May 28, 2009 by David Gillaspie
Most towns have a quiet period. It’s called night time. Around here you can’t mow the yard after ten. You can’t tune your dirt track racer late at night.
The neighbors frown on screaming electric blues after midnight. All the air left the house the last time that happened.
Regulars staying in the Music Room adapt their sound. They go unplugged when they do shows for the other guests. It’s not a garage band, even though the stage is in there.
After a big show the night before, Benny and Jet come down for breakfast still abuzz from their garage set.
“What happened to your lead in Ring of Fire?” Jet asked. “You had it going.”
Benny poured coffee.
“You woohooed and I lost my concentration.”
“Now you know how Eric Clapton felt.”
“I think he felt like God.”
“That’s what they say.”
Hot oil in an omelet pan sets off a smoke alarm.
It stops after fanning a magazine under it.
Jet takes the magazine.
“I’ve never done this. You don’t have to reset it?”
“That’s how everyone stops the alarm, come on,” Benny said. “Did you Adamize Ring of Fire last night? I sounded like it.”
“Since he sang it all I’ve heard is ‘It’s not karaoke.’ If he can free up Johnny Cash, what’s that do for the rest of us?”
“Open season. Think what he’d do to Your Cheatin’ Heart.”
“A fifteen minute dance track.”
“Then an Adam/George Michael duet.”
“Adam and Elton.”
“You can be Elton.”
“I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry meets Tiny Dancer.”
“Adam and Elton all the time.”
“The Bitch is Back.”