Now remember, FLICK is in dead last. The only way for them to save themselves is to sell lots of merch (which we know they’re not going to do) or win the battle of the bands. We’ll see.
Okay, so it’s Friday night in Columbus, and Fletcher is on the phone with Angel, his fiancée. He sounds all depressed, and she knows something’s wrong. He tries to pass it off as being upset about being in last place, which seems to work. Angel has faith that they can win the battle. As do I, but Fletcher doesn’t mention anything about the boffing he was doing the night . Not that I really expect him to, but seriously. It’s gonna be on TV, dude. 'Fess up.
So now we get a random flash of all the tour earnings, which read:
FLICK -- $4051
HARLOW -- $4444
DODES -- $4540
POO -- $4538
Sweet! Not. Don’t care. FLICK’s got their work cut out for them.
Time to visit the CRACK camp. Bob (the new guy that you love to hate) is getting into some stupid argument with the boys. It’s the type of argument where everyone is saying the same thing, but nobody is listening to anyone else, so the argument perpetuates itself. Bob thinks the key is to “sell more merch.” Everyone else is more concerned with the battle, which Bobbo the Clown finds kind of irrelevant. Um, not. I mean, they do need to sell merch to win, but they need to play good music also. They’ve got one down. Bob: “We’re gonna come in last at the battle of the bands.” Famous last words, geek.
HARLOW is planning to go out tonight and sing a song with one of the really popular local bands, and possibly promote a little bit for their battle tomorrow. “We’re a bit worried because the girls are out shopping and in true HARLOW style, we’re running a bit late.” Hmm. Cut to a shot of Chimene and Rayshele trying on clothes at a secondhand store. It’s 8:17 PM. Back to Amanda: “If they don’t get here soon we’re in trouble, because we haven’t done any promotion today.” Oops. Maybe you should make clear to them that clothes shopping is probably not their priority right now. Whatever, it's your band.
DODES just received a call from the owner of The Spot (where they just played) and he wants them to play again tonight. Dodes is amped: “Rock 'n' roll!” Riiiiiggghhhhtttt.
FLICK time. Dominic: “We’re gonna go over and set up at this kid’s house. He said there would be over 200 people there.” Nice. House party. So FLICK takes off, hoping to sell “at least 60 CDs.” In the car, Cory thinks they are “right near the Hoover Dam," a mistaken impression which VH1, in true Pop-Up Video style, is quick to correct. Apparently, Cory, the Hoover Dam is 2,000 miles away from Columbus. Waps. So anyway, they show up expecting 200 people and find 3. I’m not kidding. There are literally three people there. So they make up some story about having a gig that they’re gonna go play and “come back when things pick up a little.” Not, that’s such a lie. Cory: “They had their little combo amps set up and their little guitars and they were like, ‘You guys wanna jam with us and stuff?’ Yeah, dude, we’ll jam with you as soon as we’re done leaving here and never coming back.” Bwa ha ha! I’m sorry, but that’s actually really funny. FLICK is out. Fletcher gives a thumbs down and a mouth fart. Hey, at least they all got beers.
At The Spot, DODES is warming up the crowd. “Come out to the Battle of the Bands tomorrow night and vote for us, 'cause we don’t wanna go home.” True. They start to play, and I gotta say that Jo Jo is really quite an incredible drummer. Everyone in the band is actually pretty good, but I don’t think they’re hitting up the Trustifarian (a.k.a. Credit Card Hippie) demographic enough. If they did, they’d dump all their merch in a day.
At FLICK camp, the band is wondering how they’re gonna stay in this thing. They’ve already resolved that they can’t sell enough merch to catch up to everyone else. Cory: “Since day one, we’ve been saying that we’re the best live band on this thing, so if we lose tomorrow, our entire argument is gone and we deserve to go home.” Everyone agrees. Brandin: “We’re not salesmen.” Word -- you’re the best rock band ever. Don’t let anyone ever tell you different, dude.
