Small Town, Long Hair, Enormous Voice

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 Christian's eyes look around the bar; trying to spot any talent scouts he would recognize. Not having any luck, he hangs his head down, and returns his eyes to his smart phone. He blankly stares at the time, waiting, for the clock numbers to change to 9:30. That's when his band, Creation, are scheduled to play. Christian loves performing. It's like an escape for him. It's a time for him to take on his persona, Dizzy, and let his hair down. To show the world what he's capable of and the attention he deserves.

 And suddenly, the numbers changed. Christian's heart started pounding against his chest. Ninety BPM, one-hundred, one-hundred and twenty, one-hundred and fifty. Sweat pours down his forehead. He wraps his fingers around the cold glass of rum and cola in front of him and takes a large swig from his drink. He reaches behind his head and pulls out his pony-tail. Christian pushes himself up from his chair and whips his hair forwards, then backwards. His hair turns into a untamed mess. He runs his fingers through his hair which is long enough to touch his rear-end. 

 Christian walks on to the small stage with his band mates, and almost immediately his facial expression changes. He is no longer looks solemn, but now wears a large smile that appears to brighten his immediate area. He is no longer the shy, timid man who walked into the bar shrouded in the shadow of his band. He is now Dizzy, the front man of Creation, a natural born performer.

 Without taking a moment to introduce the band, or himself, he thrusts his fist into the sky signing his drummer start the performance. As the drummer starts to slam his sticks against the skins, causing the walls and glasses to shake, Christian begins to strut around the stage as if he owns the place.







 Christian's eyes light up as he begins to sing. He coils his fingers around the microphone and begins to scream, in a musical, tasteful way, "Yeeaaah! STAND UP AND SHOUT!"

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Alek struts into the bar, with a certain swagger to his walk. In a very sly manner, he makes his way to the bar. It seems as if he walked into the bar at the perfect time. No more than 5 steps away from the bar, he stops dead in his tracks, hearing the thunderous voice of the frontman performing on stage. His blank facial expression changes to a coy smile. "Damn, now that's a voice...".

He reaches the bar and grabs the nearest stool, and turns to face tonight's entertainment.

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 After releasing the last spine-chilling note of the song Dizzy puts the microphone back in it's stand and ties a long, blue scarf around the microphone stand. He whips his head forwards, then almost immediately backwards swinging his hair to the final shots from the drum's floor tom, and snare. He holds both of his hands up in the traditional rock and roll symbol and screams (in the bone-shrilling C7 note), "Are you ready to rock!?"

 Dizzy laughs, then struts to the far left side of the stage, and grabs a stool. He returns to the microphone with the stool in his hands and takes a seat. Dizzy points at the audience and smiles, "By the look on your faces I'm assuming you want to know who, or what, we are."

 He looks over his shoulder and stifles a small laugh, "We are creation! And, nay, we are not human. We are living breathing instruments, and I am a God!" He says sarcastically.

 Dizzy hops off the bar stool and runs towards the band's roadie who is holding up Dizzy's jet black, Ibanez F-Style Mandolin Dark Violin Sunburst bass guitar. Dizzy coils his fingers around the neck of the guitar and slings the strap over his shoulder. He then drops it, and let's it hang from his neck. He cranes his neck backwards and shouts, "This song is for all the ladies out there!"
 
 The pianist starts swaying back and forth as she plays a slow, dramatic, depressing tune. Suddenly the drums break the softness of the piece with a slow fill, and the lead guitarist comes in shortly after the drum fill. And finally Dizzy begins plucking on the strings of his guitar.

 During the performance Dizzy hits a series of extremely impressive high notes, that even some girls can't hit.






 
 

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Alek raises a brow, "I wanna rock...". He looks around the bar, inspecting each individual, his eyes catch a group of people disapproving of the music, each with eyes filled with disgust, "Doesn't look like they want to rock, though...". He continues to scout the bar. "Okay, we got some punkers, some grungy looking people, a few indie-kids...". Alek's eyes shoot to the front of the room, near the stage, he sees a bunch of men and women sporting long, grown out hair, and various band t-shirts. "Ah, there are some of my kind of people.". He gets off of the bar-stool, and walks on over to the group of metalheads. He nods to group and hopes for a fast paced, power-ballad, but instead, a soft piano echoes throughout the bar.

