3 May 2006

I Don't Wanna Go Down To the Basement

Jimi, Axel, B.J. and I started an air guitar band one summer because we were bored. We painted up cardboard boxes to look like amplifiers and borrowed some garbage cans for drums. Whatever crappy guitars we could scrounge up were strung with string.

We were the new and improved Led Motherfucking Zeppelin.

"What are we going to call the band?" was all B.J. wanted to know. He was the band's singer. He thought he was the up and coming Donny Osmond, Bobby Sherman and Danny Partridge rolled into one soon to be pimple faced heart throb.

All the successful bands had real cool names like Bloodrock in those days so we figured having a raunchy name was far more important than having real instruments or fucking talent.

Luckily Axel had some weed we could use for the inspiration for our rocking band's name. Jimi rolled up a submarine. Don't ask me what the fuck we were doing with dope - we were only 10 and 11 years old at the time.

"This shit won't burn!" Coughed B.J. as he inhaled violently on the brown, seedy Mexican dope.

"You don't know how to smoke dope, man." Jimi was irritated with B.J. because he bogarted half the joint trying to light it up. Eventually the twisted joint made its way around the circle.

It had an effect on Axel. "Let's call the band Dope City."

"Sounds good to me." I agreed. Everything sounded good to me when I was not paying for the dope.

B.J. was not so sure. "How about B.J.'s Dope City?"

Jimi thought, "Dope City B.J.s" had more of a ring to it. It went to a vote. We were now the Dope City B.J.s.

We painted up posters advertizing our first basement rock show.


The whole neighbourhood gang showed up one late summer afternoon. Everybody must have been bored stiff with summer by then. Some of the parents expressed reservations but no one was barred from attending for some strange reason. Even the strict Polish Animal Sacrifice Christian kids from down the street showed up and paid their two bits.

B.J. sang "Go Away Little Girl" almost convincingly. I broke a couple strings on my guitar making out like I was the guitar player from Status Quo. Jimi beat on the garbage cans almost in time with the music. Axel lit his guitar on fire with lighter fluid like Jimi Hendrix. My mom yelled, "What are you little motherfuckers burning down there?" down the stairs between sips of home made wine.

It is a good thing we did not have the technology kids do today. We would have webcast it live to maybe dozens of people. Then mom may have learned what it was we were burning in the basement. She probably just thought we were hot knifing a little hash.

No comments: