Now, all you boys and girls who been readin’ Chelle’s pieces at this here Trumpet knows that Chelle ain’t no big fan of Terry Fantillo. That man’s been through seven wives, and I heard tell from more than one person that he was workin’ on number five while still married to three, and still got four on the side, too.

That ain’t nobody Chelle can stand behind.

But sometimes, someone goes and does somethin’ that makes even Chelle say a cheer over. Today, that someone’s Terry Fantillo, mister man of a million wives.

You heard that teenybopper Tommy Goldman’s been headin’ down that path o’ darkness, right? The gettin’ thrown outta the casino he wasn’t old enough to be in, the breakup with Sherry Case smack dab in the middle of his show. That made her newest record, which ain’t one Chelle’s called up on Spotify or nothin’, sell another three million copies in the States alone in two hours. And then there’s the fight Tommy had with the photographer who waited for him to get off-a his tour bus and actually caught sight of one-a Tommy’s hairs outta place.

Tommy’s got a new trick, one he learned from that redheaded hothead: he been takin’ the stage an hour late.

Now, our hothead, he don’t care and he don’t apologize. But Tommy? He been makin’ these Tweets that sound lamer than a racehorse that got put down three days ago. Chelle here just wanna know whose equipment is failin’ there, Tommy boy? And which piece is it really?

The music world’s been buzzin’ about that, sho’ nuff. And then Terry Fantillo steps smack in the middle-a it and calls him out. Tells him to get his act together and then goes on and calls him somethin’ that can’t be printed in this here family newspaper. Not that you all ain’t seen it before. I just can’t be askin’ my bosses to print that word, and I can’t be payin’ those fines if they do, neither.

But you know what Chelle here is doin’? A fat girl happy dance. Almost went through the floor, jumpin’ up and down the way I did when I saw what Terry Fantillo up and done.

Maybe it takes one-a them unprintable words to know another when he sees it, but Terry Fantillo sure came through. He may not do it for all them wives he’s had over the years, but he did it on behalf of all us music lovers who think the show oughta start on time.

You heard it first, and you heard it here: Maybe there’s somethin’ redeemable about Terry Fantillo yet. But probably not Tommy Goldman. The only redemption he’s gonna be doin’ is gonna be redeemin’ his stocks and bonds to pay for his rehab.

More and more, I’m letting Chelle rant about doings in and around the music industry. Be sure to click on her category over there and check out how her voice has evolved and see which of her rants are based on real life. I’ll be honest about this one: it is. You may say it’s hypocritical of me, who is scarily dependent on her satellite radio, to let Chelle have this view, but c’mon. Chelle is fictional. Go with it.

Now, Chelle here don’t know what flavor Kool-Aid them peeps over at that big ole radio conglomerate must’ve drank to think this was some good idea to hitch their wagons to. It sure ain’t any Kool-Aid Chelle be wantin’ a taste of.

It don’t pass muster. Part of what makes this here music business so amazing is the way it regionalizes itself. That means, boys and girls not as savvy as Chelle here, that when you get off that airplane and move about the country and turn on the radio in whatever city you done wound up in, you hear different music. Different songs from them bands you know and love. Even better, you get to hear bands you never heard of. You get to bring it home and spread the love.

This is important stuff. It’s what gives each city its character, like the way jazz defines this fair city, and how jazz defines Chicago but in both places, jazz is an entirely different creature.

And metal. We got grunge outta Seattle, we got the Bay Area sound, we got LA and Hair Metal, we got Riverview and my ShapeShifter boys. You think all them individual sounds woulda come about if every single one-a them boys who listened to the radio back in the good old days heard the same old, same old?

That’s what we’re facin’, boys and girls. Everyone hearin’ the same music at the same time. Same bands. Same songs. Same, same, same.

And then all you music lovers go and complain how every band sounds ‘xactly the same.

Well, here’s some news for y’all! They do! That’s ’cause they all bein’ influenced by the same other bands and the same other songs out there. There’s nothin’ in anybody’s ears that sets them apart no more.

