I left the stage in humbled silence, the strains of the crowd’s homage still echoing in the arena. Backstage he spotted a small boy playing with a guitar.
“Hi there, pal,” I offered gently. “What are you doing here?” The boy didn’t answer. He couldn’t have been more that a couple of years old.
I looked around, “You must have wandered away from your mother.”
He heard a frantic “Hello, hello. Has anyone seen my son?”
He looked back to the young boy, “That’s probably her, she’s coming now.” He was assuring the boy, but he didn’t seem to be upset.
“You found him! Thank God! I lost him in the crowd!” the mother was grateful.
I tried to calm her down. “He was just here backstage, playing with the guitar. Cute, huh?”
The mother laughed, relieved. “I should have known. He seems to have been interested in music since he was born. I’m so sorry to bother you.”
“That’s entirely all right. I love children. I have a grandson who’s not much older than him.”
The mother suddenly realized to whom she was speaking. In her concern for her son, she did not at first recognize I.
“Oh… My… GOD. I didn’t know who you were! I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be here.” She turned to her son. “Come on, now. We need to get back to where we belong.”
“No, no. Please. Everything’s all right. Did you enjoy the concert?”
“Oh, yes. It was fantastic. My mother was a big fan of yours in the seventies.”
“Your mother,” I was slightly dejected.
“Oh, I am too!” she corrected. “I just wasn’t born back then.”
“Well, it’s nice to appeal to a new generation, too, I guess. You have a fine looking boy there. What’s his name?”
“Rocky.”
I was silent for a moment, and a tear formed in his eye.
Rocky’s mother looked at him and said. “Are you OK?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I’ve just had a revelation. This is the future of rock.”
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Chapter 52. 2019 - The end of the tour
It was the final show of the tour. The group was back in Los Angeles, and many of the beneficiaries of the shows proceeds were in attendance. The first two rows were a who’s who of rock stars from the fifties and sixties, who had themselves taken advantage of what the LAHARM had to offer. The forum was sold out again, as every venue on the tour had been.
William Graham III was a bit wistful that the tour was at the end. He knew that he would never experience anything such as this again, no matter how long he remained a promoter. He took a peek from backstage and saw the immense crowd, the din from their pre-show conversation rising to almost deafening levels. The anticipation of the band members was rising as well. There were no further plans to continue beyond this night. This was going to be it.
William took a deep breath and ran out on the stage as the house lights dimmed. The crowds cheer when up and his announcement was barely heard.
“Ladies and gentlemen, here they are in their final concert appearance, Golden Fingers!!!!”
The crowd went crazy, and immediately as one, they rushed the stage. I urged them to silence and failing that, began the strains of their classic “Golden Fingers Theme” and continued with staples like “A Most Amazing Man” and “When The Kid Gets Heavy”. They also covered I’s solo material. “Only Golden Fingers Could Play So Heavy” was especially appreciated, and it sounded better than any previous performance. Their closing number, the new song “Reunion Chorus,” encouraged full audience participation. As was their custom, this new song told their personal story.
Normally, that would be the end of the show, but tonight was different. The chorus began to fade out, and one by one, the band members waved goodbye and left the stage, except for I, who remained alone in the spotlight. The house hushed so that a pin dropped would be deafening.
I began to sing softly.
I began to tear up when, as one, the audience rose and began chanting in perfect four-part harmony their Homage to a King. He wasn’t The King, just a king, but he was their king, for the final time.
William Graham III was a bit wistful that the tour was at the end. He knew that he would never experience anything such as this again, no matter how long he remained a promoter. He took a peek from backstage and saw the immense crowd, the din from their pre-show conversation rising to almost deafening levels. The anticipation of the band members was rising as well. There were no further plans to continue beyond this night. This was going to be it.
William took a deep breath and ran out on the stage as the house lights dimmed. The crowds cheer when up and his announcement was barely heard.
“Ladies and gentlemen, here they are in their final concert appearance, Golden Fingers!!!!”
The crowd went crazy, and immediately as one, they rushed the stage. I urged them to silence and failing that, began the strains of their classic “Golden Fingers Theme” and continued with staples like “A Most Amazing Man” and “When The Kid Gets Heavy”. They also covered I’s solo material. “Only Golden Fingers Could Play So Heavy” was especially appreciated, and it sounded better than any previous performance. Their closing number, the new song “Reunion Chorus,” encouraged full audience participation. As was their custom, this new song told their personal story.
Back together againThe rocking chorus captured the audience in a sing-along, and was repeat at least twenty times with various solos, pyrotechnics, lights and a whole array of special effects accompanying it.
Back together again
When we play, people say that we'll win
Back together again
Back together again
Back together again
We make way to portray all we’ve been
Back together again
World’s together again
World’s together again
All are friends, wars now end we are kin
Back together again
Normally, that would be the end of the show, but tonight was different. The chorus began to fade out, and one by one, the band members waved goodbye and left the stage, except for I, who remained alone in the spotlight. The house hushed so that a pin dropped would be deafening.
I began to sing softly.
King's don't reign forever, got to die.The spotlights focused on a mirrored ball, a popular fixture in the seventies, and it shed its light on the crowd.
Time is short, my river's running dry.
Flashbacks, comebacks, laid-back I is through.
In my life I hope I've entertained you.
And now the time has come
To step out of the light.
The band has all gone home,
Finished for the night.
My reign is through, it's true,
I've reached the end.
But rock will carry on
And goodwill it will send.
I began to tear up when, as one, the audience rose and began chanting in perfect four-part harmony their Homage to a King. He wasn’t The King, just a king, but he was their king, for the final time.
Chapter 51. 2019 – Fingers restored
Golden Fingers Reunion Tour for the Benefit of the Los Angeles Home for Aging Rock Musicians dominated not only the music press, but also all forms of communication. Instant Messaging traffic during a show was higher than any time of the day, with fans clamoring to hear the latest from their heroes. Micro bytes of sound data streamed to electronic devices all over the world, and even in the remotest regions, the Golden Sound rang out. Church bells announced the group’s arrival in each city; rocks echoed the strains of their music long after they’d left.
I truly did appreciate his father’s contribution to his success, and lauded him at every opportunity. Tonight’s show, though, was special. Henry and Juliette, both well into their eighties, were present in the front row. Special guests Buddy and Annette Arden and Sam and Samantha Martin were also present, and a memorial wreath was laid for Isaac’s late mother, Sandy. I had designated this show to be “The Henry Mall Appreciation Concert – part II.” He loved his father, and the first attempt to honor him had not been the best example of what could be done.
This time it would be different.
His main concern, as it was over forty years ago, was if Isaac was up to the task. Over and over he tapped Isaac and asked “Are you going to be O.K. with this, man. It’s got to be perfect.”
“I am cool, man. Chilled to the bone,” Isaac quipped in the retro hip-speak making the rounds. “That phase is way behind me. Whatever I was missing from my father, I buried that years ago and recaptured it from yours and the other guys’.”
“That’s good, because tonight is going to blow everyone away.”
“What have you got planned?” Isaac was curious.
“Never you mind. It’s gonna happen, and it will be like nothing you’ve ever seen. This will go down in history!” I seemed especially ebullient. History was what Golden Fingers was all about, after all.
The hall, as always, was a sellout. Because of the significance of tonight’s show, additional audience members were packed into the Standing Room Only areas. Thousands of fans crowded outside; they’d been unable to acquire a ticket during the one hour availability period. For them, a forty foot screen had been erected, giving them a live look inside.
When the band took the stage, a tumultuous din greeted the group. They launched into the traditional set list and when it came to “Only Golden Fingers Could Play So Heavy,” I asked for the crowd’s attention. Rapt, they wondered what was up. The show had a flow, and this wasn’t in the flow.
I laid aside his bass. “Some forty plus years ago, I honored my father…” The crowd burst into cheers. I’s reverence for his father had been a major topic of the news stories these days. He continued, “I honored my father with the first Henry Mall Appreciation Concert.” I was proud he didn’t stumble over the words this time. “You might say, it didn’t come off the way I planned…” The crowd roared with laughter, to hear the lyric turned to describe that first disastrous attempt.
“Well, tonight we’re going to try again, and this time do it right!” The crowd rose in applause.
I signaled them to sit again. “I’m afraid he isn’t getting any younger, so we’d better do this now. Mom. Dad. Come up here and join me on stage!”
