Antennae Man launched into the opening riff. Tony followed his lead. Thank God. It sounded like he could actually play. I didn't really trust myself to sing. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep in tune. I looked out at the audience. They seemed friendly. I looked at Antennae Man. He smiled at me and repeated the intro. I looked at Tony. He was completely focused on playing. He had a dreamy expression on his face. He usually looked like twelve year old accountant but now, at least, he looked like a stoned 12 year old accountant. To my ears it sounded like he might have the goods.
The only problem was that I didn't.
But I knew what I had to do. There was no way I could sing like Robert Plant, but I could definitely sing as well as William Shatner. I didn't need musicality. I needed diction and chutzpah. As Antenna Man began the intro for the third time, I stepped into the light and looked down at my feet.
This time I hit the cue dead on. I raised my head and glared at the audience. "I should have quit you baby," I said. "long time ago."
I didn't sing. I just played Shatner. I pictured the audience filled with McCoys and Spocks and Scottys. "Yeah, a long time ago," I told them. I enunciated every word clearly. "I wouldn't be here, my children, down on this killing floor."
At the words, 'killing floor' I jumped down onto the dancefloor. Someone in the crowd whooped. My first whoop. Fantastic!
Antennae Man played a solo. I headbanged my way in the general direction of the whoop. The mike didn't reach the side of the stage so I moved back to the centre. "I should have listened," I told Spock. "To my second mind".
I could hear Tony getting into it now. Soon we were at the bridge and he and Antennae Man traded solos for a good five minutes. Maybe Tony really was a musical genius. I lay on the floor and punctuated their riffs with the occasional shout of "I should have listened, baby!"
I stood up to finish the rest of the song. I told the audience about my troubles. I asked them to squeeze my lemon. And then we were at the bass solo. There were more whoops now as Tony stepped up to the centre of the stage. I could sense my rock and roll moment approaching. This was my favourite part of the song -- when Robert Plant sings "baby baby baby" over and over again. If ever Bill Shatner and I were ever going to be taken seriously as artists, we were going to have to go for it.
I sang; I actually sang!
I sang "baby, baby, baby" over and over again as Antennae Man wailed on the guitar. I let myself sink to my knees as I ran out of breath. Many many whoops. I climbed back up the stage. It seemed much easier this time. I jumped up and down to the last frenzied guitar solo. I held my hand up and the band cut on my signal.
"I'm gonna leave my children," I told them, "down on this killing floor."
I turned my back on the audience and handed the mike to Pink Girl. The crowd went wild. Tony gave back his borrowed bass and we walked off the stage. We bowed briefly in the middle of the dance floor.
The Pink Girl gestured down at us, "Kent and Tony!" We waved and went back to our table. The bartender sent over a pitcher of beer and two coffees. He gave us a thumbs-up to say it was on the house. I raised my broken hand in triumph.
"That was fantastic!" said Tony. "Were we good? Do you think we were any good? People clapped. That's a good sign, right?"
I poured myself another glass of half beer, half coffee. "You were good," I said. "Really great."
"And what about you?" asked Tony. "I'm afraid I didn't pay much attention. I was just trying not to screw up. Were you good?"
I thought about it. "I was focused," I said. "I think I gave a good performance."
"So you were good, then, Right?"
"No," I said. "I was terrible. And I should never go near a musical stage again in my life. But I gave a good performance." I grabbed Tony's shoulder. "You, on the other hand -- I honestly think you can play. I have to admit I did get a bit distracted out there. But, still, I can tell you this much. You did not suck."
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