Even worse, there’s now hundreds and thousands of good folk who love music and who tried to devote their entire lives to it, who now gotta go find jobs. How many-a ’em gonna get further than Wal-Mart? They be music lovers, just like you and me. And they out in the cold, which ain’t doin’ nobody no good. Especially the rest of us music lovers. You get what I’m sayin’?

You heard it first, and you heard it here: firin’ all them DJs only done a bad turn to a music world already hurtin’. There ain’t no music fans at that big corporation. If there are, they done sold their souls to the almighty dollar.

Note from Susan:

Usually, when I write a piece of fiction based on headlines, I try to mask it as thoroughly as possible. I haven’t done that here, although I have twisted the facts in order to make the absurd even more exaggerated, and the sad even more pathetic. Savvy music fans will by now have heard the story of Coheed and Cambria’s Michael Todd and will undoubtedly know where my inspiration came from. Please know this piece isn’t meant to be my take on what happened. It’s not. It is fiction, inspired by a real life event but fiction nonetheless. I am also most definitely not trying to make light of the tragedy that is addiction. But for the grace of God, the saying goes…

And in the meantime, have some fictional fun with Chelle LaFleur, everyone’s favorite rock reporter.

Now, I been hearin’ stories of stupid folk for my entire life. Chelle here may not be as old as some-a you out there, but she’s heard more stories than any one woman ought to.

This one oughta win some sort of Darwin award or some such.

Gary Westin, whose band West in Dawn, went and got hisself busted a good two hours before he was supposed to take the stage, warmin’ it up for my favorite band in the whole wide world, ShapeShifter.

You know my boyfriend Mitchell Voss weren’t so keen to get the early word on what went down.

Seems that Gary character — and word around town goes along the lines of Gary bein’ somethin’ more than a character — decided to take a walk. That ain’t so unusual. Hangin’ backstage gets borin’ for these boys. They wanna be up on that stage, playin’ their hearts out and listenin’ to us fans scream. So they up and take a walk. Most of ’em, though, most of ’em stay inside. Stay nearby. Chelle ain’t the first journalist who’s showed up for an interview only to hear the guy she’s lookin’ for has up and took off, so the choices are either go home or take the nearest available band member.

Gary up and took off, all right. He took hisself down to the corner pharmacy. Just strolled on it, the stories go. So does the video tape. Casual as anythin’, as anyone else.

Until he leaned over the pharmacy counter and whispered somethin’ that the pharmacist swears has to do with bombs and explosions and dyin’ right there, two hours before the show, ‘less Gary can get his hands on some quality drugs.

Chelle ain’t talkin’ ’bout no Midol, boys and girls. Chelle’s talkin’ ’bout oxy.

Yep, Gary Westin, the dude behind West in Dawn, is an addict.

The best part-a this story ain’t been told yet, boys and girls. You still with Chelle? Seems that pharmacist believed Gary’s story, so she handed over three bottles of the stuff. Three a-them industrial-sized bottles, the ones the pharmacists get and then pour out and count your drugs from. They’s hundreds and thousands pills in there. Gary walked off with three of ’em. He got hisself a quality heist, all right.

Now, this is where it starts to get good. Gary left that fake bomb in the doorway of the corner pharmacy and started to stroll off, probably back to that place where he’d be playin’ for ShapeShifter in a few. Time was startin’ to get short. The rest of his band was gatherin’ for a pre-show dinner.

But Gary, all he can think about is gettin’ one-a them pills inside, where it’ll do him some good. His nose started runnin’ and he started jonesin’ and the next thing you knew, Gary took a step off the curb in whatever uptight city they was in, and the cop who’s showin’ up to talk to the pharmacist grabs onto Gary. Them pills all go jiggle as he tries to stuff all three bottles down his pants, but the cop? He’s more worried ’bout the fact our man Gary is jaywalkin’ on his way back from the corner pharmacy. It takes the pharmacist to point out how Gary ain’t that well endowed by Mother Nature.

