The Pat Tragedy Story Chapter Three: Flying Blind To The Edge
The air guitar contest was held on the last day of school before spring break, which naturally fell on a Friday. This day was usually pretty light on actual school work and heavy on activities. This was fortunate for me because I'd become more anxious than I'd expected and had trouble concentrating in my morning classes. I knew in my heart that we were ready for this thing. Hell, we practiced for it. I couldn't think of any other geeks that got into it so far as to actually rehearse. So what was I concerned about?
I'd seen the guys earlier in the day and we excitedly talked about the contest. We'd all brought our various wardrobe accents. Chet had his leather jacket, Eric had borrowed a bandoleer with fake rifle shells, and I had my wig. All four of us had our sunglasses.
Back in the '80s, prescription sunglasses were a luxury that really wasn't considered. My only option back then was to wear those clip-on lenses that you see dorky tourists wear in the movies. My dork quotient was already simmering to a point where I passed for cool in most circles, but wearing those things, under any circumstances, would put me over the top into a social bracket I wasn't comfortable with. So I never owned shades of my own. Any crow's feet I have later in life will be attributed to the squinting caused by my desire to maintain whatever coolness I had in high school. Without a pair of my own and not wanting to spend any of my precious cassette money on a cheap set, I borrowed a red pair of Vuarnet knock-offs from my mom. How cool is that? Not very, but I lived through it.
I had to explain to the guys that without my prescription glasses, I wouldn't be able to see much at all when we got onstage. By choosing to wear my mom's sunglasses, I'd basically be legally blind out there. Now, I can see without my glasses, but it's like looking through one of those old shower doors. Everything's fuzzy at best, so I'd need some direction when we hit the stage.
The four of us met again in the hour before the contest behind the amphitheater at the door to the music department's practice room, along with all the other contestants. Now we were visibly teeming with nerves. At least three of us were. Sean was very quiet and did not respond much when asked if he was nervous. At the time, I wondered if he'd taken something because he looked catatonic. He may have even snuck in a beer or two, but in retrospect, I believe his system just shut down a little while dealing with butterflies.
We talked a little with some of the other acts. Marco, a very popular senior who I'd known since junior high, was fronting an outfit called Ozzy's Kids. He and three other wildly popular jocks would be doing Ozzy Ozbourne's Crazy Train. But they had no prop instruments and Marco commented that with our look and the real guitars, we'd blow them away. I did not tell him so, but I had to agree. We wished each other luck and I continued looking around and talking with the other performers. It was then that I saw the horns. Lots of horns.
John walked over from the group with the horns when he saw me staring at them. "Hey, Tony, who're you guys supposed to be?", he asked.
I was looking down at the trombone in his hand and replied, "Uh, The Pat Travers Band. Y'know, Boom Boom (Out Go The Lights)?"
"Nuh-uh", he grunted. "When do you guys go on?"
"I don't know yet. Who are you guys playing?", I asked. He looked over his shoulder and nodded towards the dozen or so dudes dressed in Mod attire complete with skinny ties and Ray-Bans. "We doing Madness; One Step Beyond."
"That's cool", I said, not really meaning it. I hated all that New Wave stuff then, especially ska. But I did recognize the potential in a lip-synched performance of that tune.
He then added, "Yeah, we've been practicing for a couple of weeks now. Pretty nerdy, huh?"
Shit! Real competition. "Heh, yeah well....", I trailed off.
Just then, a geek from the marching band came up to us and blurted, "What's your band's name?" He had a clipboard cradled in his arm and a pencil clenched between his teeth. He looked a little frazzled. I told him who we were and he scoured his list. "Okay, you go on fourth. Go ahead and come inside the music room and wait your turn. The first band is going on in ten minutes."
