I was cruising around Iowa, listening to the album Iowa by Slipknot. Twenty four years had passed since its release, and though I preferred Mate. Feed. Kill. Repeat., the tracks took me back to the year the towers fell. I wondered what music would be the soundtrack to the next American disaster. As the Hyundai Sonata parked up at some traffic lights and I was on my second play of the album, there was a knock at my window. I look over. There's a teenage girl there.
“You listening to Slipknot?” she yells. I nod and she throws the devil horns hand sign and sticks her tongue out.
“You like them?” I yell back, refusing to turn the music down.
“Yeah! They inspired me to start playing!” she says, motioning to the guitar case on her back. The traffic lights turn green. But before I drive away, I start getting an idea.
Ten minutes later we’re at a diner, talking excitedly about music. Everything from rock to metal to sludge, Shannon knew her stuff.
“You thought about putting a band together?” I say.
“I tried, but round here nobody likes the music I do.”
“Look. I was in a group once, we were called The Boys. I learned about the music industry, but I always wanted to start a nu-metal band. I think we should team up, what do you say?”
“Goated.” She says. We shake hands.
A couple of hours later we are sat in a disused garage, auditioning band members that have queued round the block. There’s a few amusing characters, such as a dork that plays the keyboard, a big woman who sings opera and a guy with a dog that rolls a drum around on the floor. As the auditions go on we get exasperated, I hit myself in the head with a clipboard. It had seemed the whole exercise was futile. And then, some other teenage girls arrive. One plays the bass in such a funky, elaborate way that I start nodding my head. There’s another that plays a 180bpm Amen Break that has Shannon and me dancing on the table. And last, but not least, there comes a nerdy girl with glasses and pigtails. Shannon rolls her eyes and I check my watch.
“What’s your name?” I say. She mumbles something. Shannon and I look at each other as if to say ‘oh boy’, but then she repeats herself.
“Magdalena Cruffin. I’m a singer.” She says.
“Go ahead.” Says Shannon, checking her clipboard. This was the last audition of the day. We’re muttering to each other when Magdalena starts singing an acapella version of Freak On A Leash. Her voice has such power and raw emotion that we are floored.
“I think we found ourselves the lead singer.” I say, raising my eyebrows.
Later I have arranged the new band together at Shannon’s house. Her mother keeps bringing in bowls of snacks. At first she was a bit wary of a middle-aged guy wearing a mask of a normal man hanging out with her daughter, but after I explained to her what we were doing, she seemed to get on-board.
“We’re going to start a band. It’s called New Metal.”
“Awesome.” She says. “I always knew my little girl was a rocker! Uh-huh-huh-huh” she goes, impersonating Elvis. Shannon rolls her eyes.
“Mom! That’s so cringe.” She says. I throw a plastic bag onto the table.
“I got you all a present.” I say, watching their reactions. At first there is confusion, then delight. I had got them all scary Halloween masks to wear.
We have our first practice session in the garage, and to tell the truth, I was a bit concerned. Individually they had a lot of skill, but when they played together, it sounded awful.
“Stop, stop, stop. Jubi, you’re the drummer, you need to keep time for everyone else. Larana, quit playing those solos. Mags, you’re great. Shannon…uh…how can I put this. You need to get better.” I say. Shannon huffs.
“I can’t see what I’m playing with this stupid mask on.” She says, jabbing at the Pumpkin-head mask around her head.
“You don’t need to see. You need to feel. You’re making music, not baking a cake.” I say. We’re about to keep arguing but her mother rushes in.
“It’s your dad. He’s had a heart attack! And a stroke!”
Half an hour later we’re all gathered around the hospital bed, with Shannon clutching at her father’s hand.
“We’re keeping him in a medically-induced coma.” Explains the nurse. Shannon brushes her father’s moustache. Her mother is talking to a doctor outside, the conversation seems stressful. I look round at the rest of the band, everyone except Shannon were still wearing masks. I go outside and talk to Shannon’s mother.