The crowd rose once again as Henry and Juliette rose from their front row seats. They made there way up the stage, with a bit of assistance, and the spotlight soaked them brightly. The crowd stayed up despite I’s attempt to calm them and continue with the plan. Henry was a hero as much as anyone could be, and this was his night. He deserved the honor.
Finally, the noise subsided and I began his announcement.
“My father was a great musician in his day, and an even greater as a group manager. The Scuffling Scrappers were the Golden Fingers of the time, and owed everything to him.” O.K., maybe a bit of exaggeration, but it is for him, I thought.
“My dad had a dream, one he never fulfilled, and I want to help him fulfill it tonight.”
Henry looked curiously at I. What dream? he thought. I’ve had so many, and they’ve all been fulfilled.
I looked off stage. “Angela! Bring it!”
I’s beautiful wife came on the stage, carrying a shoebox-sized parcel.
“Many years ago, my father was working on a invention to give him back something he’d lost, something that kept him from doing what he wanted most: the ability to play guitar. Oh, he had played guitar, and probably could have still if he wanted. But he really wanted to play the bass guitar. Tonight, I’m going to give him that dream.”
I reached into the box and revealed a nearly perfectly formed human hand. As he touched the wrist, the fingers clenched, then released. A gasp drew from the audience.
“No, it’s not as monstrous as it looks. Dad, come here and hold up your hand.”
Henry had long ago lost any self-consciousness regarding his missing fingers, but he was a bit uncomfortable in the spotlight now. I took the hand, which turned out to be some type of naturally skin sensation glove, and pulled it down over Henry’s thumb and index finger. As it closed over his palm and then over his wrist, a tingling sensation went through his arm. Henry reacted by making a fist and unclenching. He wiggled all four fingers, and much to the crowd’s delight, flipped a bird, just because he could now do it for real. Henry laughed and turned to I, “But how?”
“Dad,” he began, “I’ve spend millions of dollars with hundreds of research firms to perfect this. I took your original designs, which were primitive, but were proven to have merit, and this is the result. It’s the Henry Mall officially authorized replacement hand!”
Henry looked at I quizzically, “Really? You’ve got to come up with a better name than that!”
The crowd roared once again, and I admitted “Well, more money has gone into development than marketing, I guess. We’ll have to work on that.”
Henry once again flexed his fingers. “It feels like a real hand. I can’t tell the difference!” Cameras began flashing as all recognized the significance of this invention. “Son, I can’t thank you enough!”
“There’s one more thing,” as I reached over squeezed a special area on the wrist. At once the individual fingers lit up in a yellow hue. “I couldn’t help myself. Dad, you’ve now got golden fingers!”
The crowd erupted in a psychotic frenzy which gave I time to retrieve his bass guitar from the stand where he had placed it. He took the instrument and asked Henry, “Will you join us?”
“But I haven’t played in almost seventy years!” Henry protested. “And I certainly haven’t played your songs.”
“Dad, you know you know every single one inside out,” I assured him. “But just to help you out, they still something else.” He pulled out yet another matching left hand glove. “You don’t normally need this, but I think you can use it now.” He pulled it over Henry’s left hand.
Pressing the hidden wrist button, a small area burst into additional light. “Run your finger along the screen,” he told him. Henry saw that it was a menu of the songs in the set list. “It programmed to guide your fingers to the correct frets and strings. Even if you’ve never played before, you can now!”
I turned back to the audience, and called out. “Now, the song you’ve been patiently waiting for, featuring Henry Mall, my dad, on bass. ‘Only Golden Fingers Could Play So Heavy!’”
Henry grabbed the neck as the complicated bass lines emerged from the amp. The band joined in and I took the mike.
I truly did appreciate his father’s contribution to his success, and lauded him at every opportunity. Tonight’s show, though, was special. Henry and Juliette, both well into their eighties, were present in the front row. Special guests Buddy and Annette Arden and Sam and Samantha Martin were also present, and a memorial wreath was laid for Isaac’s late mother, Sandy. I had designated this show to be “The Henry Mall Appreciation Concert – part II.” He loved his father, and the first attempt to honor him had not been the best example of what could be done.
This time it would be different.
His main concern, as it was over forty years ago, was if Isaac was up to the task. Over and over he tapped Isaac and asked “Are you going to be O.K. with this, man. It’s got to be perfect.”
“I am cool, man. Chilled to the bone,” Isaac quipped in the retro hip-speak making the rounds. “That phase is way behind me. Whatever I was missing from my father, I buried that years ago and recaptured it from yours and the other guys’.”
“That’s good, because tonight is going to blow everyone away.”
“What have you got planned?” Isaac was curious.
“Never you mind. It’s gonna happen, and it will be like nothing you’ve ever seen. This will go down in history!” I seemed especially ebullient. History was what Golden Fingers was all about, after all.
The hall, as always, was a sellout. Because of the significance of tonight’s show, additional audience members were packed into the Standing Room Only areas. Thousands of fans crowded outside; they’d been unable to acquire a ticket during the one hour availability period. For them, a forty foot screen had been erected, giving them a live look inside.
When the band took the stage, a tumultuous din greeted the group. They launched into the traditional set list and when it came to “Only Golden Fingers Could Play So Heavy,” I asked for the crowd’s attention. Rapt, they wondered what was up. The show had a flow, and this wasn’t in the flow.
I laid aside his bass. “Some forty plus years ago, I honored my father…” The crowd burst into cheers. I’s reverence for his father had been a major topic of the news stories these days. He continued, “I honored my father with the first Henry Mall Appreciation Concert.” I was proud he didn’t stumble over the words this time. “You might say, it didn’t come off the way I planned…” The crowd roared with laughter, to hear the lyric turned to describe that first disastrous attempt.
“Well, tonight we’re going to try again, and this time do it right!” The crowd rose in applause.
I signaled them to sit again. “I’m afraid he isn’t getting any younger, so we’d better do this now. Mom. Dad. Come up here and join me on stage!”
The crowd rose once again as Henry and Juliette rose from their front row seats. They made there way up the stage, with a bit of assistance, and the spotlight soaked them brightly. The crowd stayed up despite I’s attempt to calm them and continue with the plan. Henry was a hero as much as anyone could be, and this was his night. He deserved the honor.
Finally, the noise subsided and I began his announcement.
“My father was a great musician in his day, and an even greater as a group manager. The Scuffling Scrappers were the Golden Fingers of the time, and owed everything to him.” O.K., maybe a bit of exaggeration, but it is for him, I thought.
“My dad had a dream, one he never fulfilled, and I want to help him fulfill it tonight.”
Henry looked curiously at I. What dream? he thought. I’ve had so many, and they’ve all been fulfilled.
I looked off stage. “Angela! Bring it!”
I’s beautiful wife came on the stage, carrying a shoebox-sized parcel.
“Many years ago, my father was working on a invention to give him back something he’d lost, something that kept him from doing what he wanted most: the ability to play guitar. Oh, he had played guitar, and probably could have still if he wanted. But he really wanted to play the bass guitar. Tonight, I’m going to give him that dream.”
I reached into the box and revealed a nearly perfectly formed human hand. As he touched the wrist, the fingers clenched, then released. A gasp drew from the audience.
“No, it’s not as monstrous as it looks. Dad, come here and hold up your hand.”
Henry had long ago lost any self-consciousness regarding his missing fingers, but he was a bit uncomfortable in the spotlight now. I took the hand, which turned out to be some type of naturally skin sensation glove, and pulled it down over Henry’s thumb and index finger. As it closed over his palm and then over his wrist, a tingling sensation went through his arm. Henry reacted by making a fist and unclenching. He wiggled all four fingers, and much to the crowd’s delight, flipped a bird, just because he could now do it for real. Henry laughed and turned to I, “But how?”
“Dad,” he began, “I’ve spend millions of dollars with hundreds of research firms to perfect this. I took your original designs, which were primitive, but were proven to have merit, and this is the result. It’s the Henry Mall officially authorized replacement hand!”
Henry looked at I quizzically, “Really? You’ve got to come up with a better name than that!”
The crowd roared once again, and I admitted “Well, more money has gone into development than marketing, I guess. We’ll have to work on that.”
Henry once again flexed his fingers. “It feels like a real hand. I can’t tell the difference!” Cameras began flashing as all recognized the significance of this invention. “Son, I can’t thank you enough!”
“There’s one more thing,” as I reached over squeezed a special area on the wrist. At once the individual fingers lit up in a yellow hue. “I couldn’t help myself. Dad, you’ve now got golden fingers!”