I snuck a look at his clipboard as we stepped into the school band's rehearsal room. There were about 25 acts today. Going on fourth would be good because people would still be interested in the novelty of the event. But they could also forget our performance after seeing so many bands play after us. But the prevailing thought among us would be that there was an advantage to getting it over and done with. The nerves were creeping in on us. Eric was taking big breaths, Chet was pacing, Sean was withdrawing, and I was struggling to get the wig out of its bag without creating a tangled mess. Inside the room were the first three acts, all getting ready for their moment in the spring sunshine, whether it be to cheers or ridicule.
"Cyndi Lauper, you're on! Let's go! Let's go!", came the call from the clipboard kid. This was it. The show was underway.
I got the wig out of the bag and was attempting to fix the tangles while the other guys put on their accessories. We were all pretty much ready to go when the kid with the clipboard came up again and asked for our taped music. I produced the cassette from my shirt pocket and told the guy, "Make sure its on Side One. It's all cued up and ready to go". Some cheerleader was in charge of starting the music and I didn't want this airhead putting on Side Two and having the middle of Heat In The Street come blasting through the P.A. with us standing there swinging in the breeze. Before he got to the door, I yelled out to him, "Hey! Is there a mic stand out there on the stage?" He looked back and shrugged. "I'll let you know" and he opened the door to the stage just slightly and watched Cyndi Lauper finish up. We could hear the applause. Pulses hiked a bit.
The second act was ushered to the stage as "Cyndi" lept by us giggling on her way to hugs from her girlfriends. She was squealing about how fun that was. Good sign, I thought. I don't remember what the second act was, but it was short. We were positioned at the stage door behind the waiting third act. I don't remember them at all. Time was speeding up and details have been blurred by the excitement of the moment and the time that has passed. What I do remember is that when clipboard kid came back to get the third act, the stage door swung wide open and all four of us in The Pat Travers Band got a good look at the crowd standing on the grass of the amphitheater.
"Fuuuhhhck", we all said in unison.
There were alot of people out there. When the door slammed shut and the muffled music of the third act was heard, we all looked at each other and laughed nervously. Except Sean. He was out on his feet, glassy eyed and head bent slightly downward. It was time for me to finally finish my look. With the wig already on and adjusted, I put on my mom's sunglasses. I folded up my prescription glasses and put them with our guitar cases. I was blind and vulnerable now. I leaned in to Eric and told him to point me in the direction of where the faux mic stand would be when we got out there. He was looking right through me. "Dude! You hear me?", I said loudly. He shook himself out of it for a moment and said feebly, "Yeah...'kay."
At the door to the stage, hearing the pumping beats of the music and the crowd's reaction, we all got a little flushed. My stomach seemed to be trying to crawl out of my body through my spine and my hands were shaking a little. Eric and I compared tremors. On the surface, Chet was the coolest of all of us. He seemed to be taking it all in stride, but the long, tight-lipped exhaling he produced belied his calm. We heard the song end and the cheers went up. My head suddenly went abuzz with terror.
Clipboard kid came rushing to us behind the exiting third act. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!", he loudly whispered to us as he guided Chet out the door to the stage. Then went Sean, a little wobbly. Eric looked at me and dove out the door with me in tow. The crowd was actually pretty loud as we walked to our positions on the stage. I had to yell into Eric's ear to be heard as I frantically asked, "Is there a mic stand?" He never looked back at me and simply hollered over his shoulder to me, "I don't know".
He didn't know? How could he not know? He could see. With the adrenaline rush and the sight of the huge crowd, it was the last thing on his mind as he strode to his spot stage left. So without anyone to guide me, I trodded forward to the edge of center stage. My legs were not listening to my brain ("Walk, damn you! Walk!") at this point and I felt like every step was taken in a World War Two era diving suit. I heard some giggles and "omigods" as I approached the edge of the massive concrete stage, which stretched into a semi-circle overlooking the grassy area in the middle of the high school campus . Alas, no mic stand was to be found, for I surely would have walked into it by this point. I'd have to lip synch into the air before me.