By the time it all gots sorted out and word got back to my ShapeShifter boys, it was one hour to showtime. And the openin’ act went and got hisself thrown in the slammer. I told you Chelle ain’t heard anythin’ so stupid in her entire life.

This story got part of a happy endin’, anyway. My ShapeShifter boys took the rest of West in Dawn and jumped up on that stage and played a whole slew-a cover tunes that had the crowd rockin’ out. Then they turned right on around and played another two hours of ShapeShifter songs.

Last I hear, Gary’s facin’ twenty years for stealin’ that oxy, and two weeks on top-a that for the jaywalkin’.

You heard it first and you heard it here: If you gotta get your fix, don’t jaywalk on your way back from holdin’ up the corner pharmacy. Hear?

Another note from Susan: I’ve been kicking around the idea of how to let Chelle tell this story, so thanks to the wonders at Three Word Wednesday for providing me with three really good words that unlocked the piece.

It’s been way too long since rock and roll writer Chelle LaFleur stopped in with some of her words of wisdom. Here are a few, once again, based on a true story.

Now, Chelle ain’t been here much of late. That’s ’cause Chelle ain’t had much to say. All that bad behavior we expect from our rocker heroes lately been comin’ from them politicians, and they ain’t people who Chelle prefers to pay much attention to. Chelle don’t do politics. She rocks and rolls. Which means Chelle here been bored. B.O.R.E.D.

Until word of Rattlesnake Quake came down the pike. Seems they been together so long, they be worse than an old married couple. They’re one-a them old married couples who figured out they sleep better if they each got their own room and a twin bed in it. Except them boys in Rattlesnake Quake, they did that separate hotel room thing a long time ago.

They’ve moved on in the world and up to their own tour bus.

Different strokes for different folks, we all like to say. ‘Cept them guys in Rattlesnake Quake been braggin’ about how they turned this tour all green ‘n all. Which explains why Richie and Doug each got their own tour bus.

If you think about that too much and your head explodes, don’t be callin’ Chelle here. She’s busy pickin’ up the pieces of her own brain.

Now you got a grip on the background here. Richie and Doug. Two tour busses. It oughta end there, right?

That wouldn’t give Chelle much of a thread to talk about if that were all. You boys and girls know Chelle. You know it can’t end there.

Nope. It ended on some highway or maybe a parking lot. Details are sketchy, but no one’s fightin’ the fact that it went and happened. Which means that if they’d up and been as green as they sayin’ they bein’, this never woulda happened and instead of makin’ fun of them boys in Rattlesnake Quake for tryin’ to save some carbon emissions when they’re up and drivin’ all around the country, we’re all sittin’ here instead, makin’ fun of ’em for drivin’ into each other and spewing twice as much carbon into the air.

Like Chelle said, don’t think too much about any of it. Your head might explode, same as I heard that toilet on Richie’s bus did when Doug’s bus hit it.

You heard it first, and you heard it here: goin’ green means one bus, no matter how much better y’all sleep when you all got your own space.

***
Like I said, this is based on a true story, but which parts are true, I’ll leave up to you to figure out. If you’d like to keep YOUR head from exploding, head over to Three Word Wednesday or the Friday Flash hub and check out what other tales folks are spinning this week.

By now, you boys and girls oughta know this stuff every bit as good as old Chelle here does. Them cutie ShapeShifter boys can’t be held down. Not when they want somethin’. And when it comes to these Musical Hanukkah benefit shows they been doin’ the past few years, these boys want this. Bad.

If you remember right, Chelle’s favorite band up and cancelled their big Musical Hanukkah shin-dig last year. Or they started off sayin’ they did. Instead, those sly rockers went and threw themselves one big party on the down low and you’d better believe they came outta that show with cash for them little kids.

That’s our ShapeShifter boys, all right.

