Page 23 - Contrast1965Spring

ROCKIN'
?-eorge sat in the limbo of red and blue spot-
ights, alone, but comforted in these few
moments of restless searching. An adulterated
Ba.c~ fugue cried around the room, given new
SpUIt by an electronic Hammond organ and
Ge, org e ,s SenSIt,iv,e heart and hands and light-
lllng - angry mind - that nearly only these
l o,ne l,y mI.nutes knew. Other sounds were be-
gInlllng to sift into this echoing pit of wailing
d reams.
"Hey Dad!"
~~il1 fairly isolated from the rising noise about
h~m, George took a full twenty seconds to lift
hImself from the almost reverent position he
ad assumed. He sat back on the organ bench
and nervously lit a mentholated filter ciga-
rette.
"yeah Tommy."
~ ommy, the lead tenor man wi th a sparkling
elmer Paris horn hanging on his lean and
ghioateed frame now gently rested agaIn' st the
,ighl y po liISh ed organ. Assured that he had
finally ma d e contact W'Ith George, he stared
across the keyboard and repeated "Hi Dad.
Ho w did theory class go?" ',
1 Grinding his cigarette under his patent leather
From behi In d' a pair of green-tint,ed shades
c~me the reply, "A gass, man. Doc Samuels
s owed me some weird stuff today. I worked
on three of the Webern pieces you had in
apprec. class last week."
The tenor man gOI.ng on "DId, you hear the
new Getz record? I w'ish we could play
some ... "
21
"Yeh, one day man, when we make it. But you
know this sonovabitching public." A young'
drummer interrupted his gaze into the darkness
backstage, "Hey Joey, where's your cie-tac?
That's gonna be a bill for the little grey box
for being out of uniform."
Tommy again, "Did you see the dent that
"dirt ball" put in my be 11 at the Bl ue Jay
Wednesday night."
With his arms folded and eyes staring now
at his gleaming keyboard, the organ player
muttered, "You know those guys, man. They
gotta have their nightly bottle. The public
man, they're just plain out-to-lunch."
The public was beginning to add to the noise
that had shattered the shell George had
purifyingly languished in moments ago. The
"dirtballs",
the farmers, the "cool-cats",
the good and bad kids, the kid who lovingly
smuggles his bottle past the sign - "Teen
Dance, 90¢, No Alcoholic Beverages". All six
of the me n in the band were now on stage.
They all lived music. They knew how to
make an impression, too. Their public was
waiting to be impressed.
shoe and raising his mouthpiece toward his
lips, Tommy grumbled, "Let's sell our guts."
The shades nodding, "One, two, one, two,
three. Good evening ladies and gentlemen.
Welcome to the sound of the fabulous .•. ".
MBi