In the brief moment before the music, I scanned the crowd. I could sense hundreds of eyes upon me in my wig. There were at least 300-400 kids out there, but the crowd seemed to us as large as Woodstock. Without my prescription lenses, they all looked like the background of a LeRoy Neiman painting. We stood there for just a moment. I heard a few rockers yell out; "Yeaaahh!"
Suddenly, the shrill voice of the cheerleader jumped through the P.A., "Ladies and gentlemen, The Pat Travers Band!" A horrific blast of crowd noise startled me and my eyes darted about, looking for the source of the enthusiasts. But in that nano-second, I realized that it was the audience from 1978 enjoying the real Pat Travers Band captured live on the album Go For What You Know. I had cued the cassette with a bit of space between tracks so as to hit our mark properly. The machine gun drum intro played and we were off!
Faking the bouncing bass line was easy enough and a good way to start the performance. Eric and Chet had a soaring twin-lead section to open up with before I started the vocals. I bobbed my head up and down, getting my novelty-store mane to swing a bit as I made pouty rock star faces. I looked over at Chet, then Eric as they phonied up the fading notes of the intro. It was all coming along naturally, just as we'd rehearsed so many times. I took a step forward to the imaginary mic stand. The boogie shuffle guitars started and it was time to lip-synch my heart out.
I opened my mouth as Pat Travers' voice shot out over the P.A. and into the faces of the student body. But open my mouth was just about all I did. The words were not coming. I had blanked out on the lyrics! All that practice, all that preparation, just to forget the lyrics onstage in front of hundreds of students ready to laugh an act right off the stage. Instead of panicking, I decided to bluff my way through the song until I could regain my composure. So I basically mumbled my way throught the first verse. I was playing catch up with the lines sung by Pat Travers and what I couldn't catch up with, I made up my own words. If I were actually being recorded, it would have sounded something like this:
Bum bum dee da, ma say dee doh ra la da da, ma lo hey da
revised lyrics copyright Pat Tragedy, 1985
On the spot, I rationalized that perhaps the folks up front could see that I wasn't quite on cue with my lip-synching if they were paying close attention, but if I carried myself with confidence and made all the right moves, the folks farther back wouldn't know the wiser. I'm sure that's the rationale that Britney Spears uses these days.
So it went until the chorus, where I jumped aboard the rumbling train that was Boom Boom (Out Go The Lights). I had only moments before the speaking part, where Pat Travers beckons the crowd to follow his lead and participate in the "Out Go The Lights" line, so I had to maintain the charade. Unfortunately, my enthusiastic head movements had indeed caused the wig to swing. Right into my open mouth. To make matters worse, because of my nervousness, my mouth had gone impossibly dry and the synthetic strands of black hair were stuck to my tongue and lips. Trying desperately to brush them aside without missing chords on the bass became comical, so I basically chewed hair for the last half of the song.
In Pat Travers' speech, he beckons the audience, "Let me see your hands up above your heads. That's right, way up high. Way up high above your heads". Eric and Chet started doing that extended arms clap to the beat that performers do which almost always induces crowd participation, and in this case it worked. Even in my vision deprived state, I could see hands clapping and heads bobbing up and down. It was happening, I thought, they're getting into it. Through my body, Travers instructed the audience to respond to his "Boom boom" with "Out go the lights" and we all went on a trial run; it was difficult to differentiate the live voices from the blaring PA's, but some of those kids played along, pumping fists and all.
After a call and response session with the crowd, Eric and Chet got to trade off searing solos and take center stage. They both got into it and it was fun for me to watch them from behind and get the view of the crowd reacting to something so close to a live performance. We were killing them out there. I took a glance back at Sean playing his cross handed strokes on the invisible high-hat and snare. He seemed okay, maybe a little tired, as he pounded away in his own little world. It didn't matter as I saw it. Chet, Eric, and I were the show now.
We took our positions for the final power chords flawlessly. The three of us swung and weaved to perfection. On the last note, I threw in a little unrehearsed Pete Townsend leap and my Footjoy raquetball shoes hit the stage as the recorded audience's cheers were abruptly cut off, but met Clovis High's clapping and yelling, creating a seamless appreciation for our efforts. We exited the stage with arms raised in triumph.
