Oedipussy (18 page)

"Come on up, boys."

"Got it."

The walkie-talkie cackled to life after a rousing forty minutes of music streaming from the basement. I sat at the kitchen table with my legal pad of notes, my notebook from high school, and a stack of CDs with an education in the music that came out before the band was born.

Six feet stomped up the stairs, and I was impressed with what they had so far. They had an incredible base coat of talent and instrumental skill that would be easy to mold and form into something special.

The three boys sat around the kitchen table with me. Skepticism and optimism hung in the air above us. They had nothing to lose in terms of extending their patience toward my help - in the least they knew their contract and time were completely voluntary, and Chuck's mother had no problem with their practicing at my house instead.

"Okay, so let me start with some basics before I tear apart the hour or so of music you just played." They nodded with understanding and approval regardless of my underhanded dig at their repertoire. "I have a bunch of CDs here. I want you to listen to them a few times over before next rehearsal. They are old grunge acts that defined the era and the genre. I think giving them a listen would be exactly what you need to kickstart you in the right direction."

"Grunge."

"It's what you should sound like to make sure you don't sound like anything else. Trust me, this is what you want to be. How would you classify yourselves now?"

"Punk," Mark said.

"You’re not punk. Try again. At best you are straight rock and roll, but there’s no energy and power in trying to overthrow conventions and a world of oppression by the government and authority. Your songs are screaming and fast drums about girls and hanging out. Come on..."

Adam pulled out a silver device from his lap.

"What's that?"

"It's my tablet."

"Tablet?"

"Computer?"

"Oh, right." I forgot about tablets.

"Listen," Adam said. He touched a few things on his tablet, and music played from the device. It was fast rock, with a whiny tenor talking over the music very quickly. The boys nodded their heads with the music. They were entranced with its melody and talking, talking, talking.

"Why are you having me listen to this?"

"It's punk," Adam countered.

"No. No, it's terrible. Pop. Can you get any music on there?"

"Yea."

"What do you do, type in something? Type in Anarchy in the UK."

The Sex Pistols began playing from the device, and the boys nodded along with the music. They got it.

"Now, do Basket Case. Green Day."

"You're telling me Green Day is punk and not pop? They're Broadway." I didn't have much of an answer, and they started playing Green Day I had never heard before. They smiled with a knowledge they weren't sharing with me, but they were right. Twenty-five years later, Green Day was pop (and Broadway?).

"Okay, they aren't a great example - but I want to emphasize that it’s the message and the style as much as the music, and what you just played was decidedly not punk.

"Next topic. We need to get you guys a written education, as well. I have written a list of books. I want you to go to the library and get them out. These books are philosophy. They’ll help with an overall understanding of society and the human mind. Why do you need them? Because if you don't have an education, you can't write important songs. People won't care, and you'll sound like that kid going over and over about some girl.

"You've got The Republic, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, History of Western Philosophy, Meditations on First Philosophy, Beyond Good And Evil, Zen and the Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance, Madness and Civil-"

"-you want us to read? All these books?" Their faces were crumpled paper bags. "You’re saying that in order to be good punks that we need to read? That seems like the opposite of what you were just saying. Actually, we'd be bowing down to the authority of our teachers and-"

"No. Stop. The punks read these. The grunge artists read these. Heck, even the pop stars read these. The Cure's 'Killing an Arab' is from Camus' The Stranger. Kate Bush's 'The Sensual World' comes from Joyce's Ulysses. Look. They're on this list. Just read, and you'll be better artists."

"We don't - whatever, okay." They swallowed the medicine.

"Finally, we need to start branding you and getting your work out to the world. Brand is our number one priority. We need to start by recording all of your practices in the event that we can use some of it. We can go back and listen afterward, just like a football team watches footage of their plays to make them better."

Adam touched a few things on his tablet, and their rehearsal started playback.

"Incredible," I said. "You already did it? You guys have everything today." He stopped the playback.

I slid my notebook over with the page open to my ongoing list of band names.

"Here. What is your name right now?"

"We don't have one, really. We've thrown Moana Liza around, but..."

"Exactly. Here is my ongoing list from when I had my band. We were The Dawn Ego. The name came from bouncing around Archetypes and psychology and philosophy - whatever - but you can't have that one."

"What’s this? 'The President's Member.’”

"That was a connection between the president's penis and I don't remember what. As a matter of fact, I can't believe that there ended up being an actual coincidence with people caring about what Bill Clinton did with his penis, but whatever."

"Bill Clinton?"

"Seriously?"

They stared at me.

"Okay, well, obviously some of these need explanations. My favorite one we never used was -"

"What about this one, Oh-eed-eh-pussy?"

"Oedipussy. That was a good one."

"What is it?"

