Props of course to Sars, Wing, and Glark. Additional daps to Ominous B. Lirken, Mac Tingly, and the one and only Doctor Baltimore. Word.
Okay, listen. "Three real, unsigned bands are about to hit the road to wage rock-and-roll war. They don't know where they're going. They don't know where they're playing. They only know that today they must be at Venice Beach, CA at 10:00 AM." Rock-and-roll war?
BRRRRROOOOOOOOWWWWGGGGGAAAAAYYYYYYY.
So we're at Venice Beach all of a sudden, meeting "SOULCRACKER" (who shall heretofore be referred to as "BUTTCRACKER" or perhaps just "BUTTSTRIPE" or "SUCKBAND"). Actually, no, these guys seem cool. They at least seem to know what they're doing. They've been together for eight years. Eight. And they're still unsigned? Whatever. Apparently, they formed in San Diego in 1993.
And it's time to meet Beastie. Yes, that's right. BEASTIE --NOT! WHO NAMES THEIR KID BEASTIE? Sars thinks he looks like Baba Booey. True, Sars, true. Beastie is the singer for BUTTSTRIPE, and he totally looks like Gary from Howard Stern. But regardless, he considers himself the "anti-hero" of the group. He receives no argument from this peanut gallery. "I'm not cool." Totally, Baba Beastie, and by "not cool" you mean totally cool, right? I know you do. Shut up, Beastie.
And here's Sutton (26, singer/songwriter, 36-24-36, likes walks on beaches, et cetera). According to Beastie, "as a person, he's a total mess." First of all, Sutton seems kinda like the coolest guy on this show. Second of all, Beastie, you should probably shut up. Fafaflooey.
Bob, the 27-year-old drummer, seems to think, "You can't play bars forever." You're right, Bob. Whatever -- Bob's boring. He's a good drummer, though.
A.P., the twenty-six-year-old bass player whom Sutton refers to as the "jackass" of the band (every band's got one), seems to think everyone in the band is an attention hound. Well, let's think about that. You're in a band. On VH1. No more recapping time for you, A.P., my not-so-fine and not-so-feathered not-friend.
Ramsey (whose name is Ramsey. Why?) is not all so much of an attention beeotch. "It's not really my personality to be really flamboyant." No comment. Ramsey (why?) plays guitar and is 26.
But enough of that. It's time to meet FLICKERSTICK (a.k.a. "FLICKERDICK," "LITTLEDICK," "NIPPLESHIT," or of course "YOUSUCK"). These guys formed in Dallas in 1997.
The first guy we meet is Cory. Cory looks really pissed all the time, even when he's not. He looks kind of like a prick. He's psyched, though: "We're gonna drink, we're gonna party, we're gonna meet chicks. If you don't want that, then why the hell are you in a band?" Touché, Cory. You win this time. Oh yeah, Cory plays guitar, is 26, and is looking for someone who won't smother him. ["He also enjoys old movies and impersonating that guy from Satanicide." -- Sars]
Brandin ("It's not a typo," says Arnold S.) is the really "creative" and "artistic" singer of the group ("We're all artistic. We're in a band!" snaps Cory. "Easy there, Surly McPissface," says Mr. Stupidhead). There's something that sucks about Brandin. Oh, yeah. His hair. ["And his face. Did he have a nose job that went wrong? He's just so…elfin." -- Sars] Brandin's brother…
Fletcher plays the bass. He seems to like it. He's okay at it. Fletcher doesn't have much to say. Yet (mwa ha ha ha ha ha not). He's 24. Woohoo.
Rex is 32, married (which he keeps bringing up, and it's like, "Dude….dude, no…seriously though, like, I'm married, don't you get it, dude, it's like, yeah."), and doesn't like anybody anywhere. He seems really bitter: "I have a wife and two dogs. I'm they guy added on to make Brandin a rock star 'cause he didn't have to play guitar anymore." Huh? Rex, you're such a little whiner. But you're really tall, so you're actually just a big old whiner. Shut up, Whiney O'Complaineggan. You knew what you were getting yourself into. Don't be such a piece of poo. Rex is my least favorite so far. But we haven't met HARLOW yet.