Through the doors back into the music room we sprung. I immediately went for my glasses. We all laughed and whooped, exchanging high-fives and singing our own praises. The act that followed us rushed by with dazed smiles. We left the music room out the back door, where I took off the wig and Eric and Chet took off their costume pieces. We put the instruments into the cases and walked around the edge of the stage to watch the rest of the show. As we passed the outside rim of students watching the show, I heard some guys shout, "Holy shit! Was that you Tony?". I just nodded as they gave us the Dio-inspired devil horns salute. You know the one: kinda like the "hang loose" sign, but with the thumb pressed over the two middle fingers.
We watched a couple of acts from the side of the stage, including the guys doing the Madness tune. We all thought they were really good and worried a bit that with their real instruments and choreographed movements, they would overshadow us. Then came a lame Go-Gos attempt, followed by a group of freshman stoners doing an AC/DC tune. We were getting to about the half-way point and felt pretty confident about our chances.
Then came Ozzy's Kids. The students went nuts just seeing who was onstage, one being Marco and the others being among the in-crowd at Clovis High. The familiar opening to Crazy Train came over the PA and Marco played it to the hilt. His backing band flailed about on imaginary instruments as he nailed the first few lines, while we endured the screams from the females in the underclasses. He flicked his tongue and flashed the devil-horned salute with glee. I admired him and despised him at the same time.
During the song, we in the Pat Travers Band walked along the ridge that made up the amphitheater's grassy viewing area. Strange looks accompanied the occasional high-five or "whoooo" as we made our way to the back of the audience. Ozzy's Kids had finished up and we were served with acts ranging from Flock Of Seagulls to the predictable Duran Duran. We bumped into Gavin back there. He had his arms around a couple of young girls and he was shaking his head at us. "People were laughing at you dudes, dudes", he sneered.
"Yeah?", said Eric, not convinced.
Gavin dismissed his companions and leaned forward. "Oh yeah, I was feeling sorry for you guys up there. They were laughing at you".
I could sense that he was still hurt from being omitted from the group and probably a bit jealous. I asked, "What were they laughing at?"
"They were just laughing, dude. It was stupid. They didn't like it. Just so you know", he replied. We all felt the bitterness in his voice.
"Yeah, well at least we were up there giving it a serious shot", Chet interjected, hinting not so subtly to the fact that Gavin would have fucked up the whole thing.
Gavin, having nothing left in his arsenal, replied, "Yeah, well, just so you know".
We walked out to the student parking lot to put the instruments in Eric's car. We questioned ourselves a little about Gavin's comments and eventually took them as bunk. We came back to the lawn to watch the last air guitar acts finish up. It was pretty uneventful and even somewhat boring. I really started to think that we had this thing in the bag. I only saw the Madness guys as competition.
The crowd buzzed with anticipation when the show ended. To be completely honest, I do not remember how the judging was determined. It was not by applause and not by ballot. There must have been a panel of some sort. The airheaded cheerleader's voice shrieked over the PA again, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have the winner of the 1985 Air Guitar Contest!"
The four of us stood at the back of the lawn while the cheerleader was handed a slip of paper. I was ready to hear the repeat of her squealing, "The Pat Travers Band", but still open to the thought of "Madness" taking the prize. She stepped to center stage and put the microphone to her mouth:
"The winner of the 1985 Air Guitar Contest is.........."
The Pat Travers Band, I thought, clenching my fists.
".........Ozzy's Kids", she screeched into the mic.
"Motherfuckers", Chet murmured.
"Bullshit", said Eric.
I chimed in with, "What the fuck?"
Sean simply said, "Hmmph".
We all looked at each other incredulously. But then again, we felt that this might have ended up being a popularity contest. There was a collective shrug as we made our way to our hangout spot in front of the art building. We stood there, wondering what might have made it better for us, but also knowing that we gave it our best.
