*Enter G Mod*
“What you four lack is discipline. Three years to complete 1 measly album? Pathetic!”
*Enter Slate*
“It’s not my fault. These three have been holding me back for a long time, G Man.”
He strikes a confident pose. G Mod shakes his head.
*Enter Brick, sullen*
“What do you have to say for yourself, kid?” G Mod asks. “What happened to that hungry young guitarist who knocked on the doors of all the major labels even though he could barely play guitar, let alone carry a tune with his weak voice?”
Brick, with arms crossed, says nothing to defend himself.
*Enter Shadow*
“Give the guy a break. He’s been through enough as it is.”
“What’s wrong with him?” asks the producer.
“I know” replies the cocky lead singer with the dragon tattoos. “He’s still acting like a little wimp over that novel of his. I don’t get it. He works on that piece of tripe for two years, finishes it and now he acts like someone ran over his dog.” He shoves Brick, who catches himself before he falls on the rather expensive console that G Mod brought with him from Gamespot Records. “Pathetic!”
“Enough!” yells Shadow as he gets between the feuding twins.
“The ape is right” G Mod says with a snarl. “Let’s get some work done, you lazy jerks. Now where is that freakzilla with the social network addiction?”
*Enter Tigerman*
“Hey guys. Did I miss anything?”
“What took you so long, cat nip breath?” asks Slate, expressing both disdain as well as an unfounded sense of superiority and machismo.
“I was looking for that demo tape me and shadow recorded a while ago.”
“’Dog on a Leash’?”
“Yeah. I barely found it.”
“So what is this?” asks G Mod as he looks at the old tape cassette (Tigerman still relies on old school tech).
“It’s just a rhythm track the two of us were working on but could never get Brick or Slate to be able to figure out what to do to finish the song.”
“Hmmm…” the seasoned producer pondered as he shushed the band and listened to the tape on an old walk-man (wow, really low budget at MFUJ studio). “I can work with this. You guys have forgotten the age old tradition of filling up album space with filler. Not every track has to be a home run.”
“Actually,” Shadow says in a scholarly tone, “in the age of digital downloads, the album as a medium has become obsolete when people can just make their own playlists on their mp4 players.”
“Listen, ‘professor’, I’ve been making records for a long time. I know what I’m doing.” He takes the tape to the console and plugs in the key board. “Silence everybody,” he says as he plays an organ part over the bass and drum tracks.
“Keyboards, I don’t know…” Tigerman says as he scratches his head.
“Hey! Slate replies. “It worked for I don’t Wanna be the same and the intro for the alternate version of Samantha. Don’t underestimate the keys!”
“Well?” Shadow asks G Mod.
“One more track for the album finished. You guys can’t do anything right without old G Mod around.”
“Can we hear it?” Slate asks with sudden earnestness.
“Sure. Here you go.”
“Not bad, boss man” says the sycophantic Slate. “What do you think, Brick?”
The lead guitarist’s face scrunches up with disgust but he says nothing.
“Ok, girls, we still have time to record something else. What else do we have on this list that hasn’t been finished….What’s Give Me Love or Give Me Death?”
“It’s nothing…” Brick mutters.
“Slate?” G Mod asks his favorite lackey.
“It’s this song that we tried recording but couldn’t decide on how to approach the song. I wanted to do it all alt-rocky but kinda sensitive but he wanted to make it an extended jam song. Problem was his cut was too sloppy and boring.”
“Hmmm…” The producer ponders again as he listens to both demos. “Shadow! You go record some percussion for that solo section.”
“But G Mod… That solo meanders around aimlessly. I can’t just record a rhythm track for a song with no rhythm.”
“Yes you can! And you’ll like it!”
“Ok! You’re the boss.” Shadow goes into the recording area, picks up his sticks and begins playing along to the extended jam sequence.
G Mod, meanwhile, approaches Brick and, with the most annoyingly paternalistic tones, begins patronizing him.
“See, Brick. Four years you’ve had this band and I’m still cleaning up your messes for you.”
“He never did have any talent or vision” Slate chimes in as Shadow switches to his bongos.
“C’mon, leave the guy alone” Tigerman says in defense of the disgraced former leader of the band.
“Who asked you, freak show?” Slate snorts at him. “”Why don’t you go post depressing status updates and make what few friends you have uncomfortable and second guess knowing you at all.”
“Low blow, Slate… low blow” says Tigerman as he begins typing a melodramatic update using his smart phone’s web browser.
Shadow emerges from the recording booth and G Mod listens to the two versions and is still not satisfied. “Damn” he exclaims as he tosses his headphones onto the floor.
“No good?” asks Slate.
“No… Looks like I’ll have to fix it myself.” He sets up the faux brass instruments and jumps into the recording booth as Shadow takes over the console.
“Wait…what’s he doing?” Slate asks.
“Didn’t you know?” Shadow asks the confused singer. “G Mod used to sing.”
“With that gravelly voice?”
“No… he can sing like an angel even if he’s far from being one.”
The band members drop their jaws as G Mod belts out some serious vocal heroics on the third and final version of the song. With his final line finished, G Mod simply smiles as he walks back to the main room to dish out more verbal abuse and gloating. He exudes pure malevolence and a sense of talent that far exceeds his actual accomplishments.
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