Now, Chelle figured that’d pretty much be the end of these here parties. Once it gets cool to take part, the people behind these do-gooder parties get all frustrated ’cause they get all crowded out, so they pull up stakes.

That ain’t our ShapeShifter boys. Chelle digs bein’ able to say it ain’t even close.

Instead, the band’s done gone and challenged all them friends who tried to hone in on that action that oughta belong to us small people.

This year, there’s gonna be more than one Musical Hanukkah Celebration. They’s gonna be a lot — and not only in Riverview. I hear tell Deadly Metal Hatchet’s got a show — and a shirt to match! — planned for Phoenix. Hammerhead’s gonna tear up some joint in Jersey. Walter Cichewski’s gonna come out of retirement up there in Denver. Them Maelstrom boys might join the fun, too, but that ain’t confirmed yet.

Count on that cutie Mitchell and the rest-a them boys to grow this thing in true ShapeShifter style.

Best of all? You whiners ain’t got no excuse to miss this-here chance to get involved. Chelle herself is workin’ on puttin’ together a couple good bands for a New Orleans-style celebration.

You heard it first and you heard it here: Musical Hanukkah keeps gettin’ bigger and better. Chelle’s right to love her ShapeShifter boys so much.

And here we go! Starting yesterday, at least 50% of my reported royalties until the end of the year are headed to charity. Books make great holiday gifts — and help ShapeShifter make band dweebs and orchestra geeks around the United States!

Now, you all need to listen up good to old Chelle here. What I gotta say ain’t got squat to do with music, but it sure as shootin’ got to do with us in the music community.

Know that story of that poor college kid whose romantic fun got broadcast all over that there Internet? The kid who had to go off himself ’cause he couldn’t stand the way the whole world, free and not, could watch him gettin’ it on with someone else?

I’ma gonna stand up right here and now and say this is the biggest tragedy Chelle’s seen in a long time. It’s even a bigger tragedy than that hottie Mitchell Voss losin’ his heart to an artist type and takin’ himself off the market. It’s that big.

There’s one thing that’s started happenin’ about this story that’s got Chelle all up in arms. That’s them people who’re speakin’ out. They’re so quick to make this all about how we treat gays and lesbians, they done gone and forgot how this ain’t just about one certain group of folk. No sirree, this here issue of hidden cameras and YouTube postin’s somethin’ that affects every last one of us and it don’t matter if you be a boy who likes boys, or a girl who thinks girls are better’n boys.

Listen up, boys and girls. This is bigger’n one piece of America. Heck, it’s bigger’n America. With this Internet thing so big and makin’ so much of a dent in that lifestyle we used to have before it went and came along, these issues, they now involve every last person on this planet. Think about it. You wanna see people in Borneo? You can. Want to see people in Cornpatch, USA? You can.

Look around for a sec or two. You’ll see lots of folk postin’ videos of themselves feelin’ good. The difference here is that them folk? They knew what was the skinny. They knew they’d be putting their private parts out there for all-a us to ogle. They was cool with that.

This kid in Jersey? And prob’ly way more like him?

Alls they wanted to do was shut a door and have some time where they could kick back and not worry about nothin’ except what feels good and what feels better. They wanted it between theyselves, where love and lust and what feels good belongs.

Keep that in your minds the next time you think it’s cool to be this stupid. None-a you respectable metal heads would want video of you in a suit and tie, walkin’ into church on a sunny Sunday with Mom and Dad, would you? You got a rep to protect, right?

Don’t matter if you’re out of your black and into a zoot soot or if you be wantin’ some private time to see if this person you lustin’ for can be a forever partner. If you don’t want it broadcast, you don’t need to stress that it might be.

You heard it first, and you heard it here: Chelle don’t broadcast your private life on this here Trumpet paper. Don’t be broadcastin’ others’ privates anywhere, yourselves. You’re cool enough to read what Chelle’s gotta say. Prove it.