Alek shrugs and watches the show. A few people pull out their lighters and move slowly to the sound of the music. "It's strange to me how none of these guys' hair bursts into flames...lighters and hairspray is a no-no...". He looks to the ground and shakes his head while he chuckles to himself, imagining people running throughout the bar, heads set aflame. H lifts his head to watch the show.

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 Dizzy screams the last glass-shattering note his eyes scan the bar looking at the approval of many. Despite the fact that there were many different diverse groups of people in the area, most of them looked impressed with his vocal range, though there were a few older ladies, and gentlemen who were shaken by the first fist-bumping rock piece.

 He wipes his sweaty brow with the back of his hand and begins to chuckle softly into the microphone. He slips his hands into his pockets and struts around the stage, "I look at all of you here today and I think, what a diverse group of people. I see office workers, bikers, the shameful pop-enthusiast, and-"

 He throws his fist into the air and screams, "Metal-heads!"

 Dizzy points at all the rockers standing by the stage. He returns to his stool and carefully plants his rear end on to the seat. He looks down at his leather pants and flashes an sly-wolfish grin. He looks to the group of, now, angry, pop-kids and points at them. He stares directly at a certain flamboyant individual and yells, "Rock and Roll will never die!"

 The drummer begins aggressively banging on his drums, and the guitarist plays a series of gut-wrenching notes. Dizzy leaps up from his stool and kicks it backwards. He pulls the microphone out of its stand and struts, with the drum beat, towards the pop-kids. He points at the group of people and begins singing aggressively,

"At the end of a dream,

If you know where I mean

When the mist just starts to clear



In a similar way

At the end of today

I could feel the sound of writing on the wall

It cries for you

It's the least that you can do



Like a spiral on the wind



I can hear it screaming, in my mind

Long live rock and roll

Long live rock 'n' roll

Long live rock and roll"

 As the song nears an end he jogs towards the piano and grabs a plastic cup filled with water and throws it into the air. As the water splashes onto his head and screams once more, "LONG LIVE ROCK AND ROLL!" 

 The band plays a few more songs before their time in the light is finished. As their performance nears its end the entire band walks up to the front of the stage and takes a bow. They then walk off the stage, and their roadies go on to clear the stage for the next act.

 Dizzy returns to the table he was at previously, trying to ignore the pop-kids' glare of death, he orders another rum and cola. As he sits down in his chair his persona, Dizzy, takes its leave and the true Christian takes its place. The shy, and timid front man sits quietly as the rest of his band obliviously poke at the pop-kids with hurtful slurs about their favourite musicians.

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Alek's eyes light up as the front man begins the next song. He bobs his head to the music, obviously enthused by the song. He fits jumps around with the metal head crowd, fitting in perfectly.

As the song nears it's end, he lightly punches one of the other people in the crowd, he tries to tell the man something, but the blaring music was just far too loud, and so he pretended to flicking a lighter, and pointing at the man. Under the music, the man lets out an "OOOOOH!". He nods and hands Alek a silver zippo lighter. Alek smiles and grabs the lighter, he then pulls out a cigarette from a pack in his back pocket and puts in his mouth. He lights it quickly and nods to the man as the song ends. "Thanks man.". Alek makes his way toward the table where the front man is sitting, taking puffs of his cigarette on his way.

He reaches the man's table, and leans the nearest chair. "You got a phenomenal voice, man, and your band has got some good tunes.", he stops to take a drag of his cigarette, "I have a band myself...".

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 Christian slowly nods his head, not totally paying attention to the man. His ears were invested in the insults his band mates were tossing around. He reaches behind his head and pulls and styles his hair into a loose ponytail. Christian looks over the other musician and tilts his head, "Huh?"

 Luckily the drummer of his band, Creation, was listening to Alek. He butts into the conversation, a charismatic grin on his face, he says, "Yeah? Right on, man. You planning on entering the battle of the bands next month?"

 Christian quirks his brow. He had forgotten about battle of the bands. How could he have forgotten? Most of the bands who win usually get a record deal, or even get signed to a company. This could be their big break, and he had totally forgotten. Christian takes a sip of his cola and rum and wipes his moist lips on the back of his hand. He chirps into the conversation, though his voice is soft and slightly weak; nothing like it was on stage, "I, uh, wouldn't if I were you. We're going to wipe the floor."