The crowd erupted in a psychotic frenzy which gave I time to retrieve his bass guitar from the stand where he had placed it. He took the instrument and asked Henry, “Will you join us?”
“But I haven’t played in almost seventy years!” Henry protested. “And I certainly haven’t played your songs.”
“Dad, you know you know every single one inside out,” I assured him. “But just to help you out, they still something else.” He pulled out yet another matching left hand glove. “You don’t normally need this, but I think you can use it now.” He pulled it over Henry’s left hand.
Pressing the hidden wrist button, a small area burst into additional light. “Run your finger along the screen,” he told him. Henry saw that it was a menu of the songs in the set list. “It programmed to guide your fingers to the correct frets and strings. Even if you’ve never played before, you can now!”
I turned back to the audience, and called out. “Now, the song you’ve been patiently waiting for, featuring Henry Mall, my dad, on bass. ‘Only Golden Fingers Could Play So Heavy!’”
Henry grabbed the neck as the complicated bass lines emerged from the amp. The band joined in and I took the mike.
I first picked up my bass guitar at the age of seventeen…The song continued through the chorus
Crowds would gather when I played…But when it came to the second verse, something had changed.
I played in the greatest rock ‘n’ roll band at the age of seventeen.Henry’s flashing fingers lit up as each note was played, and there was never a finer moment in his memory than the one night his dream was achieved, because of the love of I Mall.
My father made sure that we would have a plan, ‘cause we were pretty green
He built a studio, he bought us all our gear, we knew that we were ready
‘cause only golden fingers could play so heavy!
Chapter 50. 2018 - William
William Graham III had a legacy to fulfill. As the grandson of the famed promoter, he certainly had the skills to manage a tour of such proportions as the Golden Fingers Reunion Tour for the Benefit of the Los Angeles Home for Aging Rock Musicians. GFRTBLAHARM. Or, as he would have it:
He particularly liked to point out the coincidental, but highly prophetic (or so he thought) inclusion of his name in the tour title. In time, he took to just calling it GrahamStock, because the Golden Fingers Reunion Tour for the Benefit of the Los Angeles Home for Aging Rock Musicians was just too much of a mouthful to repeat.
William traveled with the band all over the world, and promoted himself as much as he did the tour. He was certainly going to become a rich man from the proceeds, because although it was a benefit, expenses had to be paid, and he was certain to include his promotional fee in the overall expenses. A one percent off the top of the proceeds seemed minimal in perspective, but seven hundred million dollars wasn’t too bad for a couple years of work.
No one would deny that William wasn’t important to the overall success of the tour, although there were those who would argue that the tour sold itself, there was no need for actual promotion. William’s organization was large as well. More than three thousand of his employees were involved in the various aspects of promotion. One of the most effective was the Neural Syndication Network, where human brainwaves were used to transmit proximity messages to fans who had registered their preference for information about the tour. This nascent technology was enjoying its first major test on a worldwide basis.
The way it worked was this: a seed message was programmed into an Internet Distribution Device and sent out to a microcell vicinity, where it was guaranteed to reach at least 100 people. The message was encoded to correspond with the frequency at which the human brain performed its own micro-transmissions, a discovery that had only been fully understood beginning in 2014. Brain Micro-Transmission Technology was first exploited during the 2016 U.S. elections to ensure the populace had access to current information about the candidates, but had not spread to the rest of the world.
The ubiquitous presence of the Internet worldwide guaranteed transmission to every continent, but the specialized transmission devices needed to seed micro-transmissions had not become cost effective until after the U.S. elections. When GrahamStock was announced, BMTT was one of the first media elements to be discussed.
William programmed the first message himself and hit the transmit key which distributed it across the 39th floor of his office building. Since most employees had registered themselves for tour information, they were informed directly. Then, as they went about their business of the day, attending meetings, going out to lunch, shopping and spending time with family and friends in the evening, the message began its distribution over the NSN. Messages were exchanged by human proximity, generally a radius of twenty feet. Over the course of a single day, the message had been distributed to over a million people.
It wasn’t so much that the recipients had the experience of a direct transmission. It was more of a general sense, a memory they had always known. If someone mentioned the Golden Fingers tour to him or her, they would automatically have access to the tour information, and relate it at will.
Worldwide distribution had a similar effect. The IDD was present on all continents and even had a node on the newly settled moon base. Simultaneous transmission to all IDDs caused their own proximity network to be active. By the end of the first week, 75% of the world’s population knew of the tour details.
Once a worldwide NSN was established, its operation was self-maintaining, as long as fresh content was available. William ensured that a daily distribution of tour news was published, and the NSN ensured that it was distributed. In only two weeks time, every human being on the Earth had received the first message. Even those stationed on the Moon as well as those in transit across the Solar System received it. The sole exception was the members of the Alpha Centauri mission, who would receive the message after a long delay. That small segment of population was considered expendable, as due to distance limitations, they would be unable to attend any of the concerts.
William was proud of the first successful exploitation of the new technology. It was a turning point in future communication for years to come. I’s prophetic statement of “And now I've got it made, there ain't a cat alive who doesn't know who I am!” had certainly come true.
GFRTBLAHARM
He particularly liked to point out the coincidental, but highly prophetic (or so he thought) inclusion of his name in the tour title. In time, he took to just calling it GrahamStock, because the Golden Fingers Reunion Tour for the Benefit of the Los Angeles Home for Aging Rock Musicians was just too much of a mouthful to repeat.
William traveled with the band all over the world, and promoted himself as much as he did the tour. He was certainly going to become a rich man from the proceeds, because although it was a benefit, expenses had to be paid, and he was certain to include his promotional fee in the overall expenses. A one percent off the top of the proceeds seemed minimal in perspective, but seven hundred million dollars wasn’t too bad for a couple years of work.
No one would deny that William wasn’t important to the overall success of the tour, although there were those who would argue that the tour sold itself, there was no need for actual promotion. William’s organization was large as well. More than three thousand of his employees were involved in the various aspects of promotion. One of the most effective was the Neural Syndication Network, where human brainwaves were used to transmit proximity messages to fans who had registered their preference for information about the tour. This nascent technology was enjoying its first major test on a worldwide basis.
The way it worked was this: a seed message was programmed into an Internet Distribution Device and sent out to a microcell vicinity, where it was guaranteed to reach at least 100 people. The message was encoded to correspond with the frequency at which the human brain performed its own micro-transmissions, a discovery that had only been fully understood beginning in 2014. Brain Micro-Transmission Technology was first exploited during the 2016 U.S. elections to ensure the populace had access to current information about the candidates, but had not spread to the rest of the world.
The ubiquitous presence of the Internet worldwide guaranteed transmission to every continent, but the specialized transmission devices needed to seed micro-transmissions had not become cost effective until after the U.S. elections. When GrahamStock was announced, BMTT was one of the first media elements to be discussed.
William programmed the first message himself and hit the transmit key which distributed it across the 39th floor of his office building. Since most employees had registered themselves for tour information, they were informed directly. Then, as they went about their business of the day, attending meetings, going out to lunch, shopping and spending time with family and friends in the evening, the message began its distribution over the NSN. Messages were exchanged by human proximity, generally a radius of twenty feet. Over the course of a single day, the message had been distributed to over a million people.
It wasn’t so much that the recipients had the experience of a direct transmission. It was more of a general sense, a memory they had always known. If someone mentioned the Golden Fingers tour to him or her, they would automatically have access to the tour information, and relate it at will.
Worldwide distribution had a similar effect. The IDD was present on all continents and even had a node on the newly settled moon base. Simultaneous transmission to all IDDs caused their own proximity network to be active. By the end of the first week, 75% of the world’s population knew of the tour details.
Once a worldwide NSN was established, its operation was self-maintaining, as long as fresh content was available. William ensured that a daily distribution of tour news was published, and the NSN ensured that it was distributed. In only two weeks time, every human being on the Earth had received the first message. Even those stationed on the Moon as well as those in transit across the Solar System received it. The sole exception was the members of the Alpha Centauri mission, who would receive the message after a long delay. That small segment of population was considered expendable, as due to distance limitations, they would be unable to attend any of the concerts.
William was proud of the first successful exploitation of the new technology. It was a turning point in future communication for years to come. I’s prophetic statement of “And now I've got it made, there ain't a cat alive who doesn't know who I am!” had certainly come true.
Chapter 49. 2017 - Reunion!