Now, what you all thinkin’? No, not you boys and girls here in our city. Them boys and girls Philly way. They must not got brains up there in the city of freedom ‘n all, ’cause otherwise, why else would they be so stupid as to throw their beer bottles — and I hear tell not all of ’ems empty, either — at Jim Shields?

Folks, you know what that Jim Shields does when things come flying outta the air, aimed in his direction. He done the same thing, over and over, for years.

It ain’t funny. It ain’t cool. Those riots after he throws the microphone down and storms off the stage? It’s only a matter of time before someone falls down and gets themselves all tramped to death. And then all everyone can talk about is the negative: how rude Jim’s fans are and how uncouth and how they all ought to be put to death and they hope Jim himself will fall off the face of the Earth and…

Really, boys and girls. Let’s put our hands on our knees and hold ’em still a minute. Stop and put your brains into that there ON position. I know that spot scares some-a ya, but if you can’t make yourself do it just this once, there ain’t no hope for humanity that old Chelle here can see.

This garbage has gone on for years. It’s the same each time. Some idiot thinks it’ll be funny to get under that thin surface-a Jim’s skin. The first bottle flies. Jim warns y’all. Someone else decides to go for it. ‘Cause it’s funny to watch Jim’s face go red and it’s cool when the music — which you paid a pretty penny to hear, mind you — stops.

And when that second bottle, or the third, or however many it takes afore Jim sees it, when that bottle catches his eye, it’s so funny to watch him try to break his his microphone when he throws it afore he stomps off stage.

Now, it’s true that Chelle’s seen toddlers act with more class than Jim Shields shows. But today only, we not talkin’ ’bout Jim. We talking about you. And how it only takes one idiot bottle thrower to ruin an expensive night for thousands. You really think Jim’s gonna come back Philly’s way again so soon? Not when this is the third time in a row this garbage has gone down, boys and girls.

Seems to me some folk need a field trip down to the Liberty Bell so’s they can learn what freedom really means. It don’t mean bein’ able to throw bottles at a guy who’s playin’ music so you can kick back and rock out. Freedom means somethin’ far from that.

You heard it first and you heard it here: it’s about the music, not the tantrums. Leave poor Jim alone already.

Yeah, I suppose I ought to apologize to the people of Philadelphia for smearing them so badly in this piece. But… c’mon. They’re in Philly. As most of you know, West of Mars is outside of Pittsburgh. There’s that cross-state rivalry and all.

And yes, this IS based on some real-life antics of a certain star who’s been known to cause riots when the bottle rockets start flying…

Now, Chelle here’s all about dreamin’ big. How else do you think a girl like me got this here job at this here Trumpet? You think they hire any old fattie who don’t even own a pen?

Yeah, that’s right. Chelle dreamed big and found a way to make it happen. And now she writes these here columns, and the Trumpet makes sure them columns get into the paper so you can spend your precious money just to read what Chelle’s gotta say.

Chelle’s got a doozy for you today, boys and girls. Seems those goofs over in Europe are at it again. I swear, have you ever seen a crazier bunch of music lovers than the Europeans? They put us over here to shame. To shame. Ya hear Chelle on this one? We gotta do better. We just do.

But we ain’t gotta do it this way. Nope. Know why? ‘Cause this latest one makes them music fans over in Europe sound like they off their rockers. Maybe they are. Chelle here’s gonna let you all decide.

Seems there’s a couple-a groups now who think the best way to show their metal sides is to make heavy metal a religion. A real religion. One recognized by governments and all that.

Now, you and me, we know that metal’s already a religion. There’s rules you gotta follow or you don’t fit in. There’s dogma that makes no sense, like why jerks gotta kick the cool outta mosh pits. There’s guilt if you don’t follow them pit rules, even that stupid one that lets the jerks run the joint. I heard talk of makin’ a sacred text, full of … song lyrics, maybe. I s’pose if the Psalms fillin’ up the Bible at the church Chelle used to go to is poetry, so’s song lyrics. Wasn’t them Psalms songs once upon a time?