 The lead guitarist, of Creation, yells, "Pop music blows! Let's see your musicians compete with Dizzy with out your auto tune!"
 
 A long 'Ooh' is followed by a long lingering silence as almost everyone in the bar stares at the band's front man. The Pop-Enthusiasts leave angrily not knowing how to come back from the guitarist's burn. The guitarist let's out a bellowing laugh and pushes the drummer out of the way, "Not with out my guitar licks, and riffs you aren't!" He begins to play the air guitar.

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Alek chuckles at the hollering between Creation and the pop-enthusiasts. He then looks to the band members, "Battle of the Bands, hey? Even with the thought of you guys "mopping the floor", I want to be signed up, sounds like a good time...".

He takes one last drag from his dying cig, he then flicks it to the ground, and crushes it under his foot.
Alek's ears perk up as he hears one last comment from one of the pop-enthusiasts, ''At least our favorite singers can sing good!". Absolutely dumbfounded by the stupidity of the comment, Alek decides to yell,  "Whatever you say, I just think anyone who lip-synchs in public on stage when you pay $75 to see them should be shot.”

Alek does an exaggerated smile in their direction and waves them off, he turns to the members of Creation, "What can you tell me about this Battle of the Bands?".

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 The band, excluding Christian, swap high-fives as the Pop-Enthusiasts storm off in a huff. They then nod their head at Alek. The Pianist throws up his hands in the traditional Rock and Roll symbol, "All right! I like your enthusiasm."

 He turns around a grabs a napkin and a pen from his back pocket. He sticks out his tongue as he writes down the Date, Address, Website (where to sign up), and Time. The Pianist tries to make the writing as neat as possible, but with no avail. It looks extremely messy, but is still readable. You'd be able to make out that it's exactly one week from this day, at the Irving Plaza. And it seems to be sponsored by Rockstar Energy.

 Christian takes a large swig from his drink and grins, "It's one of the bigger contests; most of the other ones are hosted by smaller businesses."

 The rest of the band approvingly pats Christian on the shoulder, and ruffles his hair. They all take a swig of the beers, almost simultaneously. The drummer and takes out his sticks and begins twirling them, "It's going to be-"

 The guitarist cuts him off, "METAL!"
 

 

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Alek raises a brow, "Rockstar Energy? Sounds like a big time show...".

He slicks back his hair and grabs the napkin with the info written on it. "I mean, I've played a few small Metal festivals back in Norway, but nothing TOO big.". He pulls out his phone from his jacket pocket and dials, and lifts his index finger, as if to say "Wait one second...".

"Hey dude, put your phone on speaker, I gotta ask the guys something....Hey boys, what do you all think of playing a show in a week?"

He smiles.

"Yeah, uh-huh, a week. Sponsored by Rockstar! Yeah! The energy drink, man!....Alright, tune up your strings, and the drum set....You lost the drum key?...Whatever dude, I'll pick one up...Alright, bye."


Alek puts his phone back in his pocket, and looks to the band members, "Looks like we'll be seeing you there."

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Christian slightly shrugs his shoulders. He stirs his drink with a thin red straw, "It's not as big as you'd think it is. They aren't dumping a whole load of cash into this show, they're doing it for publicity. To sell to another demographic. Us."

 He looks over at the stage and notices an indie-rock band performing. He notes how different their show is to how Creation performed. They don't know how to put on a show. They aren't even moving around. What a lame excuse for entertainment. It's called a show, not three guys sitting down singing songs with poorly tuned guitars. Christian drinks his Rum and Cola from the straw and clears his throat, "The only thing that matters are the talent scouts."

 Christian looks down at Alek's phone and then back at his band. He can't help but notice all of his band mates are standing up with their leather jackets wrapped around their bodies. A little sign that they're ready to get out of here. He removes the ponytail from his hair, and whips it forwards then backwards to achieve the messy look. He throws on his own fur-lined jacket and throws up his hands and offers Alek the 'Devil Horns' as he and his band leaves. 

 The band all try their best to squish into an average sized van with all of their equipment. As the burn out into the streets the sound of Dio's Holy Diver can be heard, blasting, from their open windows.