The semi-fictional chronicle of the greatest (or worst) band of our time. By our time I mean now. By now I mean the present. By the present I mean our time. You figure it out.
Shadow, appalled by Brick’s cold and distant demeanor, stood back in the doorway of the MFUJ bathroom. Brick, having quickly recovered from his collapse in the shower and near drowning, was now in the midst of reassessing his life. He stared into the mirror at his long wavy hair which was still dripping water.
“How long was I gone?” he finally asked Shadow.
“About half an hour…”
“That’s all?” Brick replied with casual disbelief. “I haven’t felt alive in two years.”
“Brick…” the concerned drummer began to say before being silenced by the guitarist’s harsh glare in the mirror.
“You must have noticed how pathetic I’ve been. How I let my emotions cripple me, make me an empty husk of a person, until I lost any and all direction in life. I learned my lesson. It took me a long time but I think I’ve finally snapped out of my waking coma. I’ve let go of what I thought was important. I was in love and not only did I lose everything but I let that failure hang on my neck like a damned albatross. I’m not a creature that’s entitled to have love.”
“That’s not true. Just because…”
“Save me the speech. My spirit is ephemeral and not long for the world. I guess I’ve always sort of known that and I guess she knew that too. Love is a luxury that’s too rich for my blood. All I have is my music and if that’s the case then I’m going to give it my all like I did in the old days. No more whimpering, no more longing for someone I can’t have and no more of this long hair…”
Brick took out a pair of scissors and cut away the long flowing locks that had so long defined his image.
“I’m not Samson. In fact, my long hair has enabled my weakness. No more mellow acoustic music for us anymore. It’s better to burn out than to fade away. We’re taking it back to our roots, to the raw edge of punk. ”
Shadow could hardly recognize the band leader who now stood in front of him. Gone was the meek pushover, replaced by a zealous and ambitious musician determined to make a message with his guitar.
“No, not just punk. We’re going to take it to hardcore levels. We need to reignite the fire in our music before we all die of boredom. It’s time to pull out all the stops. They say MFUJ is just a ragtag group of misfits, well, let’s give them some Misfits!”
Not knowing what had overcome Brick as a result of his head injury, the solemn drummer merely stood there in the doorway nodding. The battle over the direction in which the band would head in was now igniting. Would G Mod and Slate approve of a newly rejuvenated and ferocious Brick taking control of the group once again? Would Brick discover Shadow’s secret loyalty to the amoral band manager? Has Tigerman just been completely ignored in this storyline?
There was a storm on the horizon as Brick lay down hoping for a moment of respite from consciousness. He had left the other members of the band to their own devices when he retired for some much needed slumber. As the winds outside whistled with force and glee, all that Brick could see were the indents of the tiled ceiling above him. After weeks of denying it, he had reached a breaking point. His health was slowly slipping away from him; his appetite was waning and the vibrancy of his world was desaturating until it was merely a spectrum of grey. With no funds to sustain either the band or himself, nor the energy or enthusiasm to continue recording, Brick slipped away to the furthest deepest recess of his mind while the building was drenched by hostile beads of August rain.
He found himself stripped of all pretense of art or society. Here he was just a man, no longer a fraction of a person. He was in the last place where he had felt a sliver of joy. It was a dark little coffee shop downtown, quite close to his old university. The name was borderline obscene and he had never actually tried the coffee but the place was dear to him, even after only one visit in his life. The rows of tables stretched from the entrance down the length of the building towards a small stage where local musicians could play to caffeinated intellectuals or perhaps wax poetically while the literati chewed on biscotti.