What Chelle don’t see there bein’ is a sacred being in this new religion of ours. Who’s it gonna be? My honey Mitchell Voss? The old-school but still rockin’ Sammy Spencer? Maybe the very dead Soul Bendorff? And what sort of teachin’ is this sacred being gonna spread? And how’s we all supposed to follow one person, when metal’s so big already? Them death heads ain’t gonna wanna follow someone like my honey. And that cutie of Chelle’s would laugh at some of them black metal types. In their faces laugh. Chelle knows. She’s seen him do it.

Chelle here ain’t the brightest bulb. She knows that. She cool with it. That don’t mean she can’t see issues with this here idea.

You heard it first and you heard it here: Metal’s way too personal to ever fill a bunch of pews and make people sit all proper like. Metal’s for rockin’.

So go rock on and leave the religion for the rest of ’em.

***
Be sure to see what other people are Sunday Scribblings about. This week’s prompt was Big Dream.

Now, Chelle here got a toughie for you, so don’t come back and complain when you hear somethin’ you didn’t wanna. Anyone remember Gene McLean, the dude who made them horrid death metal growls for Forbidden Hope that gave Chelle here nightmares?

Yeah, yeah. We all heard of Forbidden Hope, especially us who ruled the scene in the nineties. We heard about how they broke up in ’98 and how Pluck Remy went on to make that Fermented band happen and get so huge and all. But what none of us heard about was what happened to ol’ Gene. Gene McLean, the meanest dude with the rhymin’ name.

Turns out, no one knows what happened to our boy. That child went and vanished on us as if he’d been spirited away by some underworld demon come to get his voice back. Probably was.

Two months ago, word got out. Pluck went and did what no one thought could ever happen. He dissolved Fermented. Just … up and said to all them members of that hard-workin’ band to go and find themselves new gigs. Told ’em all it’d been fun but there was a door they all gotta walk through and hope it don’t hit ’em on them hineys.

Next thing, we be gettin’ word that Pluck’s found Gene. Brought him back into the fold or whatever it is those two had goin’ on. They be bringin’ back Forbidden Hope and there’s death metal heads all over the place havin’ all sorts of unmentionable sorts-a dreams over this news.

Ever seen a happy death metal head? That is some scary stuff right there, boys and girls. But that’s how you all was. Comin’ up to Chelle at shows and tellin’ her all about how great it was gonna be. Forbidden Hope. Back together. Rulin’ the world the way they should have back in the day.

Now, this is the bad part. Chelle here’s gotta break your hearts.

Word came down tonight that Gene McLean got down with the business end of a shotgun. No one knows why. Word came down from Pluck hisself, along with the request that we not bug the Pluck man for a bit. He be needin’ to grieve.

Chelle don’t blame him. Around these parts, there’s people wonderin’ if bein’ saddled with a girl’s name gone and done Gene in at last. Wonderin’ if the magic between him and Pluck couldn’t hold up over the years. There’s a million reasons why Gene coulda gone and done this.

Chelle ain’t sure why someone would up and off themselves like that. All she knows for sure is that it’s stupid. No matter who you are, there’s people who love you. Or like you. Or need you.

Or all of the above.

You hear me? No matter how bad it gets, when you face that demon who’s gonna take it all away from you, say no. Look for that angel who’s never near enough when you think you need her the most.

That’s the one you wanna say yes to.

You heard it first and you heard it here: Say yes to livin’. Without you, who’s gonna be readin’ Chelle’s columns?

***
This Sunday Scribblings came together because of the real-life story of Joe Ptacek, the singer for a nineties death metal band called Broken Hope. He was 37. I was never a fan of the band, but that doesn’t really matter. His story’s a tragedy.