Dominic (drummer, 30) is "an animal." He can drink his own weight in Bacardi 151, likes to get laid (which Rex is appalled by), and can "beat the hell outta those drums." He is a good drummer, but he is definitely a raging hog beast. He's revolting, and he looks like he smells like a hockey bag.
Time to meet HARLOW, a.k.a. "WHORELOW" (tm Sutton of BUTTCRACKER), "FARTBLOW," or "GOTHTRON 5000." Oh, yes, that's right. I went there. So, these girls basically just learned how to play their instruments yesterday afternoon. They're all kinda goth-y, and they don't sound very good at all. But considering...
Amanda (27, singer/guitar) pretty much taught everyone how to play just so she could have a band. She taught Rebecca (26) to play drums and Rayshele (31) to play guitar. Chimene (29), the bass player and only trained musician, thinks that "Amanda's sort of blind faith in things and blind faith in herself and being so unafraid has really put this band together." Clearly. But you can't teach talent. And I'm not saying that chicks can't rock, 'cause that just ain't true. It's just that these chicks can't rock. Not yet, at least. And Amanda gives me the creeps. I dunno.
Time to meet Kasey, the tour manager. Don't know what to think of her. She's kinda just there. She talks a lot about auditioning thousands of bands, hundreds of CDs, blah blah "chosen three" blah blah blah. Woohoos from everyone. "Today, you three bands will drive to San Francisco where you're going to play separate venues on the same night. The band that makes the most money from ticket and merchandise sales will be the winner. We're gonna provide you with $20 per day for each band member, a gas card, and a phone card. Now, it's time to hand over your cash, your ATM cards, your credit cards, and your cellphones." Everyone bitches and moans. Then Kasey flashes her gang symbol, says, "Peace out, y'all. I'll catch you on the flip, money grip! Beeeeooootch!" and she's out. More cheers. Rex screams something stupid. Shut up, Rex. Your big ugly head is as dumb as a butt.
All the bands start checking out their vans (which are pretty swanky, actually). They've all been provided with megaphones. Hmm.
And the drive is on. Rebecca: "Let's get ready, ladies! Hold on tight!" I'd prefer not to.
The boys in FLICKERSUCK banter about cheerleaders and wet T-shirts and such, and someone wittily remarks that San Francisco is, like, practically the gay capital of the world, bro! The wheels turn in Cory's head: "DUDE! We go into a gay club, tell everyone we're a gay rock band. That's it. People will come! We are cute!" Go for it, Cory. You're the best. You surly mother.
Meanwhile, SOULCRACKER is busy lining up their gig already, making calls and "doin' they biz." Sutton mentions that his band has been touring steadily for years, playing 260 shows a year. "I don't think these bands have much experience with this kind of thing." True. True. I like Sutton. He's good peoples.
WHORELOW somehow finds SOULCRACKER at a McDonald's on the way, and stops to say hello. SOULCRACKER then starts flinging salami and cheese at HARLOW's windshield. That's pretty damn funny. There's something about the slapping sound that salami makes when it flaps on a flat surface that just tickles me pink. Seriously, you should try it. Sutton thinks that all the girls in HARLOW want him. I think he's right on. Minus the "right on" part. Plus the "misled" part.
Back on the highway, SOULCRACKER is still throwing cheese at HARLOW's van. They're being totally childish, but hilarious. Chimene screams, "Show us your tits!" Nothing. Not a single teat. Mm, mm, lame.
Amanda vows revenge for the cheese incident. No one seems to care that much.
The boys in POOSTICK want to get laid. Get in line, dweebs.
11:00 PM: Arrival in San Francisco. BUTTSTICK is already getting shmammed at some local bar and picking up girls. Dominic has already swallowed a keg, metal and all.
