| [[Terry] walks in, iPod in front, palm-handed, as if receiving communion. He sees [Rod] sitting at the table, [Rod] waving at [Terry], attempting to grab his attention.] [Terry]: How have you been, old friend? My God, how long has it been? [Terry is standing in front of his chair, massaging it] [Rod]: It's been a while -- something like seven years? [[Terry] nods, embarrassed it had been so long. He takes a seat.] It really has been that long, man, I mean, we were just friends in college, listening to CDs stoned on the shag carpet. Ha, remember that? They called you "Test Sample" -- you remember, after that incident. [Rod]: Yeah, right. Test Sample, I remember that. It was a while back, and we were incredibly stoned on a regular basis. And you wonder why we never got... [The waiter comes by and takes their orders, [Terry], speaking in that showy French accident he always dons when attempting to impress women, or anyone within a 10-foot radius. Seriously, take a compass and try it out. [Terry] orders two plates of chicken formaggio] [Terry]: Right, right. I mean, look at what we subjected ourselves to -- Friday nights were sitting Indian style, reading Allen Ginsberg's 'Howl', and listening to 'Pet Sounds' [Rod]: Pet Sounds? Funny you mention that, because I was going through some old boxes and found my old records -- the ones we used to listen to. Pet Sounds was on top, right on top, compelling me to listen to it. So, when Nancy left, I poured myself a glass of wine, popped in Pet Sounds, and you know, I caught a lot of new things that I missed when I was younger. [Terry]: Oh really? Like what? [Rod]: How full this album is -- you know? It has so many layers, it's so compact, and so revolutionary for its time. I read somewhere that Paul McCartney used it as inspiration for Sgt. Peppers. [Terry]: Right, I had read that somewhere, too. But yeah, you're absolutely right. This album is so layered, each track with a unique hook that compels you to listen to the song all the way through. [Rod]: Yeah, like Sloop John B. -- they sing the chorus and the verses, back and forth, until that part where all the instruments stop, everything is quiet, the drums hit that last pum-pumb... [Terry]: "Home, let me go home..." in those high, falsetto voices, acappella. Oh man, yeah! I listen to that song just for that part, what a perfect example of the craftsmanship that can go into pop music. [Rod]: It's not all throw away -- it gets a really bad rep, especially after this New Kids on the Block movement. It really cheapened it. [Terry]: Well, I don't know if it cheapened it -- isn't that a bit melodramatic? [Rod]: No, it was cheapened. Fully. I'm not being melodramatic. [Terry]: Okay, look, maybe I should have chosen my words... [Rod]: Nancy was right. [Terry]: Nancy was what? [Rod]: Right. [Terry]: No, I meant about what? [Rod]: That you are a philistine. [Terry]: A phili-what? [Rod]: Margaret Mead was right. [Terry]: Margaret Mead is your wife? I thought her name was Nancy. [Rod]: It's her pet name. Pet Sounds! [Terry]: Maybe you should stop listening to Pet Sounds -- are you drunk? [Rod]: I am not drunk. I have wised up -- I am seeing the world for what it is, all fire and brimstone. Over there. [[Rod] raises his knife and points it at the corner, Babe Ruthian, imagining lightening shooting from the tip of his buttered-knife -- like a Valkyrie on a mountain top.] [Rod]: Hark! Nary a soul shall cheapen the art of Brian Wilson, of Pet Sounds fame -- Margaret Mead. [Terry]: Look, here, I'm going to leave a few dollars -- just box whatever I have, and give it to your wife... [Rod]: Margaret! [Terry]: Right, yeah. [[Terry] opens his wallet and begins tossing money on the table, frantically. His eyes are on [Rod], his eyebrows furrowed, the chain-hanging lamp accentuating every evil-looking contour on [Rod]'s face.] [Terry]: I'm glad you're doing well. It was nice, and I'll see you some other time. [[Rod] is frothing from the mouth, semi-comatose. He wants to gallivant, he wants to dance -- spit foam in the mink-lady's soup de jour, give everyone a show, what they wanted to see all of this time. The demise of Rod. Yeah, this is what you wanted. Right, all you wanted. A spectacle, and easy to swallow, pop-sounding spectacle.] |