Now, for three years previous to this one, Chelle here been faithfully tellin’ y’all about what’s going on in Riverview. You know: A city that’s not even ours. But Chelle’s done this, year after year, because those favorite boys of hers in ShapeShifter have been throwin’ themselves a benefit concert. They’ve worked their special ShapeShifter magic and gotten everyone involved to throw in their stuff for free. From the concert hall to the crew to the people who print the tickets, somehow, those cuties have been able to give every single penny to them Music in our Schools charities.

Chelle had even started pricing airfare to get her fat rear up to Riverview. Not that Chelle LaFleur’s ever been on an airplane and probably needs three of them narrow seats just for her fat self.

It won’t be happenin’ this year.

With Hanukkah set to start tonight, Chelle hunted down her favorite ShapeShifter, that deep-voiced Mitchell Voss. You know as well as anyone else that Mitchell’ll give up the goods for Chelle.

“Well, here’s the thing,” he said and sighed. “It got too big, too fast. Last year, with the change to the bigger theater, instead of everyone going, oh, now they can raise more money and let more fans in, it turned into I’m a rock star, too. Why can’t I come? All these stupid accusations went flying around and the next thing I knew, we were the bad guys for trying to make sure that kids can have a school band. We’re talking about those kids who’d think they were cool ’cause they’d play saxophone and it wouldn’t matter they had these faces all full of zits. Nope, they’d be cool ’cause of that sax. Or the trumpet.”

“The oboe is not cool,” bass player Trevor Wolff said into Chelle’s ear. “There has never been a cool oboe player. Not in the history of oboe players. I don’t even know why people play the oboe.”

We won’t repeat what Chelle’s cutie Mitchell said to Trevor. It ain’t fit for print and besides, I wouldn’t do that to you faithful readers of mine. You got delicate ears. Maybe not your mouths so much. I hear you at shows. I do.

Besides, you might not think so high of Mitchell if you’d heard what he’d said to Trevor. And now that he’s cancelled the Musical Hanukkah Celebration this year, that public image is takin’ a hit.

He left me with this, though: “We’re gonna take the year off, regroup, let some of the momentum die out, and then we’ll be back in 2010. The Monday of Hanukkah, we’ll be rocking out with our fans again.”

I’m-a gonna hold him to that. You should, too.

You heard it first and you heard it here: No Musical Hanukkah this year, but it’ll be back next. Go and donate on your own anyway, just in case there is a sexy oboe player out there. Chelle bets Trevor will love her.

It dawned on me that we haven’t seen Chelle around these parts in eons. The music reporter for the (of course fictional) Trumpet newspaper, she’s always got an opinion that may or may not mirror my own. That’s the fun of fiction, after all!

Now, you all know that Chelle here won’t be spreadin’ no rumors to you. Not through this here Trumpet newspaper. That means what I got to say’s important, so listen up.

Boys and girls, we got us a problem here in our city. A darn big problem, one we all gotta come together and chase out of town.

I’m talkin’ about junk. I’m talkin’ about all that garbage, most of it moldin’ up a storm, that’s been sittin’ out on our sidewalks ever since this city started cleanin’ up after them floods. Yeah, THOSE floods. The ones that saw more’n half the city leave and not come back. The one that saw most’ve the rest of us livin’ in trailers. The only reason Chelle’s still in her home is ’cause she’s on the thirteenth floor of a building on one of the city’s only hills.

Which means Chelle looks out over a lot of junk. Wanna know a secret? Junk ain’t pretty.

Once upon a time in this city we all love so much, we had men drive these ugly brown trucks up and down the street. They’d stop beside every single driveway, or pull into the driveways of the millions of apartments this city used to have. Two men would pop outta those trucks and they’d haul all our junk away. Who knew where, and who cared. The simple point was that our stuff went away.

Now, these days, it sits on the curbs. Some streets’re so cluttered anymore, cars can’t get up and down ’em. And sidewalks? For-get it. If there’s room to walk, the mold on everythin’ll do your lungs in right fast. Who needs the piggy flu when we got mold to take a population down?

