The Trailer

My trailer was outside of town on a small piece of land I rented from a farmer. The trailer had been used for hunting, but the farmer needed some extra money so I bought it. Since the farmer had run a phone line and electric out to the trailer, I left it where it was and rented the land. We walked along the path through the weeds to the trailer. I really hadn't been planning on bringing anyone over, between Deidre leaving, and running around looking at bands, the trailer, which had already been cramped with books, records and tapes, had a layer of empty beer cans and days old pizza leftovers covering and overlapping each other from every flat surface available. I quickly tossed some things off the couch, pushed others to the side, and there was enough room for everyone to sit down. The next step was to feel these guys out, and see if they were interested in my cover band idea.
"You guys want a beer?" I asked, taking five out of the refrigerator and putting them on a table. As they settled in, each nervously surveying the surroundings, I sat down, and pulled a joint out of the chaos of the table, lit it, sucking on it hard, before blowing out the smoke and handing it to Johnny. I sat back letting the smoke emanate through my body. I didn't say anything until they each took a hit off the joint. "I noticed when Reggie asked you guys to play a cover tune, you played Light My Fire. Do you guys like The Doors?"
"Sure." They all nodded, "we use it at practice to warm up."
"Here, listen to this." I said, jumping out of my chair. I pulled a record off a shelf and put it on the turntable. "I collect Doors bootlegs. You know, concerts people taped, soundboard recordings." I dropped the needle on the record. There was a pop and a hiss, and the sounds of long ago concert goers flitted around the room. Then the dark, pulsing beat of Ray Manzarek's organ came on, the first tentative twangings of Robby Krieger's guitar, the boom-ka-boom-boom of John Densmore's punctuating drums, and finally the scream of Jim Morrison filled the trailer. I looked at their uncomprehending eyes, I hoped the music would provide the soundtrack to sway them. I tried to sense their mood, but couldn't. I was nervous and tried to hide it by acting cool, but it only added to my nervousness. I was all nerves and energy, I couldn't stop, I plowed into the proposal I had gone over and given time after time in my head. "I have a proposition for you guys." I said, my voice wavering and cracking from the strain.
"I knew it! We're so out of here." Brian said.
"No, no!" I said, settling them back into their seats, "it's an idea I have about a band."
"It better be man."
“What kind of an idea?” Johnny asked.
"It is, listen. A while ago I saw a show called Beatlemania, and I thought somebody should do that for The Doors."
"That was a play, right? With guys pretending to be The Beatles, and doing the songs?"
"Yeah, it was, but my idea is simpler, just a band playing the songs and a guy 'being' Morrison, doing his antics." They didn't seem to be following me so I launched into my sales pitch, "Morrison was completely spontaneous, he acted out the songs, he recited poems, he fell, he dived off the stage into the audience."
"You mean like an Elvis impersonator?"
"Yeah."
"Man, that's a bad example, those guys are a joke."
"What's the show gonna' be? A casket on-stage, you open it and out falls a skeleton dressed in leather pants?" Mitchell said, laughing.
"But it doesn't have to be, we do it in clubs, the same environment The Doors preferred. We play it straight, no camp, no winking, and no making it seem like a joke."
"And who would the guy 'being' Morrison be?" Johnny asked.
"Me."
"And who would the band be?"
"You guys." They looked at each other with varying degrees of shock, skepticism, or amusement. The pot must have been kicking in because the moment seemed to freeze momentarily in a tableau reminiscent of The Last Supper.
"Excuse me,” Ian said, “but Johnny is the lead singer of this band." they all nodded in agreement.
"Sure, sure," I said, "you guys have your band, but we can do this until your band is getting gigs, making a demo, gets a contract, whatever you want. This way you're performing in front of an audience, getting paid, and you can do a couple of your songs each set."
"What do you get out of it?"
"The reason Morrison said he started writing songs was because he said he 'was taking notes at a concert in his head.' Well, I'm hearing a Doors concert in my head, with me singing. I want to know what it feels like to be up on stage, I want to know what it would be like to be Morrison."
"You should see a doctor about that."
"So, why would people pay to hear a band play a bunch of old songs they can buy on an album?"
"Or hear on the radio."
"Aren't you listening? Listen to the bootleg I have on. We can give people something they can't buy, that they can't get anywhere else."
"Which is?"
“Something real. The hair bands are all hype, drinking tea out of Jack Daniels bottles, the rock stars themselves were getting old. Mick Jagger looks like a freeze-dried version of his younger self, Dylan, a jowly legend.” I stopped, a little exasperated. "People want something real again. I was born at the tail end of the baby boom. By the time I got old enough, it was like I could hear the sound of receding thunder. And I was asking 'what was that?' While everybody else was saying wasn't that cool."
