All The Young Punks Pt. 04

They broke into a hard version of 'Brand New Key' by Melanie. It was his sister Janie's favorite song, and not at all punk. That's when he set the hook in the crowd. The 'What the fuck?' look on faces was beautiful. They had never played this in the garage, so everyone was surprised.

When they hit the chorus, the crowd sang along.

'Well, I've got a brand new pair of rollerskates

You got a brand-new key.

I think that we should get together

And try them on you see.

I've been lookin' around awhile

You got something for me.

Well, I've got a brand new pair of rollerskates,

You got a brand new key.'

Claire held her hands to her cheeks, laughing. Everyone knew the chorus. Joe sang in a gravelly voice, like Tom Waits, the extreme opposite of Melanie. It was an easy song to punk up, a fun song, and they rocked it. The first singalong was a crowd-pleaser.

"We're here to have a good time. If you know the lyrics, feel free to join me. Sing it loud and sing it proud."

Joe looked back at Nate as if saying 'I told you so' with his eyes. After that number, the rest of the show was easy. The pressure was off. The crowd liked their punk Stones, punk Kinks, and punk Zombies. Most everyone knew the songs, so singing with Joe was easy. That was a major factor in his set selection. From the very beginning, Joe said, "Let the punks sing" even as his bandmates cast doubt on his ideas.

Months ago, when Sal got them on the punking up of old rock songs, Joe soon realized he could make any song punk rock. He dove into his dad's collection of old records to find The Crickets' 'I Fought The Law', Johnny Cash's 'Cocaine Blues', and Elvis' 'Burning Love'. The band punked them all up, playing them harder and faster.

Some songs have chord structures perfect for punking. Buddy Holly's 'Peggy Sue' and Herman Hermits' 'Henry The VIII, I am' were easy to adapt by simply thrashing the chords. When Joe first suggested these old songs, Sal and Nate protested, but once they made them hard, the guys acquiesced. These songs were fun to play.

Joe felt they should mix in these oldies to appeal to a wider audience. The class of '49 appeared to be digging the show. He threw them a bone with another oldie, Nancy Sinatra's 'These Boots Are Made For Walking.' While singing, Joe eyed the faces of his friends, smiles and laughter were all around the room. He knew he scored a hit. Every time they completed a song Nate or Sal had previous doubts about, Joe shot them a glance with a smile as the friends of the band enthusiastically vindicated his choices.

In the middle of the first set, Joe gambled with what Nate thought was the dumbest idea he'd ever heard in his life.

"All right, everyone knows the words to this song. I expect you all to join in." He pointed to the oldest patron seated at the bar, easily sixty. "That means you old man!"

He paused for a moment.

"Yabba dabba dooooooooo!

Flintstones, meet the Flintstones

They're the modern Stone Age family..."

Initial looks of confusion gradually changed to delight, and then to punks singing along... as they realized it was the Flintstones theme song. It went exactly as Joe had hoped. After a run through the forty-five-second theme song, Johnny played a ripping lead, and then they went through the lyrics again so the slower people, who didn't catch on the first time, could sing the full song.

When that song ended in cymbal crashing and guitar thrashing, the crowd went fucking wild. Joe took a bow, turned to his bandmates, and took another bow. When the kids finally quieted. He pointed with his thumb at his bandmates behind him.

"These jamokes thought my idea of playing a television theme song was the dumbest fucking idea they ever heard. So, do me a big favor. On three, everyone let them know if you approve. One, two, three."

The punks went crazy. Joe stood tall and proud, looking at familiar faces and strangers, cheering, clapping, and screaming. There was no denying his idea had worked. Claire blew Joe a kiss. He smiled and winked.

As the band continued, Joe was in the jamzone, simply doing what he'd been doing in the garage. He even did the stage moves at the garage, because they had space. This was not his first performance.

The band was amped up, adrenaline pumping, and Joe realized he was moving too quickly through the first set. After Flintstones, he paused after each song, letting the crowd make noise, then waiting for them to quiet.

He had fussed over what to do between songs, and how to pace the band. He didn't want to rush through the set but he also didn't want to say the same old shit before and after every song, 'thank you,' and then introduce the next one. He thought about it lying in bed for weeks, envisioning his rock & roll fantasy.

Knowing all the hoodrats, he decided to bust people's balls. He told a couple of short band origin stories, like how he started with classmates, "'And now I have these sketchy greaseballs." This gave the band breaks and stretched the set. He had thirty-two covers and a handful of stunt songs to play. Every song was under five minutes, some were barely three, and he had to make it last until midnight.