"Fuck it", said Chet.
"Fuck it", Eric and I responded in stereo.
"Hmmph", said Sean.
Next: epilogue to the Pat Tragedy Story
I'd seen the guys earlier in the day and we excitedly talked about the contest. We'd all brought our various wardrobe accents. Chet had his leather jacket, Eric had borrowed a bandoleer with fake rifle shells, and I had my wig. All four of us had our sunglasses.
Back in the '80s, prescription sunglasses were a luxury that really wasn't considered. My only option back then was to wear those clip-on lenses that you see dorky tourists wear in the movies. My dork quotient was already simmering to a point where I passed for cool in most circles, but wearing those things, under any circumstances, would put me over the top into a social bracket I wasn't comfortable with. So I never owned shades of my own. Any crow's feet I have later in life will be attributed to the squinting caused by my desire to maintain whatever coolness I had in high school. Without a pair of my own and not wanting to spend any of my precious cassette money on a cheap set, I borrowed a red pair of Vuarnet knock-offs from my mom. How cool is that? Not very, but I lived through it.
I had to explain to the guys that without my prescription glasses, I wouldn't be able to see much at all when we got onstage. By choosing to wear my mom's sunglasses, I'd basically be legally blind out there. Now, I can see without my glasses, but it's like looking through one of those old shower doors. Everything's fuzzy at best, so I'd need some direction when we hit the stage.
The four of us met again in the hour before the contest behind the amphitheater at the door to the music department's practice room, along with all the other contestants. Now we were visibly teeming with nerves. At least three of us were. Sean was very quiet and did not respond much when asked if he was nervous. At the time, I wondered if he'd taken something because he looked catatonic. He may have even snuck in a beer or two, but in retrospect, I believe his system just shut down a little while dealing with butterflies.
We talked a little with some of the other acts. Marco, a very popular senior who I'd known since junior high, was fronting an outfit called Ozzy's Kids. He and three other wildly popular jocks would be doing Ozzy Ozbourne's Crazy Train. But they had no prop instruments and Marco commented that with our look and the real guitars, we'd blow them away. I did not tell him so, but I had to agree. We wished each other luck and I continued looking around and talking with the other performers. It was then that I saw the horns. Lots of horns.
John walked over from the group with the horns when he saw me staring at them. "Hey, Tony, who're you guys supposed to be?", he asked.
I was looking down at the trombone in his hand and replied, "Uh, The Pat Travers Band. Y'know, Boom Boom (Out Go The Lights)?"
"Nuh-uh", he grunted. "When do you guys go on?"
"I don't know yet. Who are you guys playing?", I asked. He looked over his shoulder and nodded towards the dozen or so dudes dressed in Mod attire complete with skinny ties and Ray-Bans. "We doing Madness; One Step Beyond."
"That's cool", I said, not really meaning it. I hated all that New Wave stuff then, especially ska. But I did recognize the potential in a lip-synched performance of that tune.
He then added, "Yeah, we've been practicing for a couple of weeks now. Pretty nerdy, huh?"
Shit! Real competition. "Heh, yeah well....", I trailed off.
Just then, a geek from the marching band came up to us and blurted, "What's your band's name?" He had a clipboard cradled in his arm and a pencil clenched between his teeth. He looked a little frazzled. I told him who we were and he scoured his list. "Okay, you go on fourth. Go ahead and come inside the music room and wait your turn. The first band is going on in ten minutes."
I snuck a look at his clipboard as we stepped into the school band's rehearsal room. There were about 25 acts today. Going on fourth would be good because people would still be interested in the novelty of the event. But they could also forget our performance after seeing so many bands play after us. But the prevailing thought among us would be that there was an advantage to getting it over and done with. The nerves were creeping in on us. Eric was taking big breaths, Chet was pacing, Sean was withdrawing, and I was struggling to get the wig out of its bag without creating a tangled mess. Inside the room were the first three acts, all getting ready for their moment in the spring sunshine, whether it be to cheers or ridicule.