Oh, great. It’s time to watch SOULCRACKER. I hate them. They’re the biggest bunch of sucks that ever sucked. Their music sucks. They suck. They suck. One more time. Suck.
Anyway, ROBOCRACKHEAD is still arguing about merch and stuff. I can’t believe they’re still talking all this shit. They finally get to the Northberg Tavern, where they’re setting up for their umpteenth show in Columbus. I hate that song that starts “I-I-I-I, did everything, you asked me too.” They never get the damn harmonies right. It’s probably because they are not talented. They play about one song and then start harassing people to buy their CDs. Shut the hell up, SOULCRACKER. Stop trying to force people to buy shit that sucks. Damn.
Now they’re at Ledo’s Lounge, playing yet another crappy set for yet another group of people who, like me, think they suck. But apparently, they’re the only one’s who have sold any merch at all.
Check out these merch sales:
FLICK -- $0
HARLOW -- $0
DODES -- $0
CRACK -- $134 (Noooooooooooo!)
Rebecca and Amanda are at The Alrosa Villa and are still waiting for Chimene and Rayshele, who are severely late. Rebecca just hopes they’re all right. Aw. But she is a little vexed, because they also have the flyers. So HALFHARLOW gets on stage to sing this song with this other band called CRINGE, who actually rocks pretty hard. It’s so obvious that HALFHARLOW don’t know the words that it hurts. So they just kind of bob their heads and look ridiculous. Still no sign of the other HALFHARLOW. Hmm.
They put my favorite Autechre song in that new Volkswagen ad. That’s so cool.
Rayshele: “By the time we got to the club it was 1:00 AM and the whole show was over, and they were really angry because we didn’t have any flyers to hand out.” Well, it was the one thing you had to do today, and instead you and Chimene bought clothes. You have no right to bitch. They were counting on you, and you flaked. Rayshele comes up with all these bullshit excuses for the time discrepancy, which Becks and Mandy totally don’t buy. They all get pissed until Rebecca says, “I don’t want to talk about it any more. End of story, we’ll deal with it later.” Fair enough. That shut everyone up.
Sutton thinks his voice is “pretty screwed because of the amount of shows we’ve been playing.” I hope so. Then you will lose. Sucker. Beastie: “We played three shows this evening, and they were all middle of the road.” That’s because the only applause you get is out of pity or social convention as opposed to genuine appreciation. You stink.
Here’s a merch update:
FLICK -- $80
GOTHTRON5K -- $0
THEJ-DUBALLSTARS -- $45
BEASTIE-AND-BOB-MUST-GO-HOME-CRACKER -- $324 (Nooooooo!)
Saturday. Day of the Battle of the Bands. Ooh.
Angel (Fletcher’s main squeeze) is here to surprise him. And surprised he is. Fletcher’s dad, Bruce, bought her the ticket. If only Fletcher had known, he probably would have refrained from boinking that band-slut the other night. Fletcher feels bad: “I screwed up. I made a big mistake. I can’t believe I would do anything to hurt her. I should be a bigger man and focus on the things that are important, I mean with my son and having a little family. I really want to tell her, but how do I tell her I betrayed her? Nobody wants to do that.” So, instead of telling her, he takes Angel into the same bathroom as the other night so they can boink. He’s a classy guy, that Fletcher. No. No, not really.
Sound-check time. As the bands tweak their sound, we get interview snippets from each person. AP: “We’re gonna be the best band. We write the best music, we have the best stage show, so…” Not true. Daryl: “Jo Jo is worried about tonight. There’s no need to worry, we just gotta do what we gotta do. This could be where our poker hand is holding all the aces.” Okay, Daryl. We’ll see. Cory: “We’re just gonna do what we do, put our emotion into it and play the best we can play.” Nice. Fletcher: “Hopefully we can pull it off.” Word. Kick CRACKER’s ass. Amanda: “Right now we’re third. We haven’t sold any merch since the last show.” Chimene: “I think that we are in a very dangerous place.” Yup.