This place was sacred to him, at least in his mind. He could never return here. No, he wasn’t banned for idiotic behavior or anything like that. It was just that if he were ever step foot through its door again, he would not return to the place he had been. That place only existed for the length of an afternoon and expired once he reluctantly returned to the harsh and empty concrete outside. Here he had witnessed the greatest musical performance of his life. It eclipsed even the monumental performance of his musical heroes Motörhead at the Roseland Ballroom, Iron Maiden at Madison Square Garden or Faith No More at the Williamsburg Waterfront. It was here that he saw his beloved muse and inspiration perform a set with only her acoustic guitar and infinitely captivating voice. Perhaps love may have altered his assessment of the event but for Brick it was as close to heaven as his weary spirit would ever reach.
He delved even deeper into his vault of memories for some last glimpse at his beloved muse as she was the final time he saw her. She still had on the quaint summer dress she had worn; her chestnut hair was still short yet feminine, glistening from the café’s lights as well as the sun’s rays at dusk. Her russet eyes obliterated his mind with casual affection.
“Why are you here?” she asked him finally.
“I didn’t know where else to go. The storm has finally caught up to me and I’m not sure I’ll make it through this time. I feel like I’m drowning.”
“You are.” She replied as the walls of the café began to moisten with sheets of water crawling down to the floor.
“I just keep searching for anything and everything to keep my mind off of it, but my mind keeps drifting back to this day. When you played… I didn’t care if you were singing about someone else. When I sat in that chair across from you, the rest of the world was gone, and it was just the two of us, even if only for a little while.”
“You’re just romanticizing one random afternoon. I’ve long since forgotten it. It makes no sense for you to make such a big deal over it.”
“I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense. What has sense ever brought me but an aching malaise? Existence makes no sense. We try to justify why we are here with our passions, religion or some sense of purpose but if you strip away all of those lies, then there really is no reason for us to be here….”
“You’ve gone mad” she said as her ankles and Brick’s were submerged under water as the room was slowly filling up.
“Maybe.”
“You have to let go of all of this. I’m not the one you loved, the one who gave you one last embrace as she showed you the door. I’m just a Shadow of a memory, a photograph wilting from the fire in your mind, warped beyond recognition. “
“A shadow…” Brick repeated with an echo filling the chamber that was once the memory of a long forgotten café. The howl of a mighty wind pressed up against the windows of the entrance behind him and the falling water sounded like a hail of lead against the cracked brick walls but sounded more like porcelain than stone.
“Forget this…forget me…”
“If I forget you, I forget the last ounce of happiness and humanity I have.” Brick said, struggling to breathe. “What use to me is this world without you? I have no need of objects and ideas when I have you… I am at peace”
“Don’t use me as an excuse not to live…you have to leave.”
Before Brick could utter his final protest, the storm finally eroded the shape and integrity of the café and everything in it began to dissolve. Brick reached out to his muse for one final embrace but grasped at only air as she was finally gone from his mind. Although his eyes opened up to his room at home, the storm was still in full force and he could no longer move. His breathing was still getting worse as the wind shattered his window and sent everything fly in all directions. Objects were as good as sand scattering and fragmenting into infinitely smaller pieces. Brick tried to do something, anything to avoid the dissolution of everything around him but the more he struggled, the more water filled his lungs. His eyes glazed over as he was thrust forward, a familiar, debilitating pain returning to his chest. Through the crumbling ceiling he could see a large hand reaching down through the veil of water to get him.
His room was gone, replaced by the claustrophobic confines of the bathroom where he had lain on his back as the shower filled with water. Shadow had raised him and spared him from almost certain drowning and pushed the water out of his lungs.
“Brick! Are you ok?”
Coughing with newly rediscovered life, Brick expels the last of the water before standing, getting a glimpse at himself in the mirror and grinning with a menace previously unknown to him.
And now an original short story that has nothing to do with the misguided main MFUJSF plotline. Remember that short story about pyramid schemes? Well this will hopefully not be as bad as that was.
Shall we begin?
Oh ok we’ll wait.
It’s at the end of the hall on the left.
No, that’s the closet. Your OTHER left. Yeah that’s it.
*Whistles*
Finished? Ok let’s start.