"Cyndi Lauper, you're on! Let's go! Let's go!", came the call from the clipboard kid. This was it. The show was underway.
I got the wig out of the bag and was attempting to fix the tangles while the other guys put on their accessories. We were all pretty much ready to go when the kid with the clipboard came up again and asked for our taped music. I produced the cassette from my shirt pocket and told the guy, "Make sure its on Side One. It's all cued up and ready to go". Some cheerleader was in charge of starting the music and I didn't want this airhead putting on Side Two and having the middle of Heat In The Street come blasting through the P.A. with us standing there swinging in the breeze. Before he got to the door, I yelled out to him, "Hey! Is there a mic stand out there on the stage?" He looked back and shrugged. "I'll let you know" and he opened the door to the stage just slightly and watched Cyndi Lauper finish up. We could hear the applause. Pulses hiked a bit.
The second act was ushered to the stage as "Cyndi" lept by us giggling on her way to hugs from her girlfriends. She was squealing about how fun that was. Good sign, I thought. I don't remember what the second act was, but it was short. We were positioned at the stage door behind the waiting third act. I don't remember them at all. Time was speeding up and details have been blurred by the excitement of the moment and the time that has passed. What I do remember is that when clipboard kid came back to get the third act, the stage door swung wide open and all four of us in The Pat Travers Band got a good look at the crowd standing on the grass of the amphitheater.
"Fuuuhhhck", we all said in unison.
There were alot of people out there. When the door slammed shut and the muffled music of the third act was heard, we all looked at each other and laughed nervously. Except Sean. He was out on his feet, glassy eyed and head bent slightly downward. It was time for me to finally finish my look. With the wig already on and adjusted, I put on my mom's sunglasses. I folded up my prescription glasses and put them with our guitar cases. I was blind and vulnerable now. I leaned in to Eric and told him to point me in the direction of where the faux mic stand would be when we got out there. He was looking right through me. "Dude! You hear me?", I said loudly. He shook himself out of it for a moment and said feebly, "Yeah...'kay."
At the door to the stage, hearing the pumping beats of the music and the crowd's reaction, we all got a little flushed. My stomach seemed to be trying to crawl out of my body through my spine and my hands were shaking a little. Eric and I compared tremors. On the surface, Chet was the coolest of all of us. He seemed to be taking it all in stride, but the long, tight-lipped exhaling he produced belied his calm. We heard the song end and the cheers went up. My head suddenly went abuzz with terror.
Clipboard kid came rushing to us behind the exiting third act. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!", he loudly whispered to us as he guided Chet out the door to the stage. Then went Sean, a little wobbly. Eric looked at me and dove out the door with me in tow. The crowd was actually pretty loud as we walked to our positions on the stage. I had to yell into Eric's ear to be heard as I frantically asked, "Is there a mic stand?" He never looked back at me and simply hollered over his shoulder to me, "I don't know".
He didn't know? How could he not know? He could see. With the adrenaline rush and the sight of the huge crowd, it was the last thing on his mind as he strode to his spot stage left. So without anyone to guide me, I trodded forward to the edge of center stage. My legs were not listening to my brain ("Walk, damn you! Walk!") at this point and I felt like every step was taken in a World War Two era diving suit. I heard some giggles and "omigods" as I approached the edge of the massive concrete stage, which stretched into a semi-circle overlooking the grassy area in the middle of the high school campus . Alas, no mic stand was to be found, for I surely would have walked into it by this point. I'd have to lip synch into the air before me.
In the brief moment before the music, I scanned the crowd. I could sense hundreds of eyes upon me in my wig. There were at least 300-400 kids out there, but the crowd seemed to us as large as Woodstock. Without my prescription lenses, they all looked like the background of a LeRoy Neiman painting. We stood there for just a moment. I heard a few rockers yell out; "Yeaaahh!"