Like his father before him, Hardy Rochester II was a respected journalist. Once only the scion and heir apparent of the I.B.C. broadcasting dynasty, HR2, as he was commonly know about the newsroom, was now in a role that exceeded even his own father’s accomplishments. He had traveled the world over, conducted interviews with most of the world’s leaders and covered nearly every major news story of the past thirty years.
Wars – military coups – catastrophic weather events – famines – genocide – earthquakes – if it was major, then HR2 was on the scene. But despite the enormity of the stories he had covered, none was as personally fulfilling to him as the opportunity to interview the reunited members of Golden Fingers.
Finger Frenzy, as the phenomenon was known, was at its highest the night before the legendary reunion tour was to begin. Heightened security surrounded the hotel where the four friends were sequestered. Without being oppressive, police presence was in full force, and throngs of anxious fans were present, hoping to catch a glimpse of their musical heroes should they choose to exit the building.
The odd juxtaposition of fans in their seventies together with fans barely into their teens made for an amazing sight. Women of all ages swooned at the possibility that their long-gone, but never forgotten idols would soon be performing again.
When HR2 arrived on the scene, he was treated as a rock star as well. It was well known that he would be interviewing the band members, and the crowds shouted out questions they’d like asked. “Tell them to come to Podunk, North Dakota!” one ardent fan yelled out. HR2 acknowledged the fan with a wave and was allowed to pass through the security cordon. Several fans tried to force themselves through with him, but they were successfully repelled without incident.
HR2 was directed to the high-rise elevators and was whooshed up to the 18th floor where each member had been given his own suite. The band members had gathered in I’s suite for the interview.
HR2, the proper, staid and sometimes stone-faced newsman was nervous. As a young man, he had been a big fan of Golden Fingers. He had attended three concerts during their first world tour, but despite his father’s efforts, never had the opportunity to personally meet the individual members face to face.
But the mutual admiration society was not one-sided. HR2 was as well known throughout the world as Golden Fingers, and they in turn had looked forward to meeting him as well.
Introduction and handshakes out of the way, HR2 got down to business.
“It’s been forty-two years since you last played together. How have you prepared for this most momentous of occasions?”
I was the first to respond, “We’ve spent most of the last two years directly preparing for this moment. But, you know, the seeds were sown forty years ago, even as we were breaking up.”
“How so?” HR2 inquired.
Spike took up the question. “It was necessary for us to leave the scene as a group and find what each of us could do individually. I’s choice was to continue in the business, but the rest of us chose to pursue different careers.”
“Popular history records the story differently. Are you saying the split was amicable?”
It was Isaac’s turn to respond, “There were tensions, to be sure, but in hindsight, it was the right thing to do, and the right time.”
HR2 turned to Osgood, “Some say that your contributions were minor compared to the rest of the members. How do you respond to that?”
Osgood put on an offended air. “Minor? Minor? I think the Ozzites would disagree with that assessment!”
“Truly,” he continued, “the keys are a background instrument. I don’t mind playing second fiddle to the others, and sometimes, depending on the synth settings, I am actually playing second fiddle!” The group laughed at Osgood’s joke.
I also came to Osgood’s defense. “Ozzie’s contribution to our sound cannot be underestimated. Without it, there would be a definite emptiness.”
“One final question: What do you think about reunion and the prospects for tomorrow’s first concert in over forty years?”
“That’s easy,” began I. “Only Golden Fingers could play so heavy.”
HR2’s report ran that evening on the 6 o’clock news.
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is the six o'clock edition of the I.B.C. News, with Hardy Rochester II, brought to you each evening by Fender guitars. Your local music store will show you their fine selection of Fender guitars, starting at only two thousand dollars. Here’s Hardy Rochester II.
“Earlier this afternoon I had the distinct pleasure of interviewing the Golden Fingers rock band, famous for their hits of the nineteen seventies who are reunited tomorrow for the first of ten concerts in Los Angeles. They will play to a capacity crowd of three hundred thousand in the newly remodeled Forum, and are expected to visit their full catalog of classics as well as a few new gems to add to their treasury. The concert is expected to last four hours, although likely it will seem to only be a few fleeting moments. The enthusiasm of the crowds around their hotel this afternoon was but a glimpse of what we can expect as this tour continues to grow.
The group plans to tour the world, playing to an estimated five billion people, through live concerts and closed circuit appearances. The tour, planned to run for two years, will bring proceeds of seventy billion dollars, which will be donated to the Los Angeles Home for Aging Rock Musicians. And that's the six o'clock edition of I.B.C. News. Tune in at seven o'clock for an update of national and world news.”
Wars – military coups – catastrophic weather events – famines – genocide – earthquakes – if it was major, then HR2 was on the scene. But despite the enormity of the stories he had covered, none was as personally fulfilling to him as the opportunity to interview the reunited members of Golden Fingers.
Finger Frenzy, as the phenomenon was known, was at its highest the night before the legendary reunion tour was to begin. Heightened security surrounded the hotel where the four friends were sequestered. Without being oppressive, police presence was in full force, and throngs of anxious fans were present, hoping to catch a glimpse of their musical heroes should they choose to exit the building.
The odd juxtaposition of fans in their seventies together with fans barely into their teens made for an amazing sight. Women of all ages swooned at the possibility that their long-gone, but never forgotten idols would soon be performing again.
When HR2 arrived on the scene, he was treated as a rock star as well. It was well known that he would be interviewing the band members, and the crowds shouted out questions they’d like asked. “Tell them to come to Podunk, North Dakota!” one ardent fan yelled out. HR2 acknowledged the fan with a wave and was allowed to pass through the security cordon. Several fans tried to force themselves through with him, but they were successfully repelled without incident.
HR2 was directed to the high-rise elevators and was whooshed up to the 18th floor where each member had been given his own suite. The band members had gathered in I’s suite for the interview.
HR2, the proper, staid and sometimes stone-faced newsman was nervous. As a young man, he had been a big fan of Golden Fingers. He had attended three concerts during their first world tour, but despite his father’s efforts, never had the opportunity to personally meet the individual members face to face.
But the mutual admiration society was not one-sided. HR2 was as well known throughout the world as Golden Fingers, and they in turn had looked forward to meeting him as well.
Introduction and handshakes out of the way, HR2 got down to business.
“It’s been forty-two years since you last played together. How have you prepared for this most momentous of occasions?”
I was the first to respond, “We’ve spent most of the last two years directly preparing for this moment. But, you know, the seeds were sown forty years ago, even as we were breaking up.”
“How so?” HR2 inquired.
Spike took up the question. “It was necessary for us to leave the scene as a group and find what each of us could do individually. I’s choice was to continue in the business, but the rest of us chose to pursue different careers.”
“Popular history records the story differently. Are you saying the split was amicable?”
It was Isaac’s turn to respond, “There were tensions, to be sure, but in hindsight, it was the right thing to do, and the right time.”
HR2 turned to Osgood, “Some say that your contributions were minor compared to the rest of the members. How do you respond to that?”
Osgood put on an offended air. “Minor? Minor? I think the Ozzites would disagree with that assessment!”
“Truly,” he continued, “the keys are a background instrument. I don’t mind playing second fiddle to the others, and sometimes, depending on the synth settings, I am actually playing second fiddle!” The group laughed at Osgood’s joke.
I also came to Osgood’s defense. “Ozzie’s contribution to our sound cannot be underestimated. Without it, there would be a definite emptiness.”
“One final question: What do you think about reunion and the prospects for tomorrow’s first concert in over forty years?”
“That’s easy,” began I. “Only Golden Fingers could play so heavy.”
HR2’s report ran that evening on the 6 o’clock news.
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is the six o'clock edition of the I.B.C. News, with Hardy Rochester II, brought to you each evening by Fender guitars. Your local music store will show you their fine selection of Fender guitars, starting at only two thousand dollars. Here’s Hardy Rochester II.
“Earlier this afternoon I had the distinct pleasure of interviewing the Golden Fingers rock band, famous for their hits of the nineteen seventies who are reunited tomorrow for the first of ten concerts in Los Angeles. They will play to a capacity crowd of three hundred thousand in the newly remodeled Forum, and are expected to visit their full catalog of classics as well as a few new gems to add to their treasury. The concert is expected to last four hours, although likely it will seem to only be a few fleeting moments. The enthusiasm of the crowds around their hotel this afternoon was but a glimpse of what we can expect as this tour continues to grow.