Joe was drenched in sweat, and the night was still young. "These lights are cooking me! I need sunglasses up here." An older guy stage-side reached into his pocket and handed his sunglasses to Joe. He laughed and put them on for a couple of songs. Little things like that made people smile.

Late in the first set, waving his arms like a bird in the universal gesture of silence, Joe quieted the crowd. He had an idea not even the band knew about, except for the next song on his setlist and Joe instructing them to... "just go with it."

He spoke loudly, like a carnival barker. "Ladies and Gentlemen!" He paused. "May I present to you, " pause. "the very first, completely original, and one of a kind... Punk Chick Dance Off!"

The guys instinctively hit notes, chords, drums, and cymbals, punctuating his words. Joe then spoke in a quick-paced game show announcer's voice.

"Step right up, ladies. I need two lovely female volunteers willing to risk their reputation and humiliation dancing on this very stage. You'll wiggle it, move it, and shake your moneymaker. Give us your best moves and our punk rock audience will choose a punk chick dance queen!"

The band punctuated him again. Joe scanned the audience.

Hands went up as he took his time looking over the volunteers. He asked one girl to spin around and then selected her. He took time, pretending it was a hard decision, then chose another. After helping them on stage, he motioned to the crowd to give the girls a round of applause. Joe knew both girls, vaguely.

"We have our contestants. In this corner, from Pawtucket, the lovely, Charlene!"

The crowd cheered.

"In this corner, from Rhode Island College, gorgeous Allison!"

More cheers. The girls blushed.

"Okay ladies, please come together, bump gloves. The rules are simple. When the music starts you dance your cute little asses off. Shake it, don't break it. No head butting and no hitting below the belt. You must dance the entire song. Any questions?"

They both said no.

"Are you ready?"

They nodded.

Joe stepped back. The band played the theme song to 'Batman', easy to dance to and easier to sing along to. The girls shook it on stage to the delight of the crowd. When it was over, the punks voted by applause. Allison won. Joe raised her hand like a boxer in the ring. Once again, Joe measured his success by the smiles of the faces looking up at him. The band bought Allison a cocktail and a tradition was born. The Punk Chick Dance Off became a Young Punks stunt at every gig they did from that day forward.

When Joe had the crowd singing along, he felt like Svengali seducing a hundred and sixty-five Trilbys. He had total control of the room. It was empowering. Sal was all over the stage in a heavy foot-stomping style. When Joe wasn't signing, he was bouncing around doing his old air guitar moves. Johnny was playing himself, too cool, with little flash, standing to Joe's right. Nate was the punk engine, pounding the beat, keeping them glued together because they needed it. It got messy at times, playing on the edge, so pumped with adrenaline that they almost crashed a couple of songs. Nate's beat kept the train on the tracks.

Joe barely said a word through their twenty-minute set break. He soaked up the compliments and back-patting as he made his way to the bar. Nate walked up alongside him and Johnny. He slapped Joe's back. "I never doubted you for a second."

Sal shoved Nate from behind. "Fuck off!"

"No, really. I was just testing you." Nate smiled, "Trial by fire."

Joe remained quiet. Claire corned him, excited. "Who the hell is that guy on stage?"

He shrugged, and she rambled for a minute about how impressed she was. Joe loved it. He didn't need drugs to get high. Attention would become his addiction.

They did another TV theme song early in the second set... F-Troop.

'Where Indian fights are colorful sights and nobody takes a lickin'

When pale face and redskin both turn chicken.'

Close to two hundred full-throated fans were blasting the words to a song they heard a thousand times growing up. It was exhilarating. Everyone smiled and laughed while going along with Joe's stunts.

Late in the night, with only a handful of songs left, Joe quieted the crowd.

"It's so fucking hot up here. Look at my shirt. It's drenched."

"Take it off!" a girl yelled.

"Take it all off!" yelled another.

Joe slipped his guitar strap off, removed his Creem Magazine tee shirt, and threw it out there. They went nuts. That's how easy these people were to please.

The final singalong was the last song. The most fun he saw that night was people singing at the top of their lungs to marching, anthemic, punk rock chords. Their banging version of The Talking Heads' 'Psycho Killer' was one of Joe's favorites.