"So?"
"I remember hearing their songs when I was a kid, but I was too young to do anything about it."
"What're you talking about?"
"The sixties, there are a lot of people out there just like me who were too young to be part of the sixties. The younger brothers and sisters who raided their older siblings record albums, and could only listen to their stories. Or those more your age who weren't there at all and want to experience some part of the whole thing. It's like our mythic age of heros and gods."
"What thing?"
"The experience of seeing a Doors concert live. They never played a song the same way twice, they did medleys, solos, and long jams. They were like The Dead only Morrison was wilder. I'm just saying I know more about The Doors than just about anyone else, I've read everything about them, I have all the bootlegs," I said, I hung my head in exasperation, I didn’t know how many more ways I could explain it, "I've thought about this for a long time. I've thought it all the way through, the band will be called The Unknown Soldiers, after one of their songs, right," I looked nervously between them trying to gauge how it was going, all their faces registered skepticism, but I couldn't stop, I was too far in, "and people have been telling me all my life I look like Morrison." I saw smiles of an in joke cross their lips again. So, I decided to throw in a little flattery "I know you guys are going to be successful, you know how I know that?"
They all looked at each other, "no, how?"
"Because of that right there, that silent almost psychic communication you guys seem to have with one another. It's the same camaraderie The Doors had."
"You think so?" Johnny asked with as much false modesty as he could muster. I could tell he was proud of the band.
"Oh, yeah." That got them to relax, and they at least seemed to be considering the proposition.
"Can you sing?" Johnny asked.
"Why is that the first question everyone asks?" I said, "no."
"Awww, man...."
"But neither could Morrison at first. Here, look at this." I grabbed my well read, dogged eared copy of No One Here Gets Out Alive from somewhere out of the rubble of the table, it was like a bible well thumbed through and highlighted. I tossed it to Johnny. "Read it. Morrison couldn't sing either." Johnny held it up looking at it before handing it to one of the other guys.
"I've read it," he said. "So, the idea is we play the songs and you sing and act like Morrison, right?"
"Yeah, and dress like him. I'll wear a pair of leather pants, and grow my hair out."
"How old are you?" Johnny asked.
"Thirty-one."
"That's four years older than Morrison was when he died." Johnny said, "and Morrison was ten years younger when they started The Doors.”
"It's not that much that anyone will notice, a little make-up and stage lighting, and no one will even notice."
“Dude, it’s getting to be a forced perspective." Ian said.
Everyone was quiet. “And you have me.” I added.
“What does that give us?” Brian asked.
“I have what Morrison had, a philosophy.”
“So?”
“It makes me dangerous.” I watched the silent deliberations and decided to add a closing argument, "c'mon, Reggie was right, people want to hear something familiar, it’s comforting, it’s something they can identify with, then when you have them, you can spring the originals on them and they’re more receptive to them. “What‘d ya say?" They all looked at each other registering their votes with their different reactions, then deferring to Johnny.
"Nah, man," Johnny said, "we're a band, we got our own songs we wanna do."
"I've had this idea a long time, and looked at a lot of bands. You're the first band I've asked. This can work to your advantage. People will hear your band, you can play your songs, we'll tour all over the country like a real band. Think of the exposure. We can become rich, and famous, it'll be great! We'll split everything fifty-fifty like The Doors, we'll share all the expenses, we'll share any profits, and any offers we receive."
"That's cool, but fifty percent of nothing is nothing." Mitchell said, "and that's what I already earn."
"But a cover band is guaranteed. There aren't many bands out there doing this, so it's a niche waiting to be filled. Club owners will love it because they're hiring bands that play proven hits without having to pay the bands with the hits."
"Haven't you heard man, punk is the new music." Brian said.
"Morrison practically invented punk!" I said, "the leather pants, the slouch, the attitude, confronting the audience, the poses in the publicity stills, it's all Morrison!"
"You think so?" He asked thinking it over, "how do you know people want to hear a band that plays Doors' songs?"
"Because, I just do." I said, "there are books coming out. There's even talk of a movie coming out, probably with John Travolta or Tom Cruise."
"No, man," Johnny laughed, "that's way too screwy, we gotta go."

(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)

Chapter X: The Deal