitar and sticks in hand, to enter from stage left, leaving me and Chris alone. 'Damn man', Chris says, jamming out a little bass lick,'So used to Wayne being right here with us, and doing our little traditional 3 way Jaeger shot'.
'Yeah man, it's new to me to. Let's try to make sure we're never in this position again', I offer with a smile.
'Dude, if I didn't know you better, that would've been sooo homo', he teases, pouring a shot of Jaeger for each of us, and one for Karim, who's waiting at the side of the stage.
As we're jogging up the short flight of stairs, my head bangs against something sharp hanging from the ceiling, and I feel the familiar trickle of blood begin to ooze. 'Fuck man, hit my head'. Guess I won't have to worry about bleeding tonight. 'Here, it'll probably numb the pain', Chris says, handing me my shot glass. '3, 2, 1', I count, and the 3 of us toss back the little glasses. I'm immediately greeted by that warm feeling of just pure fucking energy. The house lights dim, and I can see a portion of the relatively full Troubadour crowd perk up. Just then, our intro tape begins to play over the PA. Karim gives me a joking shove forward, and Chris and I are off, shadows moving across the black stage, nearly invisible to the audience, who are captivated with the sounds of an old man recounting grisly tales of mass murder in the state of Texas:
(OOC: Kudos to anyone who can name the song)
On the afternoon of August 18th, 1973
5 young people in a Volkswagen van ran out of gas on a farm road in South Texas
4 of them were never seen again
The next morning the sole survivor, Sally Harvest Ian Wright, was picked up on a roadside
Blood cacked and screaming murder
Sally said she had broken out of a window in Hell
The girl babbled a mad tale
A cannibal family in an isolated farm house
Chainsawed fingers and bones
Her brother, her firends hacked up for barbecue
Chairs made of human skeletons
Then she sank into catatonia
Texas lawmen mounted a month long man-hunt but could not locate the macabre farm house
They could find no killers and no victims
No facts, no crime
Officially, on the records, the Texas Chainsaw Massacre never happened
But during the last 13 years, over and over again
Reports of bizarre, grisly chainsaw mass murders have persisted across the state of Texas
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre has not stopped
It haunts Texas
It seems to have no end
The house lights flood on over the stage, and an almost animalistic instinct overtakes me. Lost in the moment, I nearly forget we're about to play 'Oppression', one of the most difficult songs to memorize, and the clicking of Matt's hi-hat seems far and away in the distance, the sound of my own pulse much louder. Luckily the track begins with a quick guitar riff section first, allowing me time to regain my composure a bit. The crowd is thrashing, and there comes the sudden crash of the toms, and I'm off, going down the first big roller coaster drop, the lyrics reaching me mere milliseconds before they must be barked out at the frenzied crowd. Damn, I really need to warm up more pre-show, cause Matt sure as hell isn't backing off on those blast beats. I get a quick break, enough time to high five a fan or two before the dreaded high scream. Why do I always set such high goals for myself? Here it is, the moment of truth, and there it goes, right on pitch, although there isn't anytime to bask in the glory of my success. I swing back, nearly running into Frank on my way off the monitor. Jolting, yes, but where's the fun in performing if the stage isn't a bit like a obstacle course. Here comes the second chorus, packed with another brutal high, the bane of my larynx's existence. Wow, Chris and Matt are locked in especially tight tonight, wonder if it's got something to do with the high stakes. Ok, here we go, the real deathy part, that gives me about ten seconds here. I would try a flip off the monitor, yeah, that outta be fun. Here goes nothing.... oh shit, almost lost it there, buddy. Now we just got the string of high bits and then I'm clear through the breakdown, ok, get ready.... one down, two down, three down, and there goes the last one. Highs accomplished, now time to high five some of the kids.
All of the sudden, something whizzes by my head, smashing into a spray of glass to my right. I trace the shot roughly back to where it came, and there, in plain view is the problem. A fucking punk in a "Walls" shirt, just great. Well, If he throws something at me, I gotta come back 10 times stronger, so I pick up one of the spare mic stands and hurl it across the 150 person capacity venue, coming so damn close to hitting the little fucker. Ah, there he goes, too scared to keep on watching. That's right, just walk away faggot.
That's when I hear Matt's drum fill, bringing me back into the breakdown. Me and Frank are headbanging pretty viciously, and Chris is going completely fucking nuts on my other side. Damn, I'm flanked by to of the greatest of all time, this is pretty fucking unreal. 'Oppression' picks up a bit of speed, getting a really brutal crust-core/D-beat feel going, which I try to match with my last bits of growled vocals. And finally, some real fucking low notes, thank god, I thought they'd never come. We wrap up the song real nice and tight, the room exploding into yells and shouts for more, still unaware the next song is barely a second away.TO BE CONTINUEDEdited by user 08 May 2010 15:45:06(UTC)
| Reason: Not specified
|