The group plans to tour the world, playing to an estimated five billion people, through live concerts and closed circuit appearances. The tour, planned to run for two years, will bring proceeds of seventy billion dollars, which will be donated to the Los Angeles Home for Aging Rock Musicians. And that's the six o'clock edition of I.B.C. News. Tune in at seven o'clock for an update of national and world news.”
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Chapter 48. 2015 - Reunion?
I and Angela had enjoyed their many years of quiet retirement on their vast estate. Although the kids were grown and gone, their frequent visits with the grandchildren were the highlights of these soon to be twilight years.
But even with a beautiful wife and all the successes his career had brought him, I sometimes longed for a return to the glory days. His golden years had him longing for Golden Fingers.
As if sharing his thoughts, Angela remarked, “Have you ever thought of getting Golden Fingers back together again? Reunion was very fashionable a few decades ago.”
They knew each other so well; it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. “I've often thought about it,” he revealed, “but always seemed to put it out of my mind. I really don't think it would work out. We had our share of troubles, and I think those wounds may still run deep.”
“The troubles are long behind us, and the road ahead is clear. Personally, I think it sounds like a good idea,” Angela prodded.
“Well, we might be friends outside of a working relationship, but in the studio, I don't think I could get along with the other guys. You know how we argued all of the time. Besides, I think they still harbor some resentment for breaking up the group all those years ago to go out on my own.”
Angela replied, “But we know you've changed, and they've changed. Remember what they say: absence makes the heart grow fonder. As a matter of fact, I spoke to my brother this morning on the videophone about it. He’s here for a visit.”
I was surprised once again, “Spike is in town? Where's he staying?”
Angela told him, “He's staying at the Century Motel, about a mile away from here. He'd said that he'd like to try a reunion. He came up with the idea in the first place.”
I stared wistfully before responding to Angela, “Did I ever tell you that Spike was the idea man behind Golden Fingers? I always liked to take credit for it, but he came up with the original proposal.”
“Of course, I know, silly,” chided Angela. “He was pretty sore for a while at some of those comments you made.”
“Yeah, I know he’s gotten over it, I admitted. “I guess Spike is in, but there's still Isaac and Osgood. They'd never go for it. I don't think they were into music all that much anyway. You remember how Isaac used to blow those leads all the time.”
“Spike's already talked to them,” Angela responded. “They agree it should be given a try.”
“So Spike keeps up with them? I’ve been out of touch with Isaac since the wedding, and only occasionally hear about Ozzie. Didn’t he finally get married a few years ago?”
“Talk about out of touch! It wasn’t a ‘few’ years ago, it was over twenty. And you were there at the wedding. You don’t remember?”
“Oh, yeah. Duh. He hooked up with that odd girl from the record company. What was her name, Peppermint or Spice Drop or something like that?”
“It’s Candance. They call her Candy.”
“Don’t they have a couple of kids now? Are they Peppermint and Spice Drop?”
“There isn’t any Peppermint or Spice Drop!” Angela was getting exasperated.
“If you say so,” I conceded.
“Ozzie’s kids want to see him on stage. All they’ve got to see it is the old online video. It’s not the same.”
“But what about Isaac? He certainly wasn’t in top form; he had a lot of vices.”
“Isaac's really cleaned himself up and Spike says he's really worked on his guitar lately. Didn’t you see that he released a solo album about five years ago? It wasn’t a chart topper, but it was a respectable effort.”
I remained unconvinced, “I still don't know. We were hot stuff in the seventies, but this is the twenty-first century. That was over forty years ago. People just won't accept us.”
“Don't you remember what happened in the seventies, though? That was the nostalgia decade. People were listening to the music of the forties, fifties and sixties and liking it. We could start a new nostalgia craze!” It appeared than Angela was already sold on the idea. It would still take more prompting to get I to agree.
“You know...” I paused as he considered the idea. “It sounds tempting...” Another pause, then a rejection. “But I'm too old. Besides, who wants to pay good money to see a bunch of senile old jerks trying to re-create the seventies? Leave it to today's youth. I just couldn't take it.”
“Come on, now. There are plenty of people who would want to see the reunion of the ‘World’s Greatest Band’. They don't want to see imitators and tribute acts, they want to see the real thing. You could attract all the old fans and even new ones. You may have retired years ago, but you can't leave the scene completely without a big comeback. That’s what everyone is doing. You owe it to the world to appear again.”
“Comeback? And how successful has that been for all the rest? Their comebacks have them playing in small towns and tiny venues. What kind of success is that?”
“It’s not about success at this point. You’re already successful. Look around you! Don’t you agree?”
“Maybe it would be nice to get out among the people again,” I mused. “I’ve missed the road; the excitement of touring. Waking up in a bus or a different hotel room every night. Well, maybe I haven’t missed that. But playing is the thing, I could do that.”
I stood up. “Alright, you talked me into it. Get a hold of Spike and we'll start to arrange the details.”
Angela picked up her phone and punched in a few characters. “I let Spike know and he replied that he’ll transport here in about fifteen seconds. They still haven't perfected the wardrobe machine at the motel and it seems he still has to put on his own coat or else risk serious injury.”
It was more like twenty seconds by I’s watch. The door chime announced Spike and opened. To I’s surprise, Isaac and Osgood accompanied him. While Osgood carried his age well, Isaac was a bit worn more than his years would merit. Even though he was clean now, it was obvious that the years of abuse had taken their toll.
As they walk through the door frame, a buzzer sounded. I held up his hand, “Hold it. The security alarm says there's something fishy going on. Have all of you been registered for clearance?”
Isaac’s admission, as he reached into his pocket, was a bit of a surprise. “It's probably because of my pet hamster. I take him wherever I go.” He stroked its fur.
I turned to Angela. “I thought you said these guys had straightened out?”
Angela giggled. “I didn't say anything about senility,” she whispered.
I turned back to the trio. “Okay, come on in. Hmm... You guys look as slick as a guitar lick.”
Spike replied for the group, “We've all been doing pretty well out there.”
Isaac remarked, “I can’t believe it’s been almost forty years since we were last together as a band!”
“Let's see how well we can do together again,” I remarked. “‘Reunion is total communion of souls.’ Isn't that how the old saying goes?”
Isaac looked at him with a question in his eye, “Never heard that one before.”
Osgood defended Isaac’s statement of fact. “He ought to know. He was the head of the English Literature department at the Multiversity.”
It was yet another item that had escaped I’s attention. “Well, it looks like we've got a lot of catching up to do, but we'll get on with that later. First we've got to plan this reunion.”
Spike was all business. “One thing we've got to do is tip off the music magazines. They're always hot for a rumor of reunion among old groups.”
I concurred. “We also need a promoter for the tour, someone who knows his way around.”
Isaac offered “How about William Graham III? That type of thing seems to run in his family.”
I agreed, “OK, I'll leave it up to you to get a hold of him.”
Osgood suggested, “We need a few new songs. The public might not settle for all the old ones.”
I didn’t quite agree. “Maybe we can pen one or two, but the purpose of this reunion is to bring back the era of the rockin' seventies.”
There were nods of assent all around.
Angela was curious. “What will you charge for the concerts?”
“That would be up to the promoter,” I said, “but I would imagine that tickets would run about thirty to fifty dollars each. That seems pretty reasonable.”
Osgood suggested, “Maybe we could make it a benefit tour.”
Isaac agreed, “That's right. We really have no need for the money ourselves.”
I thought it was a good idea, but asked, “Who will benefit from it?”
Spike jested, “William Graham III, for one.”
Isaac made his suggestion. “How about the Los Angeles Home for Aging Rock Musicians? I've heard the royalties from the old rock records are really slowing down and they're in need for some financial assistance.”
I agreed. “That seems like a good cause. Besides, we may end up there ourselves, someday.”
Spike also concurred. “It's true that it's the most popular home in the United States. It gets pretty loud there sometimes. The musicians all get together and jam on Tuesdays. At their advanced age they're near deaf and they have to turn up their amps to full volume to even hear themselves.”
I took mock offense, “What do you mean ‘advanced age?’ Most of them are no more than five or ten years older than us. At sixty-two, I resent being called an old man!”
Everyone got a chuckle out of that one.
Isaac continued brainstorming. “Maybe we can even have a re-issue of some of our old hits to remind people of the music of the good old days.”
Osgood started doing some calculations. “We can figure on a good total for the home. At an established world population of just over seven billion, we can figure on a twenty-five percent turnout, and at an average of forty dollars a ticket, that means about seventy billion dollars for the home. That should keep them out of the red for another five years.”