The sun had called it quits hours ago when Brick slunk off the lousy old futon. Blue glowed from the muted television that was leaking infomercials into the dark room. Outside the crickets belted out their greatest hits to all their loyal insect fans. As Brick stumbled across his un-vacuumed carpet of unknown beasts, he stumbles over some unpaid bills, rejection letters and foreclosure warnings. With a resign sigh he kept on his way to the bathroom, his eyes red from lack of rest.
Sleep would not come no matter how hard he tried to relax or bore himself. Whatever price it cost, he could not pay it. He navigated the diagonal wooden boards in the hallway to avoid the big creakers that seem so much more noticeable in the silent void of night. As he reached the bathroom door it dawned on him that his measures for suppressing his walking noise was in vain. It had been weeks since anyone else was home.
“Huh….” he exhaled as he splashed his face with cold water.
The night was in its late middle age sometime after three thirty on its way to senility. Brick made his way down to the kitchen and grabbed himself a cup of stale water from the pitcher. On his way back, as he passed by one of the dining room window he came face to face with a masked figure who had come to burglarize the house.
Both he and his uninvited guest stood there for a second and blankly stared at one another.
“Well, um…this awkward” said the cat burglar.
“Yeah…”
“I thought no one was here that’s why I…”
“Yeah, I see you’re reasoning. I should have locked the window.”
“Made my job easier.”
“I imagine it took all the challenge out of breaking in…”
“Yeah, it did make it a bit too easy. I thought that I lucked out, but I guess I didn’t…”
“Nope…”
“Well…” the burglar said with a deflated ego. “I guess I should be going. It’ll be light soon and I don’t want to get caught.”
“Right. That would be a shame, what with the arrest, and the processing and all that negative publicity.”
“Exactly. Well, good night”
The Cat Burglar tried to climb back out the window but Brick prevented that by grabbing the crook’s arm.
“Wait.”
“What are you doing?”
“Do you want something to eat?”
“What?”
“You must be hungry.”
“I am, but…”
“I’d feel like a bad host if I let a guest go without eating.”
“Are you for real?”
“The jury’s still out on that one. What do you say?”
“I don’t know…”
“Please don’t go.”
The Cat Burglar sighed and agreed to a quick snack. Brick was ecstatic as he escorted the crook to the kitchen and turned the light on. The burglar, in full illumination was physically fit and was wearing a skin tight jumpsuit and ski mask which didn’t cover her blonde ponytail in the back.
“Nice” said Brick, causing the burglar to blush under her mask.
“Well, whatchagot?”
“Well, there’s some cereal in the cupboard, leftover pizza and Chinese food in the fridge and some frozen waffles in the freezer.”
“I think I’ll take the cereal…”
After fixing a couple of bowls of skim milk and raisin bran, the two sat down at the kitchen table which was cluttered with half eaten loaves of bread and condiments. Brick, feeling absolutely naked in his tank top and oversized pajama pants, stirred his cereal around for a minute before saying anything.
“So, uh… have long have you been in the burglary business…is it a business?”
“I think so... and not long. I just had some debt and I figured it’d be a quick way to make some cash.”
“Uhuh, I haven’t exactly been making a lot of cash lately either…You wouldn’t happen to be the Eerie Cat Burglar would you?”
She nods as she scoops up another spoonful of cereal.
“Wow…I have a celebrity in my kitchen and I look like a mess.”
“Don’t worry about it. I didn’t exactly give you much notice.”
“Right…”
“So what do you do?”
“Me? I’m a musician, a writer and an out of work actor.”
“Oh, that’s nice. How’s that going for you?”
“Could be better.”
“Well, uh, good luck with that.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Brick thought long and hard when he reached the bottom of his bowl.
“Are you sure this is what you want to do with your life? Cat Burglaring?”
“It’s not ideal, but I’m good at what I do and it helps me get by. I know I’m not a saint but I try not to take from people who can’t afford to lose anything. I usually try to take things that people wouldn’t miss too much or could easily replace.”
