“I Want You…

I want you so ba-a-a-ad, babe!

I want yououououou…”

The house vibrates, shakes, rattles, the voice strives to reproduce John’s resonant perfection.
But the 13 year olds vocal chords just can’t reach down low enough- give it a couple of more years. Maybe by then his ear will develop and he’ll notice when he sings the whole thing half a tone below the lead guitars sultry notes. The drums sound uninspired, but accompany the discord obediently.

“She’s so.”

(wait for it)

“Heavyyyyyyy.” The harmonies are lost as the singer hits all the notes in order. By himself. Suddenly the drums are gone and it’s just one voice trying to hit the high note. The ten year old leaves to make a cheese bagel for lunch. I guess the discipline thing hasn’t kicked in yet, the second guitarist comes up for a snack, too.

My ears hurt, my head hurts, I’m crabby but this isn’t about me it’s about giving the boys a chance to be boys being a band in a basement. The ever-increasing amplifiers prove the dad gene is alive and well and festering in these young pups. Bigger will always be better -car, amplifier, other, etc and with ‘it’ comes increasingly more confidence.

They switch to an uneven interpretation of “Boulevard of Broken Dreams”. A range of guitar effects are presented after each musical stanza, testing, annoyingly. One day they may do another garage concert for their friends and the neighbors. A proud mom may still insist on video taping all of it. A proud dad may upload it to You Tube and their legend may begin. Until then its a mere afternoon of vibrating, shaking and rattling, and plenty of pain medication.