"Okay, so... Oedipus was a king that tore his own eyes out because he had children with his mother and killed his father. An Oedipus Complex was an old psychology term that a guy would be going through when he is motivated by killing his father and marrying his mother. You know 'pussy.' Finally, 'Octopussy' was a James Bond movie. I guess I was thinking that it might be another word for your mom's vagina or something. Sometimes the brilliance is leaving it up to the audience. Mash a couple ideas together, get people thinking, and you have everything you need for a really provocative band name."

"This is it," Chuck said tapping the page. "Octopussy."

"-Oedipussy. It's yours, but you have to do it justice."

The boys smiled. They were satiated with Chuck's choice. 

"Okay. So, we need to brand. Find some art that you feel really represents your work. We need a logo, and we need to put as much on the Internet as we possibly can. Can you get to AOL on that?"

"What's AOL?" Adam responded.

"Okay, so no AOL. Next question. How do you guys make groups?"

"You can make a website. People can download your music for free and stuff," Mark said.

"Yeah... I mean, is the idea selling the music or getting your name out there?" I asked. "What if ten people downloaded your music? A hundred? A thousand? We should have some kind of place on the internet where people can do this, and then sell our CDs for the real music experience."

"No one buys CDs," Mark responded.

"Yeah, mostly people download whatever they want and have ways to work around it if they just want to get the stuff for free."

"So, wait," I clarified, "everyone can record whatever they want on these devices, and can then upload things to the Internet where people view these things and can download them out of the air as they please without paying for anything, and there’s no editorial control or anything to show the difference between what is good and what isn’t? People take what they want, and there are no CDs, Books, anything?"

"Pretty much," Mark said.

"So how do people find out about things that are good?"

"The Internet."

"And how do bands, or authors, or whatever make money?"

"They ask for it."

"They ask?"

"Yeah. Like…here’s the song, here’s a button where you decide how much it is worth. Click on it, and choose your amount."

"Can they choose zero?"

"Yeah. But some choose a hundred dollars for a song or an album. I guess it equals out. You can ask for money up front on some websites, and if you have a lot of friends or people know your work, they can put the money to do the project and you can reward them after. There was a lady Amanda Palmer ten years ago, or something, who made over a million dollars on a really good album before she had even recorded it. Then she played shows all over the world and at people's houses and stuff as rewards. There was another guy who did the same thing for making potato salad."

"Potato salad?"

"Yeah. It wasn't a million dollars, but it was thousands of dollars."

"For potato salad?"

"Potato Salad."

"Sometimes I think I’m still in my coma. So, maybe I’ll give you guys direction on how to market yourselves, and you can do the actual work on the Internet. I’m sure one thing hasn't changed – as much information as often as possible?"

"That’s the same," Chuck said. “But no gatekeepers. People decide what’s good.”

"Good. Okay, homework. Before next week's practice, I will be looking into the Internet, and learning about how everything works." I tapped the CDs. "Your job is to make your sound more like these albums and change your lyrics a bit so they sound less like talking over the music, and more thoughtful. Infused. Those books your teachers force you to read in school are there because they make you a better human. Read them. Read the ones on this list.

"I want to hear something harder, edgier, and more rocking next week. I want to be blown away. What you have is good, but it can be better. These albums are your best shot at emulating something amazing. I want you to be like Pearl Jam, like Nirvana, like Nine Inch Nails, like Smashing Pumpkins... I want you to be the last great grunge band of all time. Oedipussy."

The boys smiled back at me, nodding their heads with a serious reaction to my proclamation.

"Here, let's take a look at my notes - you can take these with you."

I ran down my list of immediate key and lyric changes with them. Some were simple, while some songs needed entire rewrites. Some needed to be changed to the minor key so they sounded more brooding - a song about the end of your life as your grow is no match for a G major scale. It heightened the positive happy sound in a mess of dark lyrics. I also shared some general notes about their speech, their 'look,' and their brand identity. Before their next public appearance, we needed to work through these small but important touches.

I may not know anything about their Internet, but I still had an idea of what good music sounded like and how to brand the band.

"Thanks a lot, Todd." The doorbell rang, and I rolled to answer it. They took a photo of my notes with the tablet and uploaded them to a shared place on the internet where they could all download the notes and the recordings. What a wonderful time.

I opened the door. Standing in the frosty air that danced with leaves and tendrils of their hair, Thom towered over Chuck's mother on the ramp.

I invited them in. The simplicity of the boys’ collaboration was immediate and effortless. It was perfect. We all shook hands, and the boys left with Carol.

Thom remained. He was a hulking presence in my kitchen. His hands were full. There was a bag and a heaping pile of papers.

"I thought you weren't supposed to be here for another couple weeks. I mean, I know I haven't been able to keep track of days all that-"

"I wanted to come by." He put the papers and envelopes on the table and produced a bottle of Tennessee bourbon from the bag. "The last time I was here I felt like you needed some serious meditation, but also some...medication. I know what I said about sobriety being big mission of your recovery, but sometimes a man needs more. To process. And I thought..."

"What?"