A new sound. A new band. Albeit, a struggling new rock band. Following is their story:
The van won’t start. Again.
Chesick slumps over an open hood. Steam rises like a morning fog from the gurgling guts of the radiator. The sudden blare of the horn sends him scrambling backward!
From the driver’s seat, Bauman cackles hysterically. His partner in the shotgun seat, Carson, laughs too, but with less enthusiasm, reddening face indicating he doesn’t find immature humor that funny.
Chambers laughs along from the back seat, clueless as to what he’s laughing at. He’s programmed to follow the others for the sake of sheer “fitting-in-ness”.
“What the hell, B?” Chesick snorts, though the boys in the band know it’s an act of false machismo. “You damn near gave me a heart attack!”
However, Bauman takes the bait, clutching his chest and imitating the “death gurgle.” This one registers with Chambers, who laughs so hard he snorts a snot bubble from his nose, which makes Carson laugh at Chambers.
Nonetheless, Bauman is out the driver’s door and standing near the still open hood. “Hey, Curt, ya ever heard of a little thing called H two Oh?” He drags out the formula to the amusement of the boys in the van.
“Ten bucks says that radiator’s dry as your brain cells,” Baman declares, pointing at the hissing radiator cap.
“Or as your humor,” Chesick mumbles.
“Exuse me?”
Chesick reaches for the radiator and yanks his hand back. “Ou! That’s hot!”
Bauman rolls his eyes. “We got a gig in three hours, man. We gotta get us some water.”
New rock band, new solutions
Carson calls a water purification company nearby, via Google. The person on the other end can’t help.
Bauman calls a tow truck to take them to the nearest service station, but his AAA points have expired.
“Maybe we can push it,” Chesick suggests.
“Are you crazy, Curt!?” Bauman bellows.
A pause, as the band thinks. You can hear brain cells clanking, churning, slowly.
“There’s a hill in front of us,” Chambers points out.
The others survey the scene. Not a car in sight. The Ozarks’ summer sun is beginning to scorch the bald bandmates, and annoy the others.
“Here goes nothin’,” Bauman says. “You guys’ push. I’ll steer.”
First concert for the rock band
Hostile Posture’s first ‘real gig” is a “real gas.” Actually, that was just a fun sentence. It is, in reality, a real drag.
The band arrives via Uber exactly four minutes after the show is scheduled to start.
The venue is the Ozark High School gym. The tardy guys drag in, exhausted, dirty, thirsty, and sunburned.
Bauman raises his hand to a few concert goers, initiating a “high five.”
They leave him hanging.
Rough start for the rock band
The band had had to pony up their last beer money for the 280-mile Uber after the dehydrated van rolled into a deep ditch.
Bauman blamed the boys for the mishap, but in reality, he had looked back at them while steering downhill.
That’s when the van found the ditch and rolled on its side.
The rollover happened so slowly, the guys almost needed popcorn to watch. Bauman escaped, unfortunately, with full use of his sharp tongue.
The journey
Loading the gear into the Uber driver’s SUV was no small task, especially from the awkward position of the van.
Chesick had to hold the back door open in a straight up position. His arms were quaking in the hot sun.
Chambers and Carson dutifully dragged the drum set, bass, lead and rhythm guitars, amps, cables, and foot petals out of the ditch as Bauman supervised from the air conditioning of the Uber driver’s SUV front passenger seat.
The driver accepted Visa, Mastercard, EBT, Discover, American Express, and cash.
All of the above were used to achieve the total bill, down to a Kennedy half dollar Bauman had clung to since his high school graduation years earlier.
The gig
The audience is smallish and relatively quiet. A few high school cheerleaders try to stir up the crowd, with little success.
The audience seems more intent on waiting in line at the Booster Club concession stand than packing the front of the stage.
Who cam blame ’em? Popcorn is only 2 bucks!
On with the show!
The band finds itself on stage. Bauman storms confidently up to the center mic. He says something, but only the front row hears it.
He taps the mic impatiently.
Finally, on the fourteenth thump,the atmosphere erupts into a shrieking, reverberating, hideous electronic malfunction.
People grasp their ears, dropping 2-dollar popcorn all over the gym floor.
Minutes later, the first song starts. The spotlight blinds Chesick as he fumbles with his guitar strap.
His recent involvement with a box of Booster Club popcorn leaves his fingers too greasy to be effective.
Best thing since The Beatles…
Chambers taps out the opening beat. Carson slugs in on the bass line. But Chesick is still fumbling around.
Bauman opens his mouth to sing, taking a swing at his guitar simultaneously.
The sound is, well, ahem, unique. Halfway through the song, the audience is feeling a mixture of sympathy, embarrassment, and, of course, irritation.
Nothing is coming together, but Hostile Posture jumps around and hot dogs in front of the lights as if they’re The Beatles at the height of their fame.