Another merch glimpse:
FLICK -- $80
HARLOW -- $0
DODES -- $45
CRACKER -- $484 (Not. I want them to stop selling things.)
A big montage of past episodes follows this, set to a FLICK song. Whatever, VH1. Nice freshman video editing project, maybe.
Commercials. Ahh.
Dude, they are going nuts with the stupid tour earning this episode. Whaddup wid dat?
FLICK -- $4131
HARLOW -- $4444
DODES -- $4585
CRACK -- $5022
Okay, so Adrian is blabbing to HARLOW about the famed “merch swap” last episode. Chimene is pretty candid: “My job is not make other people lose. It’s to do the best that I can for myself. We ended up in third place because you guys made a deal with them.” Adrian: “Either I can slink away or stare at the camera so they don’t film this.” Chimene turns her back to her. “Maybe slinking away would be the best thing to do right now.” Yeah, that’s right.
All the bands are at The Clique, getting ready to play. Everyone’s getting really itchy. Outside, FLICK is getting their picture taken by Bruce, Brandin, and Fletcher’s pops. They’re all wearing matching black turtlenecks, and they get this really money slo-mo of all of them walking into The Clique.
Time to battle. Brendon and Katina are breaking down the whole thing to the audience. Each band is playing three songs. HARLOW goes first, and they actually sound pretty good, mainly because they actually got a sound-check this time and they can hear themselves. They play “Static Cling,” while Rebecca says, “We’re pulling out all the stops tonight.” The song, cleverly titled “Michael Hunt,” ends with Rebecca dipping her mallets into lighter fluid, lighting them, and playing the cymbals so they catch on fire. Pretty awesome. Rex seems totally psyched about it. The audience digs it, too. Amanda: “I had a really good time. If we do get kicked off then we went out with a bang.” True.
It’s FLICKERSTICK’s turn. They sound great. El Dangeroso is in full effect: “I love every second of everything we do onstage. I love it. I don’t want anyone to think that we’re faking anything.” They rock their song “Smile,” which sounds a bit like Radiohead. Brandin’s vibrato is right on. They really are a good band. I hope they win. Dude, even Sutton can’t refrain from giving the “rock” symbol with his hand. That means something, dude. Brandin gives a little speech: “Vote for us if you like us, don’t vote for us if you don’t. Just don’t use the cameras, and don’t use the merchandise sales. This is what matters, and you all are what matters. Keep that in mind.” Hmm. They finish with “Direct Line to the Telepathic,” which also sounds a bit like older Radiohead. After a Frampton-esque ending, Rex beats the hell out of his guitar, and the drums start flying. The set is ruined. Then Fletcher does a curtsey, which is hilarious. Dominic: “I was so emotionally distraught that I had to crawl into a corner and cry for about half an hour.” It’s contagious, because eventually all of FLICK is crying. Cory and Rex are holding hands. Rex: “We all had emotional breakdowns, and were cryin’ and loving each other because of the music. I would never want to be in a band that didn’t do that.” Cory: “If the judges see us crying, we might win.” Heh.
Commercial time. Mmm. Vlasic pickles.
DODES starts with “Do The Do.” Um, Josh, Mountain Dew called and they want their slogan back. Anyway, they sound pretty much like they always do. Daryl gives the camera a Gene Simmons tongue, which is so unlike him. Fletcher and a couple of the other boys from FLICKERBREAKDOWN start to dance a little, which is kind of cool to see. Josh recapitulates Brandin’s earlier sentiments, and they jump into “Be My Friend But Be Naked.” What’s up with these song titles, man? Anyway, they rock it.
It’s SOULCRACKER’s turn. They suck. Beastie still serves absolutely no purpose. He can’t sing, and he can’t dance. He just flops around the stage and sucks the life out of whatever stage show they have, which isn’t much to begin with. They play some songs. They don’t sound good. Beastie goes way off on some notes, which I suppose is to be expected. Brandin and Fletcher make similar disgusted faces and cover their ears. Word, boys. Word. Anyway, CRACKFACE finishes its set, and Beastie announces, “Come back and meet us, everybody. We want to make some new friends.” That implies that you have other friends, which I doubt. Bob: “We rocked it. We kicked a lot of ass.” Nope. Not true.