“The medical insurance says they can’t afford to wake him from the coma. What should I do?” she says, crying. I hug her. Then out of the corner of my eye I see a poster. Its advertising a Battle Of The Bands, the top prize is $50,000.
“I got an idea.” I say.
That evening we’re backstage at the Battle Of The Bands. There are other acts here, a man with an iguana on his shoulder plays a lute, there’s some twins that are carrying a harp around. On stage I find out Shannon’s ex-boyfriend is the lead singer of a pop-punk band and the audience seem to love it.
“You guys are up next.” Says the stage manager.
“Okay you guys, get ready. Wait a minute…where’s Magdalena?” I say.
“I saw her go out back.” Jubi says. I run out of the back of the event hall and find the lead singer on the floor. Theres drugs all over the place. The rest of New Metal find us as I try and shake Magdalena by the shoulders, as that sometimes seemed to wake unconscious people.
“She’s OD’ing.” I say to the others.
“No!” they cry, kneeling down.
“Hang on, I have a trick Kid Rock's roadie once showed me.” I say, finding a syringe on the floor and sticking it in my side
“What are you doing!?” Shannon says.
“The adrenal glands are just on top of the kidneys. This should sort her out. Step back everyone…” I say, wincing as I suck out pure adrenaline from my body and hold it over Magdalena’s heart. I look around, raise my arm up and stab down as hard as I can. Magdalena sits bolt upright, gasping for air.
“Mags you idiot! We thought we lost you!”
“I just needed something to take the edge off. I’m sorry.” She says as her band mates hug her.
“Are you guys ready or what?” says the stage manager, appearing at the fire exit. I turn to her.
“Oh we’re ready alright. C’mon girls, let’s show them what we can do.” I say.
The stage lights dim. The crowd goes quiet. There’s anticipation. Then the music starts playing. A spotlight shines on Magdalena, wearing a Werewolf mask.
“Here we go again motherfucker!” she screams into the microphone. The band then play the unofficial anthem of Iowa, People=Shit. The crowd goes wild. As they play, I watch from the side of the stage and a little bald guy comes up to me.
“Hey, I’m Jimmy Iovine, owner of Interscope Records.”
“So?” I say.
“Are you the bands manager?”
“Get the fuck outta here Jimmy. Our music isn’t for sale.” I sneer at him. Meanwhile the band finish the track and the crowd screams and claps. The three judges at the front of the stage all hold up the number 10. The band can’t believe it. Corey Taylor comes out to present them with a cheque for $50,000. I’ve organised it so the hospital has brought Shannon’s dad on stage, where they bring him out of the coma. He sits up, looks around and blinks a few times.
“What did I miss?” he says. Everyone starts laughing.
Its close to midnight as I’m packing some stuff into the back of my Hyundai.
“We were going to go celebrate. You coming?” says Shannon.
“Ah, I got to hit the road.” I say. The rest of New Metal gather round.
“You can’t leave! We’re just getting started!”
“When I got to town this morning, I thought to myself, I wonder what the future of music is. But now I know I’m looking at it. You did well, you should be proud of yourselves.” I say. The bandmates all look to one another, feeling uplifted. Though they were a rag-tag bunch of underdogs, somehow they managed to come together through the power of music. Just as I’m getting into my car, Jubi grabs my arm.
“Where are you going? At least join us for Prime and Nachos.” She says.
“Ah, the open road is calling me. There’s other teenagers out there that also need to start playing music together and win Battle Of The Bands contests. And the only way you can win is if a middle-aged man sees their potential and fills them with confidence whilst overcoming his own past.” I explain.
“Oh.”
“But before I go, I got you all a present.” I say, a smile on my lips. I reach into the backseat and hand them a gift I’ve (badly) wrapped in newspaper. “See you later, New Metal.” I say, flipping the devil horns as I drive away, leaving the band standing in the middle of the street, unwrapping the gift. It’s a black and white framed photo of my rap group, with a message signed in gold pen.
‘We all got left behind, we let it all slip away’ it reads. They cry, watching the rear lights of the Hyundai Sonata drive away into the night and out of their lives.