Suddenly, the shrill voice of the cheerleader jumped through the P.A., "Ladies and gentlemen, The Pat Travers Band!" A horrific blast of crowd noise startled me and my eyes darted about, looking for the source of the enthusiasts. But in that nano-second, I realized that it was the audience from 1978 enjoying the real Pat Travers Band captured live on the album Go For What You Know. I had cued the cassette with a bit of space between tracks so as to hit our mark properly. The machine gun drum intro played and we were off!
Faking the bouncing bass line was easy enough and a good way to start the performance. Eric and Chet had a soaring twin-lead section to open up with before I started the vocals. I bobbed my head up and down, getting my novelty-store mane to swing a bit as I made pouty rock star faces. I looked over at Chet, then Eric as they phonied up the fading notes of the intro. It was all coming along naturally, just as we'd rehearsed so many times. I took a step forward to the imaginary mic stand. The boogie shuffle guitars started and it was time to lip-synch my heart out.
I opened my mouth as Pat Travers' voice shot out over the P.A. and into the faces of the student body. But open my mouth was just about all I did. The words were not coming. I had blanked out on the lyrics! All that practice, all that preparation, just to forget the lyrics onstage in front of hundreds of students ready to laugh an act right off the stage. Instead of panicking, I decided to bluff my way through the song until I could regain my composure. So I basically mumbled my way throught the first verse. I was playing catch up with the lines sung by Pat Travers and what I couldn't catch up with, I made up my own words. If I were actually being recorded, it would have sounded something like this:
Bum bum dee da, ma say dee doh ra la da da, ma lo hey da
revised lyrics copyright Pat Tragedy, 1985
On the spot, I rationalized that perhaps the folks up front could see that I wasn't quite on cue with my lip-synching if they were paying close attention, but if I carried myself with confidence and made all the right moves, the folks farther back wouldn't know the wiser. I'm sure that's the rationale that Britney Spears uses these days.
So it went until the chorus, where I jumped aboard the rumbling train that was Boom Boom (Out Go The Lights). I had only moments before the speaking part, where Pat Travers beckons the crowd to follow his lead and participate in the "Out Go The Lights" line, so I had to maintain the charade. Unfortunately, my enthusiastic head movements had indeed caused the wig to swing. Right into my open mouth. To make matters worse, because of my nervousness, my mouth had gone impossibly dry and the synthetic strands of black hair were stuck to my tongue and lips. Trying desperately to brush them aside without missing chords on the bass became comical, so I basically chewed hair for the last half of the song.
In Pat Travers' speech, he beckons the audience, "Let me see your hands up above your heads. That's right, way up high. Way up high above your heads". Eric and Chet started doing that extended arms clap to the beat that performers do which almost always induces crowd participation, and in this case it worked. Even in my vision deprived state, I could see hands clapping and heads bobbing up and down. It was happening, I thought, they're getting into it. Through my body, Travers instructed the audience to respond to his "Boom boom" with "Out go the lights" and we all went on a trial run; it was difficult to differentiate the live voices from the blaring PA's, but some of those kids played along, pumping fists and all.
After a call and response session with the crowd, Eric and Chet got to trade off searing solos and take center stage. They both got into it and it was fun for me to watch them from behind and get the view of the crowd reacting to something so close to a live performance. We were killing them out there. I took a glance back at Sean playing his cross handed strokes on the invisible high-hat and snare. He seemed okay, maybe a little tired, as he pounded away in his own little world. It didn't matter as I saw it. Chet, Eric, and I were the show now.
We took our positions for the final power chords flawlessly. The three of us swung and weaved to perfection. On the last note, I threw in a little unrehearsed Pete Townsend leap and my Footjoy raquetball shoes hit the stage as the recorded audience's cheers were abruptly cut off, but met Clovis High's clapping and yelling, creating a seamless appreciation for our efforts. We exited the stage with arms raised in triumph.