“Are you…”
“I am who I am.”
“I see.”
The Cat Burglar drops her spoon into the bowl and stands up. “I’ve got to get going. It’s getting late.”
“I understand.”
“Thanks for the cereal. Sorry about ruining your night.”
“Oh no problem” Brick says as he walks the Cat Burglar to the window.
“Well I guess it’s goodbye.”
“Wait a second” Brick says as he rushes to the bookshelf and grabs a twenty dollar bill from his piggy bank. “Here. Take it.”
“What?”
“I disrupted your routine and I figured you could use the cash.”
“Um, thanks.” She replied as she stared at the bill for a few seconds before pocketing it. She kissed him on the cheek before making her getaway out the window.
Brick, stared at dark glass in the light colored frame for a few moments, hearing only the low rumbling of the twin dehumidifiers in the basement below him.
If you were expecting this to be another joke filled installment about one or more of the characters of the semi-fictional rock band, Mike’s F’d Up Journey, then you may be disappointed. I wanted to take this opportunity to address you, the reader, directly and candidly. If I feel that the conversation (well it’s more of a monologue) gets too heavy, I’ll try to lighten the mood. After all, the most important thing to a blogger is not the fame, fortune or adoration from the opposite sex. It is the reader. Writers spend their time crafting their words to be read and those of you who take time out of your schedule to read these posts, even if it’s only one or two of them, well, you’re the reason we write. I wanted to take a break from the admittedly convoluted story line of a band on the verge of collapse and speak just as a writer.
This blog was originally conceived as a space for me to do some extra writing when I wasn’t busy working on my novel (which I am currently editing). MFJSF was never intended to be a series academic or journalistic blog like so many of the blogs my former colleagues and professors have worked on. I never expected this blog to be particularly popular, perhaps because it lacks an inherently practical purpose such as informing people of what is going on in some corner of the world. I do however feel that the blog does serve a purpose: it provides honest absurdity and hopefully a dose of sincere entertainment. I believe that both are important.
What do I mean by honest absurdity? In creating the characters and vignettes for this blog, I create big, distinctive personalities with very real concerns, problems or obsessions. The absurd elements, like having two anthropomorphic band members, a deranged manager with no source of actual income who manages to live a hedonistic life style, etc are all meant to be taken at face value. There are no undertones or elaborate metaphors there. The absurdity is honest because the relationships between the characters are meant to be rooted in a sense of reality. The humor and, hopefully, the poignancy comes not from the fact that the characters seem like living cartoons but because despite their over the top appearances/origins, they are very much human and not in a contrived way like in some modern sitcoms and dramas.
What is dishonest absurdity? You can turn on the 24 hour news channels to see that in action. You can see educated adults yelling at one another like children, leaders and businessmen lie on camera without breaking a sweat, people say horrible, unforgivably cruel things about people who are different than them on some show that they would never say to that person’s face. You’ll see people spend all of their energy trying to blame problems on someone else while making a tidy profit from that same problem. I don’t want to get too involved in this political discourse that’s more focused on appearance and reputation than actually accomplishing what would benefit people the most. I’ll leave that to those who want to do that sort of thing. My point is that when people distort the truth to serve the agenda they are selling you in order to influence what you buy or who you vote for, that’s dishonest absurdity.
For years I studied how people interact with one another, not only on an interpersonal level but also how the media tries to sell certain ideologies to whoever will watch/listen to their programming. I’m not here to lecture you on what to watch or who to listen to. That should be your decision based on your judgment. If I can tell you one thing, it’ll be this: think for yourself. It’s very easy to get into the trap of following the herd. Never forget to take the time to make up your own mind about things. Live your life, don’t harm anyone and think for yourself. I’ll stop now before this turns into some third rate advice column.