Elsewhere in town, POLETHWACKER is wallpapering every inch of every building with flyers for their show, talking to people and blowin' up the spot, yo.
HARLOW basically goes right to sleep.
Back to FLICKERCRAP, where the band is getting all vexed with Dominic for letting some random-ass drunk girls (one of whom is wearing a Blossom hat -- gag) into the van. Interspersed Dominic bashing and boob brandishing in the back of the FLICKERSTICK Ultravan 5000. I can't believe that girl just flashed VH1. Good for her. Good. For. Her. Not. Dominic mentions he's "getting a boner" as the girl licks his neck. Thanks for doing the mini-pushups in your pants to demonstrate, you hog. As if saying it wasn't cute enough. Dom, you're the classiest. And by "classiest" I mean "sweathog." You're a sweathog.
Cory, how about some final words before commercial? "If [Dominic's] penis isn't happy, he isn't happy, and none of us are happy. Period." That about wraps it up for me. For now. Sob.
Hot Pockets look like butt-logs in a blanket.
Back to San Francisco. It's Wednesday, two days from show day. SOULCRACKER have been up since 7 AM plastering the town with flyers, stickers, and whatnot. Beastie thinks that "there is a tremendous amount of work to be done." This is true. Sutton: "I guess we just have our shit together." This is also true, because…
HARLOW has just gotten up, and it's probably about 3:30 PM. Chimene seems to think that "things take a whole lot longer being in a female band." In this case, she's totally right. They're all just screwing around and cracking (not such great) jokes. Amanda: "We need to find some way to get on the radio or on the TV or something to just make it really fucking easy so we can just party." Okay. Whatever. There is something really scary about her. Anyhow, somehow Rebecca lands them an interview at some local radio station. How do these things work out for these people? Damn.
Anyhow, back to STICKERFLICKNOT, where Dominic is talking to their manager on a payphone. Apparently, Cory's dad has died. Cut to Rex, who, as usual, has some beef: "Dominic is tactful like an atom bomb." Yeah, Rex, and you complain like a two-year-old with a bellyache, so shut your trap. Rex is a little angry with Dom for telling the whole band about the death of Cory's death except Cory. I dunno, I think I would have done the same thing. The band has a lot of work to do, and this news would kinda kill morale. ["But if everyone in the band knows except the guy whose dad actually, you know, died, that sucks. They should have told him. He'd have sucked it up." -- Sars] But Rex has to bitch. It's his nature. Brandin thinks it sucks, too. Cut to a shot of Cory and the guys talking to a record-store owner, and Cory mentions his father. Everyone cringes. Ooof. That hurts.
Rebecca: "We're definitely going to win. We're gonna kick their asses." Whatever, HAR-DEE-HAR-HARLOW. You want to promote at a department store and a library? Rayshele: "There are a lot of ideas. Some ideas are a little too far out for me." Rayshele's kinda cool. Yes, I think it's fair to say I liked Rayshele right from the start. Anyway, HARLOW seems to be getting nowhere fast. Chimene: "We never get anything done. Ever." No shit.
Okay, so get this. SOULFLAPPER is sitting in the car, listening to the radio. "Hmm," they say. "What's this, 92.7? I like this radio station. I think we should be on it!" moment, Bob is on the horn with them securing an interview that will take place in one hour. I'm sorry, but shit like this just doesn't happen. "Oh, hi, yeah, I have a band. We play music. Can you put us on the radio in, like, an hour? Yeah? Sweet." Not. Anyway, they have to be in San Jose in an hour for the interview, which is during rush hour. Lucky devils.
You know what? I know that Seinfeld is now on FOX. It's screwed up my entire Simpsons cycle. Stupid FOX.
So, FLICKER-THESE-GUYS-ARE-JERKS-STICK are covering all of SOULCRACKER's flyers with their own. What jerks. Brandin: "Sorry, SOULCRACKER. We were here second." Yeah, Brandin. Fair's fair. Butthole.
