Renny Boy

2007 was a weird year. What the hell is there to remember about it? Yeah, there was music, there was definitely television, and there were probably some news-worthy stories. But whenever I think back on it, I can’t help but just think about what happened to me in my own little world, with my own little bubble of friends.

That being said, 2007 was coming to a close.

And the days were just packed.

After Christmas came New Year’s, and with that came parties. Every kid I went to school with was throwing a party.

Like Kevin Ssssll…something. I forget his last name. Anyways, he was a dude who was notorious around the school for being loud, obnoxious, and careless, as well as always dressing like he lived in the year 1999. He was real friendly, though – he held parties for the most miniscule of milestones, and he invited everybody.

Everybody.

Including Plaster Caster.

Yes, the word got out. Yes, people knew that I sang in chorus. Yes, people eventually figured it out that Soria played guitar, Luke played bass, and Brendan played drums. They knew we hung out, and they eventually pieced it together. But did we expect to be asked to play at a basement show in some kid’s house we barely knew – again?

Hell to the no.

But we did it anyway!

Kevin said his folks would be gone for New Year’s night and he wanted to throw a party in that small time frame. We’d be the musical act. Don’t ask me how he knew we sounded good, ‘cause I sure don’t know.

He asked Luke – Luke was a pretty popular guy; he was on the football team. Luke came to us and told us. We agreed. And then, we had to get the OK from our parents.

I never told them there’d be no adults, though. Heh…

They let me go anyway, and before I knew it, I was in Brendan’s brother Joey’s van (thank the lord his van was big enough to fit all our crap), sitting in the backseat with my bandmates, a drum set, a few guitars, a couple of amps, and a whole assload of cords. I just hoped Kevin had enough outlets.

A few weeks prior to the show, we realized that we’d need another guitarist in order to play all of the covers we’d tried learning. All the others were already tied up with their hands, so I assumed it was up to me to be the backup guitarist…and singer. Soria taught me all the chords I needed to play, and it was actually pretty fun. My dad tried to teach me how to play years ago, but I didn’t catch onto his teaching style. It also took some of the weight off Soria’s shoulders, and since she was still holed up in a cast, she already had a few limitations.

The only problem was singing and playing at the same time. I eventually got the hang of it, but it was harder at first since I was always screwing up the words. Pretty soon, I got accustomed to holding one of my dad’s old guitars while belting out notes, though. He even let me have one - it was so nonchalant the way he agreed, maybe he didn’t think I was for real.

A couple hours before the show officially started, we began setting up. Butterflies were dancing in my stomach. I was just glad I wasn’t doing this in front of thousands of people, but when you’re me, fifty people can seem like millions.

My hands were shaking as I raised the microphone. Feedback squealed in my ears as Luke plugged in his bass amp. He quickly grabbed his bass and frantically leapt all across the room, trying to find a logical spot in which he could play that wouldn’t make us sound like crap.

When he did, I could hear him laughing. Then he snorted, trying to catch his breath. I was used to those snorts, but it was kind of funny.

In the back of the basement – yes, we were literally playing in Kevin’s basement – a large thud erupted, followed by crashing cymbals and loud chants of “Fuck! Ass! You fuckin’ fucknut!”

“Brendan! Cool it with the language!” Luke yelled after the drum set was long toppled over. “Jeez…”
I smiled.

Soria came down the staircase holding two guitars – hers, and my hand-me-down Telecaster I could gaze at all day. She handed me mine and let hers rest against the amp. I put mine next to hers.
“So you ready?” she grinned, rubbing her hands together.

I shrugged, not really feeling like talking.

She punched my shoulder softly. “Ah, c’mon. We’re playin’ your favorite song – ‘Little League.’”

Yup, it was a song by Cap’n Jazz. She tabbed it out herself and basically forced it upon Luke to tab his share out, even if he didn’t care for the song. Brendan just improvised; he was pretty good at that. I wasn’t used to screeching like Tim Kinsella, but I didn’t care. I loved that song.

I smiled at her. “Yeah.” My hands were shaking so I wiped them on my jeans.

“Nervous?”

“Little bit,” I squeaked.

“Dude, it’s a little basement show. We’re gonna be louder than you are,” she bargained, referring to my backup.

I had to agree, but it didn’t really matter. My voice was still being heard, and I wasn’t totally cool with that. At least we weren’t being “protected” by police tape and a few couches. And at least this mishmash of people actually didn’t strike terror into my heart with dirty looks and piercings up the wazoo all over their faces.

“Hey guys, a little help?” Brendan shouted over his fallen drum set.

Luke took one look at the heap of percussion at his friend’s feet and started organizing them with Brendan. When they were done, our drummer put his hands on his hips, sighed, and said, “Well, shit.”

Kevin was coming down the stairs, a big grin on his face. “Hey guys!” he boasted. “You almost ready?”

We nodded, but I wasn’t feelin’ it.

“The party starts at nine,” he explained. “Now I planned on you guys playing until eleven, but if you need a breather, that’s cool. We always got a boombox. And at prob’ly ten to eleven we’re gonna start counting down.”

“Alright, that’s cool,” Luke said. “Dunno if we got enough stuff to last us two hours, though…”

Soria winked at him. “We got enough. Trust me, man.”

I had to smile, no matter how hard my heart was pounding.

“Alright, just as long as you don’t blank out,” Kevin added.

We had an arsenal of covers, true, but only about a handful of original songs we knew how to play, though. We knew some stuff by The Loved Ones, ‘Springsteen, The Hold Steady, and even a couple Catch 22 songs Luke forced upon Soria. Without the horns, however, it sounded kind of stupid. (I’ll let you in on a secret – we sound like ass when we try to be a ska band.)

But we didn’t have a setlist.