Where was I going? Right. Honest absurdity, depression and the creative mind. This blog is an ongoing creative project. It’s important to nourish the mind by pushing it every once in a while to not just passively receive or regurgitate information but also to do something independently. We can often be so preoccupied with appearance, with how we’re perceived that it becomes a bit like an albatross around our necks. Don’t be afraid to do something that is a little bit out there (as long as you don’t bother or hurt anybody; there’s no need to be a jerk about it).
This blog deals with the issues that any artist or creative person might face along the way. Depression, loneliness, getting carried away, integrity vs. success. Depression in particular remains an intriguing subject matter to explore with the character of Brick. Traditionally the subject is either frowned upon because it’s, well, depressing or it’s dismissed as being nothing more than a pity party or being emo. Considering the fact that many great artists as well as leaders have struggled to cope with the condition with various degrees of success, it makes it hard to ignore as a subject to explore in literature, or at least this blog. Some scientists even claim that those with depression are more likely to be empathic towards others as well as being more realistic in times of crisis than those who have never been depressed, and that makes it even more interesting. It’s a serious subject and as a writer I try to be respectful when I write about it without making it too morose or pretentious.
There is a dark beauty to depression. It commands its own language, its own palette of hues and even its own soundtrack. Only those who’ve been through it can begin to understand it but it’s not something that someone who has been through it would wish for others to experience if they didn’t have to. It offers one a new perspective on life and shows one how meaningless most of the minutiae that dominates modern life can be.
Well, I think I might have lost my train of thought. I guess I’ll make a few finishing remarks and send you on your way. This was never going to be a great blog that would be referenced by thousands of professionals and casual readers alike. What was the point of starting this blog? If you’ve read anything here that made you laugh, then this blog was worth it. If you’ve read anything here that brought a smile to your face, then this blog was worth it. If you enjoyed the characters or found something meaningful in one of the blog entries, then this blog was worth it. If you enjoyed the music clips I include at the end, then this blog was worth it. If you enjoy reading this blog because you just like to mock everything that I write, then I’ll be a bit confused and hurt but the blog was still worth it (at least you’re reading, right?).
As always, thank you for reading. I’ll try to continue writing for as long as I’m around to write, whether it is for years to come or only days. Life’s too short. Spend it doing what you want to do and having fun with your favorite people. Be good to each other and to yourselves. See you.
Despite the recent downward spiral of the band (or perhaps because of it), long time band manager and record producer G Mod made a series of bold declarations in front of a frightened group of shoppers at a local grocery store after picking up a shopping cart full of red bull and other high octane groceries meant for a burnt out 80’s star. The other customers looked on in horror at the large, red faced man standing on the counter in a moldy old suit and dark sunglasses. Grabbing the microphone away from the timid cashier, G Mod began ranting about many things. He blamed the movie industry for the collapsing economy, stating that “No one needs to make 100 million dollar movies. Seriously, who needs all of that junk? Free your minds, you fools!”
When one of the other cashiers tried to call the authorities, G Mod tossed a can of red bull at them before continuing his rant. “They think they can just humiliate us by calling us MFU+ instead of MFUJ? Well, they’re wrong! I’ve been down and out. I was the ****ing singer for Super Mario and the Koopa-Troopas! I was a ****ing star! Sure no one remembers our music but I am the Mutha****ing Phoenix! Burn me all you like, I will rise again. Do you hear me, shoppers? All this turmoil is just an illusion! I have come back to open your eyes. Open your minds and I will plant the seeds of greatness there. Do not disappoint me!”
When he finally jumped down from the counter, he was restrained from behind by an off duty officer. As G Mod was dragged away he made one last statement. “Despite the downgrade and lack of public interest, we plan on releasing a second Webisode soon. I don’t care if no one wants anything to do with it. No one wanted me to do a solo album with me playing classical music using just a cowbell, but I did it anyway. I do what I want.”