All three bands get pages from Bay TV, a local television show. The first band to call back gets to play on the show for publicity. FLICKERDICK gets the gig. Good for them, I say. But here comes the buzzkill: Their manager pages Dominic again and tells him to have Cory call his mom. Cory: "I could tell as soon as I started talking to her that something had happened. Then she told me that my dad had died and it was like I got hit, in the chest, with a sledgehammer. I hadn't talked to my dad in about five years, mainly because I didn't call him." Cory starts crying. "He probably needed me, and I wasn't there." Um, well, he didn't call you either. The phone works two ways, dude. I'm just sayin'. Anyway, the rest of the band tries their best to console Cory, to little avail. Now Cory looks pissed and sad. Hmm.
We're outside with SOULCRACKER, where they encounter some crazy-ass woman (sans panties, I might add) who offers to do a "nice dance" for a dollar. The dance is much less than nice, and the boys run away. She tries to chase after them. They win. Heh. Anyway, they're going to do some karaoke in town. Sutton uses the opportunity to announce not only that he has trouble singing in falsetto, but to get the four townies there to come to their gig. Not a huge success. Some girl invites them back to her house (?), but they use the heads on their shoulders to decide they probably shouldn't. Beastie: "We all love sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, but you have to work first, and that stuff all comes later." Some really drunk girl gets into the shot and starts shrieking about singing a Prince song. Chill, girly. "Raspberry Beret" isn't going anywhere. The band is Audi 5000.
FLICKERPRICK goes out too; everyone is stressed about Cory, Dominic is an asshole, blah blah blah. But get this. Rex actually starts to cry. Fletcher: "He was angry that Cory was being exploited." Dude, you signed a contract and you (supposedly) knew what you were getting into. So please, Rex. Quit your bitching.
Show day. FLICKERSTICK is getting ready for their Bay TV performance. Whatever. HARLOW is really pissed that they got the show, so they're going to try and sabotage it. Again, whatever. Anyway, the bands eventually meet up, HARLOW tries to get on what they think is live TV (even though it's a taping), and Cory announces after WHORELOW's departure that he wants to "hit" Rebecca (I think he means "have sex with" as opposed to "strike"). Third time's a charm: whatever.
SOULCRACKER decides they should just set up on the street and play, something they usually do in whatever town they are playing in. Little do they know that they have set up right in front of a police station. Nice one. Too bad, too. They were starting to rock. I like SOULCRACKER. I just don't like their name ("They should call themselves 'The Monastic Agreement featuring Pope Gregory.'" -- Ominous B. Lirken). I'm with Lirken.
Anyway, HARLOW and FLICKERSTICK have just found out that their shows are right to one another's tonight. They start setting up and yelling at each other with their megaphones. Those rock stars. They think they're so cool. They think they can just yell at each other with megaphones and everything's just gonna be fine. I'll show them. I'll show them.
Commercial time. Ahh. Y'know, I've tried to hate Britney Spears, but her butt is just to round to hate. However, this new Pepsi ad doesn't help her cause.
Showtime!
HARLOW-CAN-YOU-GO is playing some song called "Blue Lie," and it sounds pretty crappy. Amanda's voice kinda blows. But whatever. Rebecca's actually pretty good though, having only played for six months.
FLICKER-SHIT-ON-A-STICK are making some pretty intense rockstar faces, and just rocking pretty damn hard. They're playing a song called "Coke" (like, wow, that's so, like, edgy). It sounds decent, but only because Dominic, although probably vomit-inducing in person, really can play those drums. Damn. I'm just sayin', is all.
SOUL-CHEESE-AND-CRACKER is playing "One Wave," a really fun pop-punk track. They have awesome stage presence, and they're all pretty good players. A.P.: "I was really disappointed with the turnout. I was expecting at least 200 people." Sucks, dude. Furreal. I wish more people had been there. I think this is my favorite band. Not, I'm totally biased now. Oh, well. Heh.