“We're gonna need a lot of practice,” I confirmed. He held up his hand. “I'm afraid these golden fingers have tarnished a bit.”
Spike agreed, “We'll really have to come on like a lion. We can prove again that only Golden Fingers could play so heavy!”
But even with a beautiful wife and all the successes his career had brought him, I sometimes longed for a return to the glory days. His golden years had him longing for Golden Fingers.
As if sharing his thoughts, Angela remarked, “Have you ever thought of getting Golden Fingers back together again? Reunion was very fashionable a few decades ago.”
They knew each other so well; it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. “I've often thought about it,” he revealed, “but always seemed to put it out of my mind. I really don't think it would work out. We had our share of troubles, and I think those wounds may still run deep.”
“The troubles are long behind us, and the road ahead is clear. Personally, I think it sounds like a good idea,” Angela prodded.
“Well, we might be friends outside of a working relationship, but in the studio, I don't think I could get along with the other guys. You know how we argued all of the time. Besides, I think they still harbor some resentment for breaking up the group all those years ago to go out on my own.”
Angela replied, “But we know you've changed, and they've changed. Remember what they say: absence makes the heart grow fonder. As a matter of fact, I spoke to my brother this morning on the videophone about it. He’s here for a visit.”
I was surprised once again, “Spike is in town? Where's he staying?”
Angela told him, “He's staying at the Century Motel, about a mile away from here. He'd said that he'd like to try a reunion. He came up with the idea in the first place.”
I stared wistfully before responding to Angela, “Did I ever tell you that Spike was the idea man behind Golden Fingers? I always liked to take credit for it, but he came up with the original proposal.”
“Of course, I know, silly,” chided Angela. “He was pretty sore for a while at some of those comments you made.”
“Yeah, I know he’s gotten over it, I admitted. “I guess Spike is in, but there's still Isaac and Osgood. They'd never go for it. I don't think they were into music all that much anyway. You remember how Isaac used to blow those leads all the time.”
“Spike's already talked to them,” Angela responded. “They agree it should be given a try.”
“So Spike keeps up with them? I’ve been out of touch with Isaac since the wedding, and only occasionally hear about Ozzie. Didn’t he finally get married a few years ago?”
“Talk about out of touch! It wasn’t a ‘few’ years ago, it was over twenty. And you were there at the wedding. You don’t remember?”
“Oh, yeah. Duh. He hooked up with that odd girl from the record company. What was her name, Peppermint or Spice Drop or something like that?”
“It’s Candance. They call her Candy.”
“Don’t they have a couple of kids now? Are they Peppermint and Spice Drop?”
“There isn’t any Peppermint or Spice Drop!” Angela was getting exasperated.
“If you say so,” I conceded.
“Ozzie’s kids want to see him on stage. All they’ve got to see it is the old online video. It’s not the same.”
“But what about Isaac? He certainly wasn’t in top form; he had a lot of vices.”
“Isaac's really cleaned himself up and Spike says he's really worked on his guitar lately. Didn’t you see that he released a solo album about five years ago? It wasn’t a chart topper, but it was a respectable effort.”
I remained unconvinced, “I still don't know. We were hot stuff in the seventies, but this is the twenty-first century. That was over forty years ago. People just won't accept us.”
“Don't you remember what happened in the seventies, though? That was the nostalgia decade. People were listening to the music of the forties, fifties and sixties and liking it. We could start a new nostalgia craze!” It appeared than Angela was already sold on the idea. It would still take more prompting to get I to agree.
“You know...” I paused as he considered the idea. “It sounds tempting...” Another pause, then a rejection. “But I'm too old. Besides, who wants to pay good money to see a bunch of senile old jerks trying to re-create the seventies? Leave it to today's youth. I just couldn't take it.”
“Come on, now. There are plenty of people who would want to see the reunion of the ‘World’s Greatest Band’. They don't want to see imitators and tribute acts, they want to see the real thing. You could attract all the old fans and even new ones. You may have retired years ago, but you can't leave the scene completely without a big comeback. That’s what everyone is doing. You owe it to the world to appear again.”
“Comeback? And how successful has that been for all the rest? Their comebacks have them playing in small towns and tiny venues. What kind of success is that?”
“It’s not about success at this point. You’re already successful. Look around you! Don’t you agree?”
“Maybe it would be nice to get out among the people again,” I mused. “I’ve missed the road; the excitement of touring. Waking up in a bus or a different hotel room every night. Well, maybe I haven’t missed that. But playing is the thing, I could do that.”
I stood up. “Alright, you talked me into it. Get a hold of Spike and we'll start to arrange the details.”
Angela picked up her phone and punched in a few characters. “I let Spike know and he replied that he’ll transport here in about fifteen seconds. They still haven't perfected the wardrobe machine at the motel and it seems he still has to put on his own coat or else risk serious injury.”
It was more like twenty seconds by I’s watch. The door chime announced Spike and opened. To I’s surprise, Isaac and Osgood accompanied him. While Osgood carried his age well, Isaac was a bit worn more than his years would merit. Even though he was clean now, it was obvious that the years of abuse had taken their toll.
As they walk through the door frame, a buzzer sounded. I held up his hand, “Hold it. The security alarm says there's something fishy going on. Have all of you been registered for clearance?”
Isaac’s admission, as he reached into his pocket, was a bit of a surprise. “It's probably because of my pet hamster. I take him wherever I go.” He stroked its fur.
I turned to Angela. “I thought you said these guys had straightened out?”
Angela giggled. “I didn't say anything about senility,” she whispered.
I turned back to the trio. “Okay, come on in. Hmm... You guys look as slick as a guitar lick.”
Spike replied for the group, “We've all been doing pretty well out there.”
Isaac remarked, “I can’t believe it’s been almost forty years since we were last together as a band!”
“Let's see how well we can do together again,” I remarked. “‘Reunion is total communion of souls.’ Isn't that how the old saying goes?”
Isaac looked at him with a question in his eye, “Never heard that one before.”
Osgood defended Isaac’s statement of fact. “He ought to know. He was the head of the English Literature department at the Multiversity.”
It was yet another item that had escaped I’s attention. “Well, it looks like we've got a lot of catching up to do, but we'll get on with that later. First we've got to plan this reunion.”
Spike was all business. “One thing we've got to do is tip off the music magazines. They're always hot for a rumor of reunion among old groups.”
I concurred. “We also need a promoter for the tour, someone who knows his way around.”
Isaac offered “How about William Graham III? That type of thing seems to run in his family.”
I agreed, “OK, I'll leave it up to you to get a hold of him.”
Osgood suggested, “We need a few new songs. The public might not settle for all the old ones.”
I didn’t quite agree. “Maybe we can pen one or two, but the purpose of this reunion is to bring back the era of the rockin' seventies.”
There were nods of assent all around.
Angela was curious. “What will you charge for the concerts?”
“That would be up to the promoter,” I said, “but I would imagine that tickets would run about thirty to fifty dollars each. That seems pretty reasonable.”
Osgood suggested, “Maybe we could make it a benefit tour.”
Isaac agreed, “That's right. We really have no need for the money ourselves.”
I thought it was a good idea, but asked, “Who will benefit from it?”
Spike jested, “William Graham III, for one.”
Isaac made his suggestion. “How about the Los Angeles Home for Aging Rock Musicians? I've heard the royalties from the old rock records are really slowing down and they're in need for some financial assistance.”
I agreed. “That seems like a good cause. Besides, we may end up there ourselves, someday.”
Spike also concurred. “It's true that it's the most popular home in the United States. It gets pretty loud there sometimes. The musicians all get together and jam on Tuesdays. At their advanced age they're near deaf and they have to turn up their amps to full volume to even hear themselves.”
I took mock offense, “What do you mean ‘advanced age?’ Most of them are no more than five or ten years older than us. At sixty-two, I resent being called an old man!”
Everyone got a chuckle out of that one.
Isaac continued brainstorming. “Maybe we can even have a re-issue of some of our old hits to remind people of the music of the good old days.”
Osgood started doing some calculations. “We can figure on a good total for the home. At an established world population of just over seven billion, we can figure on a twenty-five percent turnout, and at an average of forty dollars a ticket, that means about seventy billion dollars for the home. That should keep them out of the red for another five years.”
“We're gonna need a lot of practice,” I confirmed. He held up his hand. “I'm afraid these golden fingers have tarnished a bit.”