The doors closed as he was dragged off to be processed. The crowd breathed a sigh of relief as they continued to buy their overpriced food and beverages and worry about more important things than the ravings of a megalomaniacal record producer.
As the world plunged into further turmoil and recession with no certainty of recovery or unity, people looked to their favorite artists for comfort or at least a quick escape. If their favorite band happened to be Mike’s F’d Up Journey, then they were doubly disappointed. Not only was the band’s reputation tarnished but each individual member of the band was also facing their own demons which had come back to haunt them. Slate was turned into a pariah for his uncontrollable libido and lack of discretion. Tigerman’s total detachment from reality meant that he was forever alone. And of course Brick was just a whiny little brat with a college degree.
That left Shadow, the sage responsible for the band’s locomotive rhythm section. Don’t believe us? Listen to the first few minutes of Sugar in the Raw with the speakers blasting at full volume. The drums dominate over the twin guitar snarl and bass thump.
Shadow had lost his source of revenue: his precious book deal. With no more easy money headed his way, the drummer was now merely a middle-aged has-been staring out into the horizon knowing he had already seen at least half of the sunrises and sunsets that he would ever see. After mixing himself a banana rum smoothie, he sat down on the porch and pondered what had gotten him to this point.
Abandoned when he was little for reasons that remain unknown, Shadow grew up with next to nothing. With no family for support, he learned how to rely on his own skills and intelligence quickly. He taught himself how to read and began teaching himself everything that one should know. Unfortunately, in order to support himself, the young gorilla had to steal his food and trespass for shelter. He was fortunate to get away with it for as long as he did. One day, when he was caught stealing by a burnt out 80’s rock star whose entire career became obsolete thanks to Nirvana. Shadow faced a terrible dilemma. Either he had to go against his strict philosophy of non-violence and dispose of this substance addled washout from the glam metal scene or he had to face up to consequences of his actions, even if they were done merely to survive.
The noble gorilla put himself at the mercy of the bloated ex-member of Super Mario and the Koopa-Troopers. What happened next came as a complete surprise to him. Instead of turning Shadow over to the authorities, the rocker offered him a job. You see, after a solid decade of decadence doing everything and anything any self-respecting front man would do (and even some stuff that no self-respecting person would do), the rocker’s brain had been severely altered. Unfortunately the only thing that was damaged was the part responsible for empathy. He spared Shadow the humiliation of being arrested only to entrap him in servitude for the rest of his days.
And so the decades passed and the two of them worked together, reluctantly but consistently. As the rocker aged, became a record producer for Gamespot Records and changed his name to G Mod, Shadow worked behind the scenes to accommodate every twisted plan that G Mod would hatch. In 2007, G Mod got word that a young guitarist, Brick, was looking for a record contract; he immediately began plotting the creation of a new band that would make him a lot of money. While G Mod was busy scaring off the competitors in order to make sure that Brick signed on with him, Shadow had a very different assignment. The soulless record producer knew that Brick’s father was a legendary guitarist from the seventies from a now forgotten rock band. He also knew that Brick had a twin brother, Slate, and that without his other half, he would never be as great as he would otherwise. Convoluted family subplots aside, it was Shadow’s assignment to locate the exiled Slate, free him from his insanity and recruit him into the band. The ape took on the persona of the Shadowy Figure and lured Slate out of the darkness of isolation with promises of the one thing Slate desired most: revenge.
With G Mod signing Brick to his record label and Shadow successfully bringing Slate to the other side, the band was on its way to completion. Shadow was eventually recruited as the band’s drummer and Tigerman became the bassist. Shadow was reluctantly forced to play with this group that he had no desire to spend any time with. In order to keep the morale of the group high and independence of thought low, G Mod placated Shadow by giving him a book deal which allowed him to write as many poetry collections and whatnot as his heart desired. And that’s how it worked for years. Shadow was G Mod’s clandestine spy within the group and enjoyed pursuing writing on the side. Of course over time Shadow grew to feel a sense of camaraderie for his fellow musicians and feelings of guilt began to tear away at him.