Oh, no! No more microphone sound at FLICKERSTICK's show! And guess who's got something to say about it? That's right…Rex. "We were singin', and the microphones were on, and that was good, and there was sound, and then they stopped working, and that was bad, because we sucked after that." Dude, Rex, I'll tell you your problem. It's not your constant bitching that gets to me, really, but rather the way in which you do it. Your sarcasm isn't funny. Oh, and by the way, we get it. You're married. Dominic's not, and if he feels like getting drunk and boffing locals, that's his business. So shut up.
Anyway, FLICKERSTICK goes to check out HARLOW's show door, and buys them some shots, which are well received. After their set, Amanda announces that it's time to get "really fucking drunk." Sweet.
All the bands meet up at this point. HARLOW and FLICKERSTICK are three sheets to the wind, and SOULCRACKER just wants to know why everyone is so damn wasted. Dominic reflects: "I blacked out about halfway through the night. I think I hooked up with some girl." You "think," you beast? You went home with her and spent the night! Rex, what do you want to say? "His forward manner, well, I find it repulsive. But I always thought that women liked to be doted on and treated nice. I guess I was wrong." Yup. You were. Rex. Dear, sweet, naïve Rex. You. Are. In. A. Rock. Band. Deal.
General good spirits and playful joshing as the judges tally the final scores. Kasey! Remember Kasey? Well, she's back! I-in pog form! I mean, uh, at the bar with the final results, and they read as follows (if anyone really cares):
At the door:
FLICKERSTICK -- $130
HARLOW -- $330
SOULCRACKER -- $245
Merchandise:
FLICKERSTICK -- $26
HARLOW -- $90
SOULCRACKER -- $186
Total:
FLICKERSTICK -- $156
HARLOW -- $420
SOULCRACKER -- $431
Well, I'm glad that's settled. Time for everyone to drink until they pass out (except for FLICKERSTICK; they already did).
Brandin is under the impression that he is going to sleep with Amanda and some random girl that's following them around. Apparently, the two girls want nothing to do with Brandin, only each other. Sorry, Brandin, but…BWA HA HA HA HA! Sucker! Brandin then mentions that his "musical integrity is completely gone." Don't worry, dude. You didn't have much to begin with.
More megaphone banter between SOULCRACKER and HARLOW. You'd think they'd get over the megaphones. Guess not.
More commercials.
And here we are, 10:00 AM the day, receiving some final words from various band members on the pilot and how they think it went. Chimene: "I think we came out of it smelling like a rose. Well, not literally." Right. Beastie: "At Venice Beach, Kasey said 'may the best man win' and I said 'we will' and it ended up being so awesome because we are the best and we win everything and I even said it and it came true and that's why I'm the best person who ever did anything, anywhere. Ever." Well, he didn't say that, but he's being really cocky. Cory: "I've learned a lot about myself. It's not about me. I don't want it to be about me. I want it to be about the people who are around me. The past four days have really changed my life." Well, I'll be. Cap'n Cranky has a soft spot. Aw. Not.
There's this whole drawn-out section about Cory's dad that seems just so tangential and irrelevant that I won't even bore you with it. Basically, there's a lot of crying and melodramatic guitar strains in the soundtrack, with Cory blabbing about the "preciousness of life" and all that. It seems almost inappropriate. I mean, the pilot's over, boys. Let Cory deal with this shit without having a camera shoved in his face. Damn.
That's it for now. But there are scenes! Okay, so when everyone returns in three months, there will be one more band: JOSH DODES BAND. I haven't come up with a clever nickname yet. You'll just have to wait! More drunkenness, more overall debauchery. Car crashes. All sorts of beef erupts between basically everybody. JOSH DODES' bass player seems like a real pisser.
Mr. Stupidhead just can't wait to sit back and laugh at all the silly rock bands. All the silly rock bands…