As they closed the night and started packing gear, friends and new fans interrupted them to tell the guys how much fun they had. Vic came over as they were about to carry their gear out.

"I don't know what the fuck that was, but they loved it. You guys did great."

Joe glared at him. "And we packed the fucking joint."

"Damn right we did," said Sal.

"Yeah, I didn't expect that." Vic handed Sal an envelope. "Here's half the door, a hundred ninety bucks." he looked up. "I had to pay Denny to put these cans up, and replace some bulbs."

"How much did that cost him, Denny?" Joe asked, staring at Vic.

"Not a hundred and ninety bucks."

"I had to clean this place up to have it right for you guys."

Joe looked around, "You cleaned? Please, show me where."

"The bathrooms. I had to buy more drink glasses and bar supplies."

"So we have to pay your business expenses?"

Vic put his palms out, "Look, if you guys want to play next weekend, you get the whole door. Just keep them drinking past midnight, and I'm good."

Sal looked at Joe. There was a moment. Joe gave a barely perceptible nod.

Sal smiled wide. "Thanks, Vic. We appreciate this. What night do you want?"

"Honestly, I don't care. You decide."

"Saturday," Joe said flatly.

"I already have a band scheduled," Vic smirked. "But I'm gonna bump them for you."

---- THE AFTERGLOW ----

Claire showed up at the garage after the gig. She continued to ramble on about the show and the band, but especially Joe. He was sucking up her adoration like a dry, needy sponge. She made him blush a few times. Punks don't blush, so he had to wipe that stupid smile off his face.

After a long run of remembering things she liked about the show, Claire sighed. "I just can't believe how great you guys were on your first night. I kind of expected some nerves, or maybe you'd mess up or could have technical issues."

Joe gave her a stern look. "So what you're saying is, you had low expectations."

"I did not say that."

"You just said you can't believe how great we were, how everything went perfectly. That implies you didn't believe in us. You expected problems."

Claire was apologetic. "Holy shit. I'm sorry, that is not what I meant. I mean, I've seen you guys jam a few times. I knew you were good, but no one expects a perfect first gig."

Joe sat on the couch where they had met weeks ago, looking at her, expressionless. He let her sweat it out, waiting for his next words, thinking she offended him. There was concern in her eyes.

"Joe, I'm sorry. Say something."

"I'm just thinking of a way to twist your words again to keep messing with you."

She pushed him away. "What an ass. I'm trying to compliment you, and you want to make me feel bad? That's a dick move."

"I'm just teasing you, take it easy... and thank you."

Sal shouted from across the garage. "Hey Joe, when did you come up with the band name?"

"Pops gave it to us. How many times has he said, 'You young punks', since we moved in here? It was in the back of my mind and popped up when I needed it."

"Cool."

He turned back to Claire. "During the set break, you asked me something I found pretty funny."

Claire recalled. "Who the hell was that guy on stage?"

"Yeah, I didn't answer because it sounds dumb, but this is the truth. That guy up there is what I've always wanted to be, from the day I saw The Stones on television. That's my future."

"That's not dumb." She smiled. "It's sort of poetic." She hugged him. "Everyone was great. Nate was crazy back there, smashing his drums."

Joe laughed. "That almost went wrong. Nate always plays hard, but he was so jacked up he was an animal. He broke three sticks and only had five. Had he broken one more..."

"That would have been awful...."

"And hilarious. You have to think of the good side. Hey, Nate!" I shouted across the garage.

"Yeah, what's up."

"Do you still have those broken sticks from tonight?"

"Yeah, they're in the van."

"Save them for me. I might need them."

"Okay," he said. "Now leave us alone."

Nate was making kissy face with a new friend, Debbie. Joe turned back to Claire. She scooted closer to him.

"When I asked that question, what I meant was, you're kind of a quiet guy." She touched his hair. "Here with the band you direct the jams and joke with the guys, but with everyone else, you're pretty mellow. That guy on stage was confident with the jokes and the stunts. I didn't see that coming."

"I told you, sitting right here two weeks ago. I want us to be a great show, more than music, entertainment."

"It sounded great but you didn't tell me what that meant."

"Was I supposed to spoil the surprise for you?"

"Hey, Joe," Johnny called out. "Did you have any other ideas for band names?"

"A couple."

"Like what?"

"Nothing good, but Federal Hill was a contender."

"That would have been great!" Sal said with enthusiasm.

"Nah," Joe said. "I like the name Pops gave us."