So the bands have about half an hour to finish merch sales, and things get pretty naughty. HARLOW has women offering fellatio to whomever purchases their stuff, while CRACKHEAD has a girl stripping a piece of clothing for each buy. FLICKERSTICK doesn’t even bother with their merch. They think they’ve lost anyway, so they go the HARLOW table to buy stuff before they get the boot, which HARLOW really appreciates. They buy about $70 or $80 worth of merch. You see, that’s what makes these guys awesome. When they think they’re going down, what do they do? Help out the sisters. That’s pretty noble, I think.
Merch time has ended. Time to find out once and for all who gets the boot. Daryl: “I keep trying to tell you motherfuckers, I ain’t going home!” Okay, dude. Chill.
Okay, here we go.
Total Tour Earnings:
FLICK -- $4261
HARLOW -- $4994
DODES -- $4690
CRACK -- $5232
That leaves DODES in third, so if FLICK wins, they’re out. If FLICK doesn’t win, then FLICK is out. Uh-oh. Katina breaks down the point system for the battle:
Audience invited by bands: 1 point
Independent audience invited by VH1: 5 points
Battle Scores:
FLICK -- $76
HARLOW -- $58
DODES -- $49
CRACK -- $30
Woohoo! FLICK wins! But DODES is gone. Everyone starts to get really emotional. FLICK is crying because they just won. DODES is crying because they have to go home. Jo Jo starts to cry, which hits me in the chest, because he’s such a big guy and I always find it quite sad to see a large guy cry. I don’t know. Everybody hugs. Cory hugs Daryl. Chimene hugs Adrian (that beef died pretty quick). Amanda: “There was this heavy melancholy in the room, and it was really quite horrible.” Maiya: “I suppose we knew this could happen, I mean we did sign on for it. There’s a lot of good bands here, and someone had to go. If it had to be us, so be it.” Aw. I feel bad for them.
Meanwhile, Dominic is totally passed out on the stage, and Cory is still blubbering into his beer. Dude, get over it. It’s been, like, two hours. Brandin and Fletcher pour Dominic into the van.
Chimene is still really impressed with the FLICKERSTICK chivalry from earlier. “I think FLICKERSTICK really saved our asses. In the long run, I think, they really made the difference.” Rebecca: “I really think SOULCRACKER should be afraid of FLICKERSTICK and HARLOW. I don’t think FLICKERSTICK would form an alliance with them, and I’m pretty confident we wouldn’t, so…” Word. Send those suckers home. I’m sick of even paying them any attention.
Beastie and Bobbo the Clown are certainly anxious. Beastie: “Now that they know about the DODES merch swap they hate us even more than they used to.” Yup. “I’m not even remotely comfortable because we came in last. I just want to let you know rock is dead.” Yeah, maybe your rock is. Go home, Beastie. Take Bobbo with you. Nutlord.
Some final thoughts from DODES. Daryl: “I still think we’re the best. But the best doesn’t always win.” Yeah, that’s deep. Jo Jo: “I’m gonna miss the bands, wondering what they’re doing and stuff.” Josh: “I feel like it’s going to be difficult, coming back down to earth. I feel like we gained the respect of the other bands. It’s still nice to see that new faces will come to hear our music, and within the course of half an hour to an hour they’re saying, 'Damn. That’s really good.'”
week, there is some beef coming out. Beastie: “I don’t think the other bands respect us.” Ya think? Bob calls HARLOW a “bunch of whores.” That is literally all I can make out. The edits are so quick and out of context that I can’t even tell what’s going on. There’s some internal beef in HARLOW, I think. Fletcher doesn’t seem to be all that into monogamy. Oh yeah, and nipple clamps. Need I say more?
'Til week…