Even after the band broke free of G Mod following the completion of the disastrous Love, Death, Loss & Redemption, Shadow never severed his link with the shady record producer and continued to do his bidding. He was the only one not surprised by G Mod’s return to power since he himself had helped to orchestrate it. If Brick ever discovered what Shadow had done, it would mean trouble with a capital R (Don’t ask; it is the way it is).
Now, with the band now devoid of revenue as well as street cred, Shadow pondered what future awaits him. He no longer had the book deal to distract him from his years of deceit and if he confronted G Mod about leaving, he would only face punishment for his actions as well as Brick’s Wrath when G Mod revealed who his partner had been all along.
Things looked sour for Shadow, like an overripe banana blistering in the August sun light. He reflected on the band playing in front of caged monkeys. What a perfect metaphor for rock fans... They blindly follow their favorite band and spend their hard earned pay to support them, sealing themselves away in a cage to enjoy their so-called entertainment. And then he sighed and realized that he was in fact the caged monkey, I mean ape. Success demanded him to hand over his liberty and thus…well, you get the picture.
With nothing left to write, he picked up his drum sticks and began to pound on his drum kit like a man possessed. Drumming was the only thing that had not let him down. He could only wait and see what happened when the levees of deceit would finally break and the truth finally came pouring out.
And so our hero, Brick, returned to his room after a long absence. Having bid farewell to his beloved effects machine that gave his guitar a distinctive edge to it, the guitarist returned his butterscotch telecaster to its dust covered holster by the bookshelf next to his TV. He removed his iconic falcon bandana and let it slip from his fingers to the floor. Exhausted from hours of pondering life’s mysteries on the balcony overlooking the MFUJ office building, Brick collapsed onto his broken futon. The mattress extended beyond its frame, the metal bars of the frame protruded palpably through the sack of fabric and feathers but it made no difference to the melancholy guitarist.
Hard times had finally caught up to the band. Its reputation was forever besmirched with scandal and economic humiliation. The lead singer had succumbed to his insatiable libido and outraged the community with his exploits. The drummer’s series of books had been cancelled after it was discovered that most of his pithy little haikus were actually devoid of meaning and were written with no artistic purpose behind them (the publisher happened to care deeply about such things despite the consistent sales that Shadow’s books seemed to have). Only Tigerman, the inept bassist, was immune to scandal. Perhaps it was his complete mental break from reality and innate good natured personality that spared him from disgrace. Perhaps it was his eternal longing for a love he could never find that distracted him beyond doing anything remotely interesting, let alone scandalous. Don’t even get us started on G Mod, the greedy manager of the band whose selfishness single handedly ruined the band’s credit rating and reputation, reducing them from MFUJ to MFU+
However, Brick, the band’s originator, bore the lion’s share of responsibility for his band’s inertia and failure to launch. After 4 years, 5 albums and 0 live performances, the band had failed to find an audience or a legitimate record contract. Despite G Mod’s constant claims that he was well connected in the music industry, he had time and time again proven himself inept at promoting the band or generating revenue of any kind that would help sustain the 5 of them. As chief songwriter, Brick had failed to tap into the zeitgeist of the new millennium. His lyrics were either hyper personal or incredibly detached and nonsensical, thus making it difficult for others to relate to or enjoy the music as much as he enjoyed it. Though he continued to strive to improve his technique and came up with new riffs and melodies, the creative fire and lyrical intensity that had fueled his best post-ironic era songs had cooled and now he was going through the motions. His muse was long absent and replacing her proved impossible.
Brick remained despondent.He rolled off his terribly uncomfortable excuse for a bed and searched through his notes. He found unfinished lyrics and guitar rhythms long lost. He found the early versions of his long abandoned novel, reminders of his youthful hopes that he abandoned for his longstanding love affair with his misery… (Editor’s Note: the rest of this paragraph was removed because it became too emo to bear.)