And we didn’t know we’d be playing for three hours…

“So tonight we’re a cover band,” Brendan said flatly.

“Nothin’ wrong with that. Panic! At the Disco started as a cover band,” Luke shrugged, then twitched. “Er – not that, you know, I’d know…”

Eight o’ clock rounded the corner. The basement got less and less comfortable as more people filed in. Mostly dudes who I’d never even seen. Older dudes – high schoolers.

Man…

My nerves were everywhere. My hair stood up on end looking at the never-ending crowd, my anxiety bundling up even further. On the contrary, everybody else was even more excited. Soria was smiling pretty for all the boys (“Jesus! If only I could flirt!”), and Luke was doing his own little sound check.

Soon enough, though, eight o’ clock came and it was time for the party to officially start. I was just a bundle of nerves, scarred for life by that awful party we played at mere weeks before. A mix of excitement and fear rattled my bones and made my fingers sweat on my strings as I tuned them with Soria’s guitar.

Kevin stood in front of us and motioned for the crowd to settle down, a bunch of kids drinking out of plastic party cups. “Alright guys! GUYS! SHUT UP!” he yelled.

“NO!” some funny guy went.

“Tonight, we’re honoring our last moments of this year…the fun, the friends, the sheer awesomeness…and I’d like you all to welcome Plaster Caster, Claymore Middle’s very own band! Yaaaaay!”

Weak cheers. That didn’t calm me down.

“BUT THIS YEAR SUCKED!” another kid yelled.

“Well these guys don’t, so shut up and start dancing!” Kevin smiled, flailing his arms out and jumping off the fake stage.

I smiled sheepishly and stepped up to the mic. Somebody yelled hi to me, so I waved. With a dry throat, I spoke my first words of the party: “Happy New Year’s,” I said.

An unenthusiastic yay rose from the crowd.

“Uh, we’re, uh, Plaster Caster, and this first song’s called, uh, ‘Little League.’”

I smiled back at the band and Brendan grinned so wide I saw his gums. With strong hands he tapped his drumsticks together and cued us to start playing.

Guitars snarled in varied chords, drums chimed, and bass thundered as we melted into the song. Soria had the biggest smile out of any of us; sure, Luke was smiling like he always was, but it wasn’t as intense because he didn’t get a feel for this kind of music.

I almost lost track of where we were in the song until the first verse started. It took a second to dawn on me, but as the drumbeat started the measure over again, I knew where we were.

“HEEEEEEE~EHEHH~EYYY!” I yelled, Soria shouting on backup.

People started dancing – not the kind of stuff you’d see at a school dance, but the kind of stuff you’d see at…actual concerts? Almost moshing. Holy crap. People shoved into one another and almost bumped into us, but it was sheer energy that was bounding around.

It felt great!

I dunno. I mean, this was no huge stadium crowd, but it was a lot easier than singing in front of a bigger crowd. And the fact that I didn’t feel so dumb, since I yelled more than sang, was a benefit too.

“Hey coffee eyes
You got me coughin’ up my cookie heart
Makin’ promises to myself
Promises like seeds
Of everything I could be…”

Soria bumped into me – she later said it was an accident – but I carried on, a smile on my face as I sang up the rest, up to the bridge, in which we went quiet and listened as the crowd chanted “Kitty kitty cat” along with us. I was staying true to the other lyrics, though, and as they chanted that, I sang, “Thin kids get a skinny neck hex.”

A couple of measures of that and it was time to scream. Now if you’ve heard the song, you know how freaking loud it is. I’m not even that loud when I’m scared. Plus, I simply do not like screaming. And I didn’t really know what I was screaming.

It still made me feel pretty good, you know? Let out that frustration. Anger. Irritation. Even at my loudest, I still wasn’t loud enough to be heard over the massive growl of the guitars.

The end of the song was a long throaty yell that I had to catch my breath in order to do. It took all the air in my lungs and made me turn completely red; I ended the song on my knees. When I stood up I was lightheaded and people were looking at me in shock (I’d imagine it was because I never talked), but with a smile I grabbed the mic again and picked up my guitar – less screaming for this next song.

“This next song’s called ‘Party Pit,’ and it’s not ours,” I smirked. It was a song by The Hold Steady that Soria and Brendan loved. Luke didn’t care. He wasn’t a huge fan of that kind of stuff, but he told us for every three rock n’ roll songs we did, we had to do at least one ska song. It was a fair compromise, really.

Brendan began the drum intro, a tapping on the snare drum that got people’s heads bobbing.

However, that stopped suddenly – all we heard was a huge flash of feedback, a thud, an “Oh crap!,” and another, louder, “Oh shit!”

Brendan fell off the stool, landing on the floor with a thud. I whirled around immediately and saw Luke standing with his hands over his mouth, eyes as wide as the ocean. The crowd was silent as we heard shuffling behind the drum set, and cussing. Lots and lots of cussing.

And to top it all off, there was blood on the head of Luke’s bass.

“The hell, man?!” Brendan slurred. He sat up and the rest of the band – us – went to investigate. His lower lip was puffed out and split open, blood running down his chin. Soria gagged. He put a hand to his lip and poked it, flinching when he saw the blood. “Luke…”

“I – I – I’m – I’m sorry man! I mean, I didn’t mean t-to d-do it!” Luke bargained, shaking. He held a hand out and helped Brendan up.

I looked back at the crowd, surprised myself. A few people were smiling, but the rest were in shock.

“We got any tissues?” Luke yelled, acting as if it were a shark attack.

“Fuck that, we got any STITCHES?!” Brendan yelled.

Silence.

I went up to the mic, my heart pounding. “Uh…mulligan,” I smiled sheepishly. A couple of people laughed.

Brendan heard it and shrugged it off. “Aw, fuck it. Let’s keep playing.”

…Uh…Happy New Year!