Spike agreed, “We'll really have to come on like a lion. We can prove again that only Golden Fingers could play so heavy!”
Chapter 47. 1984 - Todd
I had settled into his life of retirement at thirty, five years later than he had originally predicted on his tenth birthday. He still remained busy, and enjoyed the fresh air of his estate, walking the dog, and feeding the wild birds. After a particularly nice afternoon out, he returned home. Angela met him at the door.
“There was a phone call for you while you were out,” she told him.
I was a bit surprised. He preferred the experience of direct contact, and most whom he knew made it a practice to drop by, even unannounced. Everyone was welcome.
His curiosity was raised, “Oh? Who was it?”
“Some fellow by the name of Todd Rundgren. He called about an hour ago,” Angela revealed.
“A hint of recognition crossed I’s face. “Todd Rundgren ... Hmm.... Seems I've heard of him before somewhere. Wasn't he a record producer several years back?”
“I think so,” indicated Angela, “I think he had a musical career on the side as well, though he was never particularly successful. I remember reading that he released an album that pretty much destroyed his career.”
“That’s right,” I recalled. “He moved into a direction that did not sit well with the fans, and when he tried to go back to writing pop hits, he’d lost all credibility.”
Angela pointed her finger at I, “Don’t be so quick to criticize,” she warned. “You’ve been down that path, too. You were lucky to survive.”
I was a little worried, “I hope he isn't going to try to get me to start playing again. That's all over. Did he say?”
Angela gave I the message. “No, just left his number. He's staying at the motel down the road. Why don't you give him a call?”
I capitulated. “Yeah, I guess so. What's the number?”
“It’s right there in you hand,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, right. 543-1024?”
“That's it.”
I picked up the phone, punched out the number and waited for an answer.
Angela was curious as she heard the one-sided conversation.
“Hello, this is I Mall.” He paused. “Yes, Todd, I’ve heard of you.” He rolled his eyes. “Oh, I see. Hold on.” He covered the phone with his hand and spoke to Angela, “Are you OK with a visitor?”
“When have we ever been not OK with a visitor?”
I resumed his conversation on the phone, “Sure, come on over.” Yet another pause and then, “Alright, see you then.”
He hung up the phone. “He'll be over in a couple of minutes.”
“That means he'll probably stay for dinner,” Angela surmised. “Or if he isn’t expecting it, we can at least invite him. I'd better get something ready.”
“What are we having tonight?” I inquired.
“I think it'll be those steaks I bought last weekend,” she stated matter of factly. “He should be quite impressed since not too many people can afford them these days.”
“Now you know we’re not ones to show off our affluence and we're not here to impress him. He’s been around. I’m sure there’s little that impresses or surprises him these days. He's just coming over to talk business. But just the same, don't burn them; I think that the usual ten seconds puts too much of a char on the edges. Try eight or nine.”
“Be glad to,” Angel admitted, thankful for modern conveniences. “You know how I hate to spend a lot of time in the kitchen.”
Angela left for the kitchen, and I stepped over to the piano. He began to noodle out a tune. Angela returned from her brief stint in the kitchen and inquired, “What are you playing?”
I was totally absorbed in he composition of a song. He replied without thinking, “The piano.”
Angela was mildly exasperated. “I know that, but what song?”
“Oh, just something that came out. Maybe I can work it into something.”
“It's very pretty. But you’ve retired. Why are you writing?”
“Well, you can take the musician away from the music, but you can’t take the music out of the musician. Sometimes these things just happen.”
As if interrupting I’s thought train, a knock came at the door.
“That must be Mr. Rundgren.” I was lost in his own formality and said, “I'll get it.”
As I opened the door, there was Todd Rundgren. He sang out, “Hello, it's me!”
“Ha, Ha, yeah I get it. Your big ‘hit.’ Come on, come in,” he called over to Angela. “Angela, Mr. Rundgren is here.” That damned formality. What had gotten into him?
Todd could sense a bit of tension and asked I, “Please, just call me Todd. I’m just a real man like you.”
I introduced Todd to Angela, and as he did, he took her hand and kissed it elegantly. “A pleasure.”
“I’ve just made some dinner, won’t you join us?” Angela asked.
“Of course, thanks. I’d be honored,” replied I.
Angela shot a look towards I, “I was speaking to Todd.”
Todd chuckled and replied, “Yes, thank you.”
They sat down at the table and I was anxious to find out what this was all about. “Let's get down to business. What's on your mind?”
Todd began, “I'm sure you know this is an election year.”
I nodded. “Right, I'm already a registered voter. My parents were really into that election stuff. But sometimes it’s not too good to get involved. It nearly broke them up when I was young. They were split on the candidates. I guess my dad eventually got his way, though. Ol’ Tricky Dick made it to the White House after all. And look how that turned out. And I swore that if Reagan got elected, I’d leave the country. Well, unfortunately he did, but I’m still here. So much for commitment.”
Both Todd and Angela were surprised by I’s mini-tirade. It was so out of character for him, but Todd continued.
“That's good, but it's not important right now. What I came to tell you is that I'm running for the president this year.”
“Why? Is it one of those pledge marathons?” I countered. “Well, you can count me out. Like I told you, he's not even my party an I wouldn’t consider supporting him in any way.”
I’s ire was unexpected, and Todd tried to calm down the situation. “No, no, no, no, no. I'm running for the presidency. I want to be elected.”
“So what does that have to do with me?” I protested. “I've got nothing to do with the election.”
“I'm looking for a campaign manager and you sound right for the job.”
“What makes me sound so good as a campaign manager?” I was intrigued, but unconvinced.
“You've got the notoriety I need to shove me to the top. I saw the results of your world reform crusade. If it wasn't for you...”
I and Angela looked at each other with a smile, “He's playing our song.”
Todd was confused, “What?”
I responded, “Oh, nothing. Go ahead.”
“Well, if it wasn't for you, “ another chuckle but Todd let it pass, “we might not be sitting here today. With the threat of a nuclear holocaust at the back door...”
Todd was surprised as I shot out of his chair and ran to the door, he opened it and peered out. He returned, confused but relieved.
Angela asked “What's wrong, I?”
“I thought Todd said there was about to be a nuclear holocaust at our back door!”
Todd assured I, “Just a figure of speech. I didn’t mean it literally.”
I responded, “Well watch it with those figures, I nearly flunked school math.”
Angela was getting a little flustered at I’s erratic behavior. “I, will you quit clowning!”
Todd tried to resume his decorum. “Anyway, I'd like to point out how with your inspirational ‘World Theme Song’ you caused the world to settle back in peace again. That's what I need working on my side.”
“We already have candidates running in both parties. What party are you running for?” I asked.
Todd simply replied, “The Treed party.”
“Treed?”, I scoffed. “Never heard of it.”
Todd replied, “Of course not. I just made it up this morning.”
I was getting skeptical. “Why Treed?”
Todd explained. “Do you know what a cat does when he's chased up a tree by a dog? He fights back! I feel that I've been treed by the politicians of this country and I'm ready to fight back. Will you do it?”
Todd’s explanation made sense, in an odd way. He was starting to get through to I’s suppressed political support leanings.
I conceded. “Looks like I've been Treed. Who's your main opponent?”
“Well, besides the major party candidates, of course, there’s Senator Davis from Northern California.”
“Have you given any thought about a running mate? You have to think geographically as well as politically on that one,” I advised.
“I'm originally from Philly, but since I've relocated to L.A. it looks like my best bet is someone from the South.”
“What, you’re talking Mexico? Brazil?”
“No, I'm thinking more on the line of San Diego, but I don't know anybody in San Diego.”
“Who does?” I countered.
“Maybe I should focus my attention on Alabama or Arkansas.” Todd considered.
“What's so special about those states?” I asked.
“I've got some old musical acquaintances down there. Some fellows from Lynyrd Skynyrd and Black Oak Arkansas live there.”
I thought a moment, “Treed, hmm? I can see the headlines already Todd Rundgren Easily Eradicates Davis!”
Todd agreed, “It does sound good. Now all I need is a theme song. I’m hoping that where else you come in.”
I moved over to the piano and started playing the song he’d earlier become lost in. The lyrics came out naturally.
“There was a phone call for you while you were out,” she told him.
I was a bit surprised. He preferred the experience of direct contact, and most whom he knew made it a practice to drop by, even unannounced. Everyone was welcome.
His curiosity was raised, “Oh? Who was it?”
“Some fellow by the name of Todd Rundgren. He called about an hour ago,” Angela revealed.