Through the doors back into the music room we sprung. I immediately went for my glasses. We all laughed and whooped, exchanging high-fives and singing our own praises. The act that followed us rushed by with dazed smiles. We left the music room out the back door, where I took off the wig and Eric and Chet took off their costume pieces. We put the instruments into the cases and walked around the edge of the stage to watch the rest of the show. As we passed the outside rim of students watching the show, I heard some guys shout, "Holy shit! Was that you Tony?". I just nodded as they gave us the Dio-inspired devil horns salute. You know the one: kinda like the "hang loose" sign, but with the thumb pressed over the two middle fingers.
We watched a couple of acts from the side of the stage, including the guys doing the Madness tune. We all thought they were really good and worried a bit that with their real instruments and choreographed movements, they would overshadow us. Then came a lame Go-Gos attempt, followed by a group of freshman stoners doing an AC/DC tune. We were getting to about the half-way point and felt pretty confident about our chances.
Then came Ozzy's Kids. The students went nuts just seeing who was onstage, one being Marco and the others being among the in-crowd at Clovis High. The familiar opening to Crazy Train came over the PA and Marco played it to the hilt. His backing band flailed about on imaginary instruments as he nailed the first few lines, while we endured the screams from the females in the underclasses. He flicked his tongue and flashed the devil-horned salute with glee. I admired him and despised him at the same time.
During the song, we in the Pat Travers Band walked along the ridge that made up the amphitheater's grassy viewing area. Strange looks accompanied the occasional high-five or "whoooo" as we made our way to the back of the audience. Ozzy's Kids had finished up and we were served with acts ranging from Flock Of Seagulls to the predictable Duran Duran. We bumped into Gavin back there. He had his arms around a couple of young girls and he was shaking his head at us. "People were laughing at you dudes, dudes", he sneered.
"Yeah?", said Eric, not convinced.
Gavin dismissed his companions and leaned forward. "Oh yeah, I was feeling sorry for you guys up there. They were laughing at you".
I could sense that he was still hurt from being omitted from the group and probably a bit jealous. I asked, "What were they laughing at?"
"They were just laughing, dude. It was stupid. They didn't like it. Just so you know", he replied. We all felt the bitterness in his voice.
"Yeah, well at least we were up there giving it a serious shot", Chet interjected, hinting not so subtly to the fact that Gavin would have fucked up the whole thing.
Gavin, having nothing left in his arsenal, replied, "Yeah, well, just so you know".
We walked out to the student parking lot to put the instruments in Eric's car. We questioned ourselves a little about Gavin's comments and eventually took them as bunk. We came back to the lawn to watch the last air guitar acts finish up. It was pretty uneventful and even somewhat boring. I really started to think that we had this thing in the bag. I only saw the Madness guys as competition.
The crowd buzzed with anticipation when the show ended. To be completely honest, I do not remember how the judging was determined. It was not by applause and not by ballot. There must have been a panel of some sort. The airheaded cheerleader's voice shrieked over the PA again, "Ladies and gentlemen, we have the winner of the 1985 Air Guitar Contest!"
The four of us stood at the back of the lawn while the cheerleader was handed a slip of paper. I was ready to hear the repeat of her squealing, "The Pat Travers Band", but still open to the thought of "Madness" taking the prize. She stepped to center stage and put the microphone to her mouth:
"The winner of the 1985 Air Guitar Contest is.........."
The Pat Travers Band, I thought, clenching my fists.
".........Ozzy's Kids", she screeched into the mic.
"Motherfuckers", Chet murmured.
"Bullshit", said Eric.
I chimed in with, "What the fuck?"
Sean simply said, "Hmmph".
We all looked at each other incredulously. But then again, we felt that this might have ended up being a popularity contest. There was a collective shrug as we made our way to our hangout spot in front of the art building. We stood there, wondering what might have made it better for us, but also knowing that we gave it our best.
"Fuck it", said Chet.
"Fuck it", Eric and I responded in stereo.
"Hmmph", said Sean.
Next: epilogue to the Pat Tragedy Story
posted by Tony at 11:21 PM
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