Claire poked him. "Where did the dance contest come from?"

Joe pointed to his temple. "I have notebooks full of ideas for the show. I saw the The Tubes a while back, they have girls on stage, in costumes, dancing, and a sex-filled show. They were actually banned in some countries. I can't hire dancing girls, but I can ask for volunteers."

Claire smiled, gazing into Joe's eyes as he spoke.

"What girls are going to raise their hands? The extroverts. They might be drunk and could make it better."

"What other ideas do you have written down?"

"I can't reveal my works in progress. I have lots of ideas and lyrics, original songs we haven't yet unveiled. Now the trick will be changing it up to keep it fresh. There's a business plan in here too."

"I'm impressed."

"Thanks." Joe smiled. "I was happy to see you tonight. It meant a lot. I would have felt shitty if you missed it."

"Me too. I hope I have a job on Sunday. Everyone knows I was trying to trade nights, so not showing up will be obviously hooky."

Claire made a move, pretending to adjust herself, scooting even closer. With her hand close to his ear, she pulled on a shaggy curl and leaned in.

"Do you need a haircut, or are you growing it out?"

He shrugged. "Haven't thought about it. It's wavy when it gets long, but when it grows below my ears it starts to curl. I look stupid with long hair. Like Bozo the Clown."

"So you cut it when it curls?"

"Yeah, before it flips up like Bozo."

"This length looks good. I like your curls."

She was twirling a curl in her fingers. Joe could have made it easy and kissed her, but he enjoyed the game. He couldn't wait to see her next move, but Sal broke the mood from the kitchen.

"Jesus Christ! Are you gonna do something or does she have to do all the damn work?"

Claire blushed. "I think he's playing hard to get."

"No, I'm not. I haven't run away, but I don't want creepy Sal gawking at us."

She leaned in and kissed Joe, just a light peck, then another, a real kiss.

"It's about fucking time," said Sal. "This scene was getting tedious."

"It's like a sappy romantic comedy," shouted Nate from across the garage.

Joe flipped them off. "You've got porn under your mattress. You don't need to watch us to jack off."

That kiss made their sort-of-a-thing into definitely a thing, or so Joe thought. He still wasn't fully confident he knew what this was.

The following night, Joe took Claire to see Queen and Thin Lizzy at the Civic Center. He gave Sal a ticket. Pete Smith and Robby were in the same row. It was so fucking weird, but great. Joe loved the awkwardness. It was delicious... because he won.

--- OVERNIGHT SENSATION ---

Joe didn't know how many kids from school were at that show, but from what he gathered, it was at least sixty. For once, there was a positive buzz at Central High School with his name attached to it. Classmates he barely knew walked up to him to say they loved his band.

"Dude, you're like Sybil," one boy said. "It's like you have a split personality. That was fucking weird, man."

Even kids who didn't attend told Joe they heard about his show and asked when they were playing again.

"This Saturday. Be there."

"What if I'm not eighteen," a girl asked.

"Don't worry about it. What's the worst thing they can do, not let you in? As far as I know, they let everyone in on Friday night."

The following morning, Joe sat on his usual perch by the faculty entrance. One of the nerdy kids walked over. Joe looked up to see Betty McDonald staring at him, a mousy redhead with lots of freckles and eyeglasses too big for her narrow face.

"I heard you have a band."

"Yup, for more than a year."

"And you just had your first show."

Joe noticed her nerdy friends watching from thirty feet away. "Yes. You should come out and see us. We're playing Saturday night."

Betty laughed, covering her mouth. "Me, at a bar? No, but thanks." She looked down at the Mead Composition notebook in Joe's lap. "What are you writing?"

"Band stuff."

"You're always alone, reading or writing. Is it all music?"

"I keep a journal, and I draw, but yeah, it's mostly band ideas and lyrics."

"You write songs?"

"Yeah, but we haven't played any yet. I'm still working on them."

Joe had been sitting on this stoop for nearly two full school years. Rarely did any of the smart kids speak to him, aside from an occasional, 'Good morning.' Betty was sort of the nerd queen. Like Joe, she was a junior. Unlike Joe, she was a high honors student and liked by everyone. She ran for class president but lost to a popular jock... three years in a row.

"I heard you plan to drop out and pursue music."

"What moron told you that?"

Betty shrugged. "Some kids were talking."

"Stupid kids. I'm not dropping out."

"Good," Betty smiled. "I hope your music works out for you, but you should still finish school."