On his calendar there was a reminder marked for an upcoming recording date. The second MFUJSF webisode was in the works. He would be playing a reduced role in this one. It just gave him more time to brood.
(Editor’s Note: We just checked the post and found it low on humor. We apologize. Our usual comedy writing staff was fired after the recent downgrade. They were too expensive to keep on payroll. Can you believe they actually wanted to be able to afford 3 meals a day and have time to sleep? Excuse me for a second. What? That joke is not politically correct? I have to apologize soon before…oh no. Here comes the blog writer’s union. We’ll see you next time. We have to take care of this little situation…. Hello. I’m… uh-uh…Well, we didn’t mean to. Hey! What are you doing? Oh the humanity!!!)
The following is a letter from MFUJ Manager, G Mod.
Dear ungrateful, miserable and generally worthless miscreants who call themselves music fans,
It is with a heavy heart that I report to you the latest victims of having their reputation besmirched by a large credit rating agency: us. Our band recently had its rating slashed down after we failed to meet our August second deadline of releasing a song that people actually wanted to listen to. There were some internal struggles between myself and the untalented cattle that you call the members of MFUJ. The band wanted to raise the ceiling for how long we could go without a hit single, hoping to at least delay the inevitable moment when we’d have to accept the fact that if we have not produced any good music after all this time then we probably never will.
I, in my infinite wisdom, chose to impose the August second deadline because I felt it would motivate the band to work harder and thus increase the chance that I could make a tidy profit without having to sacrifice energy or effort on my part. Ultimately we came to a last minute decision and decided to give us a bit more time to turn this band into a money making machine. Unfortunately, before we even got the chance to see if we were even remotely capable of producing music that people would flock to rather than flee from, disaster struck. We were downgraded from MFUJ to MFU+
Why did we get targeted? I've always said that MFUJ was too big to fail. Perhaps that was a mistake. Those words put us on the radar of the greedy credit-rating agencies. Our poor little apocalyptic grunge blues metal folk band has had its previously sterling reputation of mediocrity tainted by official shame. What does the downgrade mean for the band? It’s difficult to say. However experts say the band will plunge into a huge creative slump, a recession of artistic achievement much like the one in late 2008, but this would be far worse than the one before. Also, it seems that I will no longer be a filthy rich record producer… I mean job creating record producer. I have been downgraded to being as lowly, pathetic and broke as the idiots who play the instruments and wail into the microphone. The horror…
Stay tuned for more news about our band's impending doom, I mean this story. Episode 2 of the MFUJSF will be up sometime in the next week. We think. Hopefully we can release it before we get downgraded to MFU- or, Zeus forbid, MF+. Perhaps I can moonlight as an elevator mechanic to make up for my newly empty pockets. I never knew that it was such a profitable line of work. Do not worry. We will be back, better than ever. Don't know how, don't know when, but you can count on it. At least I will. Who cares about the musicians?
Sincerely,
G Mod
MFUJ Manager
P.S. This, this is our new song, just like the last one, a total waste of time.
It is with great indifference that we announce the debut of the first episode of our summer film series. If any of you recall the original series that starred the soon to be members of MFUJ (and we hope you don’t), then rest assured that our filmmaking/editing skills have vastly improved since the darks ages of 2007. We can’t say the acting has gotten any better but then again it was never about winning awards or gaining recognition. It was always about the process of putting together images and sounds and trying to create a coherent, if not entertaining piece of video. We hope you enjoy, and if you don’t, it’s your own fault for watching.
The following is rated TV-MA. It contains language not suitable for those who don’t like certain 4-letter words and it does contain fake as well as real facial hair. See if you can spot the fake beard from the, well, it should be obvious…
There…Did you enjoy it? Are you skipping ahead? Don’t do that!
Did you watch it? Be honest. Well, you gave it your best shot. Here’s some Thin Lizzy for the road.