“A hint of recognition crossed I’s face. “Todd Rundgren ... Hmm.... Seems I've heard of him before somewhere. Wasn't he a record producer several years back?”
“I think so,” indicated Angela, “I think he had a musical career on the side as well, though he was never particularly successful. I remember reading that he released an album that pretty much destroyed his career.”
“That’s right,” I recalled. “He moved into a direction that did not sit well with the fans, and when he tried to go back to writing pop hits, he’d lost all credibility.”
Angela pointed her finger at I, “Don’t be so quick to criticize,” she warned. “You’ve been down that path, too. You were lucky to survive.”
I was a little worried, “I hope he isn't going to try to get me to start playing again. That's all over. Did he say?”
Angela gave I the message. “No, just left his number. He's staying at the motel down the road. Why don't you give him a call?”
I capitulated. “Yeah, I guess so. What's the number?”
“It’s right there in you hand,” she said.
“Oh, yeah, right. 543-1024?”
“That's it.”
I picked up the phone, punched out the number and waited for an answer.
Angela was curious as she heard the one-sided conversation.
“Hello, this is I Mall.” He paused. “Yes, Todd, I’ve heard of you.” He rolled his eyes. “Oh, I see. Hold on.” He covered the phone with his hand and spoke to Angela, “Are you OK with a visitor?”
“When have we ever been not OK with a visitor?”
I resumed his conversation on the phone, “Sure, come on over.” Yet another pause and then, “Alright, see you then.”
He hung up the phone. “He'll be over in a couple of minutes.”
“That means he'll probably stay for dinner,” Angela surmised. “Or if he isn’t expecting it, we can at least invite him. I'd better get something ready.”
“What are we having tonight?” I inquired.
“I think it'll be those steaks I bought last weekend,” she stated matter of factly. “He should be quite impressed since not too many people can afford them these days.”
“Now you know we’re not ones to show off our affluence and we're not here to impress him. He’s been around. I’m sure there’s little that impresses or surprises him these days. He's just coming over to talk business. But just the same, don't burn them; I think that the usual ten seconds puts too much of a char on the edges. Try eight or nine.”
“Be glad to,” Angel admitted, thankful for modern conveniences. “You know how I hate to spend a lot of time in the kitchen.”
Angela left for the kitchen, and I stepped over to the piano. He began to noodle out a tune. Angela returned from her brief stint in the kitchen and inquired, “What are you playing?”
I was totally absorbed in he composition of a song. He replied without thinking, “The piano.”
Angela was mildly exasperated. “I know that, but what song?”
“Oh, just something that came out. Maybe I can work it into something.”
“It's very pretty. But you’ve retired. Why are you writing?”
“Well, you can take the musician away from the music, but you can’t take the music out of the musician. Sometimes these things just happen.”
As if interrupting I’s thought train, a knock came at the door.
“That must be Mr. Rundgren.” I was lost in his own formality and said, “I'll get it.”
As I opened the door, there was Todd Rundgren. He sang out, “Hello, it's me!”
“Ha, Ha, yeah I get it. Your big ‘hit.’ Come on, come in,” he called over to Angela. “Angela, Mr. Rundgren is here.” That damned formality. What had gotten into him?
Todd could sense a bit of tension and asked I, “Please, just call me Todd. I’m just a real man like you.”
I introduced Todd to Angela, and as he did, he took her hand and kissed it elegantly. “A pleasure.”
“I’ve just made some dinner, won’t you join us?” Angela asked.
“Of course, thanks. I’d be honored,” replied I.
Angela shot a look towards I, “I was speaking to Todd.”
Todd chuckled and replied, “Yes, thank you.”
They sat down at the table and I was anxious to find out what this was all about. “Let's get down to business. What's on your mind?”
Todd began, “I'm sure you know this is an election year.”
I nodded. “Right, I'm already a registered voter. My parents were really into that election stuff. But sometimes it’s not too good to get involved. It nearly broke them up when I was young. They were split on the candidates. I guess my dad eventually got his way, though. Ol’ Tricky Dick made it to the White House after all. And look how that turned out. And I swore that if Reagan got elected, I’d leave the country. Well, unfortunately he did, but I’m still here. So much for commitment.”
Both Todd and Angela were surprised by I’s mini-tirade. It was so out of character for him, but Todd continued.
“That's good, but it's not important right now. What I came to tell you is that I'm running for the president this year.”
“Why? Is it one of those pledge marathons?” I countered. “Well, you can count me out. Like I told you, he's not even my party an I wouldn’t consider supporting him in any way.”
I’s ire was unexpected, and Todd tried to calm down the situation. “No, no, no, no, no. I'm running for the presidency. I want to be elected.”
“So what does that have to do with me?” I protested. “I've got nothing to do with the election.”
“I'm looking for a campaign manager and you sound right for the job.”
“What makes me sound so good as a campaign manager?” I was intrigued, but unconvinced.
“You've got the notoriety I need to shove me to the top. I saw the results of your world reform crusade. If it wasn't for you...”
I and Angela looked at each other with a smile, “He's playing our song.”
Todd was confused, “What?”
I responded, “Oh, nothing. Go ahead.”
“Well, if it wasn't for you, “ another chuckle but Todd let it pass, “we might not be sitting here today. With the threat of a nuclear holocaust at the back door...”
Todd was surprised as I shot out of his chair and ran to the door, he opened it and peered out. He returned, confused but relieved.
Angela asked “What's wrong, I?”
“I thought Todd said there was about to be a nuclear holocaust at our back door!”
Todd assured I, “Just a figure of speech. I didn’t mean it literally.”
I responded, “Well watch it with those figures, I nearly flunked school math.”
Angela was getting a little flustered at I’s erratic behavior. “I, will you quit clowning!”
Todd tried to resume his decorum. “Anyway, I'd like to point out how with your inspirational ‘World Theme Song’ you caused the world to settle back in peace again. That's what I need working on my side.”
“We already have candidates running in both parties. What party are you running for?” I asked.
Todd simply replied, “The Treed party.”
“Treed?”, I scoffed. “Never heard of it.”
Todd replied, “Of course not. I just made it up this morning.”
I was getting skeptical. “Why Treed?”
Todd explained. “Do you know what a cat does when he's chased up a tree by a dog? He fights back! I feel that I've been treed by the politicians of this country and I'm ready to fight back. Will you do it?”
Todd’s explanation made sense, in an odd way. He was starting to get through to I’s suppressed political support leanings.
I conceded. “Looks like I've been Treed. Who's your main opponent?”
“Well, besides the major party candidates, of course, there’s Senator Davis from Northern California.”
“Have you given any thought about a running mate? You have to think geographically as well as politically on that one,” I advised.
“I'm originally from Philly, but since I've relocated to L.A. it looks like my best bet is someone from the South.”
“What, you’re talking Mexico? Brazil?”
“No, I'm thinking more on the line of San Diego, but I don't know anybody in San Diego.”
“Who does?” I countered.
“Maybe I should focus my attention on Alabama or Arkansas.” Todd considered.
“What's so special about those states?” I asked.
“I've got some old musical acquaintances down there. Some fellows from Lynyrd Skynyrd and Black Oak Arkansas live there.”
I thought a moment, “Treed, hmm? I can see the headlines already Todd Rundgren Easily Eradicates Davis!”
Todd agreed, “It does sound good. Now all I need is a theme song. I’m hoping that where else you come in.”
I moved over to the piano and started playing the song he’d earlier become lost in. The lyrics came out naturally.
It's 1984 and time to vote once more.Todd’s election as president would have marked the first time a rock star had rocketed to the Oval Office, but it was not to be, at least for the time being. Todd’s support by I raised his awareness as a household name, but ultimately failed to win the presidency, guaranteeing four more years of a Reagan administration.
For once you really do have a choice.
A wizard, a true star has raised his voice.
In music and in song he has carried us along
And he's conjured up a most devoted crowd.
Corruption in the states won't be allowed.
On the sixth of November you've got to remember
To go to the polls and vote.
I know you won't be sorry, with Todd there's no worry
And your hopes won't be so remote.
Utopia it's not, but with a vote for Todd
You'll find that it's one step nearer.
We need something, anything to stop fear
In music and in song he has carried us along
and he's conjured up a most devoted crowd.
Corruption in the states won't be allowed.
On the sixth of November you've got to remember
To go to the polls and vote.
I know you won't be sorry, with Todd there's no worry
And your hopes won't be so remote.
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