That’s why Chelle’s callin’ all her readers to stand up and get busy. Let’s all take November first and clean up. Start with the candy wrappers left from the night before. They won’t mold overnight, Chelle’s hopin’.

Once you got all them, fill a trash bag with some of that there moldy junk in front-a your house. But then don’t wait for some garbage guy who ain’t gonna come. He’s too busy lookin’ for a new job, Chelle hears. Them garbage guys went on strike right before the floods and there ain’t no sign of ’em comin’ back.

So let’s do it ourselves, boys and girls. Pick up one bag of that trash and take it yourself to the dump. Between now and then, Chelle’s gonna find out where that dumpin’ place is, and she’ll let you know.

And come November first, don’t you be surprised if Chelle herself walks up to you and hands you some swag courtesy of some of Chelle’s favorite bands. ‘Cause sometimes, we gotta clean up our city ourselves and show we got some civic pride.

You heard it first and you heard it here: No more junkin’ up our city!

Yep, a Sunday Scribblings for you while I am causing other trouble. Be sure to leave a comment wherever you visit!

Those of you who remember my recent introduction of Soul Bendorff have been wondering just why I felt the need to create him. Here’s your answer. This was inspired by a true story.

Lately, new people been contactin’ Chelle. Seems there’s more goin’ on in the music world that has nothin’ to do with shows and new CDs and all the musical goodness we be used to.

Chelle’s thinkin’ this is some good stuff that’s happenin’, even if it’s got to do with someone Chelle wouldn’ta thunk of. That’s probably good, too. Even Chelle needs her eyes opened every once in awhile.

It’s them schools up in Riverview that’re behind this. The same schools that educated our four favorite boys in ShapeShifter. Seems they’re smart enough to understand that people’re pouring into Riverview right about now, and all because they want to get close to where the latest music revolution began.

Them educators in Riverview know this. They thought they’d praise one of the influences of ShapeShifter. They want to remind their teachers to get off their duffs and open their eyes. Try new things that’ll benefit not just their kids, but every last body in the world.

They put pictures of Soul Bendorff all over the schools. The administration offices, their mission statements, even the stuff to hang in the schools. They want the teachers and the students to think beyond.

That’s a good idea. Chelle thinks everyone oughta think beyond.

Of course, not everyone be seein’ things the way Chelle does. There’s been some people who think that a drunk like Soul Bendorff ain’t the best role model for the kids of Riverview. They been openin’ their mouths and soundin’ off.

The school answered them by sayin’ that Soul was brave enough to be a revolutionary. That if he was a kid today, maybe the way things is right this second, with everyone so uptight about every last thing, Soul woulda turned out different. Maybe sober. Maybe with a minimum wage job and a lot of regrets.

By usin’ Soul as an example, they say, they’re pushin’ kids to be different. To think big and reach for something great. To think about the tragedy that Soul turned into, drinkin’ himself to death and all the way he did. Greatness takes discipline, they say. The school ought to be teachin’ their kids both greatness and discipline.

You heard it first and you heard it here: Them schools in Riverview are aimin’ to be every bit as revolutionary as Soul himself was. Chelle’s so into it, she’s thinkin’ of movin’ out there and goin’ back to high school, herself.

Now, you all just follow along with old Chelle here and no one’s gonna get hurt. Hear me on this?

‘Cause, in case you’re livin’ under a rock or some such, followin’s the big trend these days. Follow me here, there, everywhere. You be a good person and you follow along. You’re even better a person if you got lots of followers.

Follow, follow, follow.

Where are the freaky-cool trend-setters? What happened to the people who’re worthy of being followed because there’s something there that pulled you to them? Why do we gotta follow someone simply ’cause it’s cool to do so? Is this now a world where we’re all valuable just ’cause we get people followin’ us? Where we’re better people ’cause we got lots of followers?

Mr. Rogers would be so proud of us.

You gotta stop and think, boys and girls, about what all this followin’ means. Does it mean steppin’ away from your precious computer for a few hours and goin’ to see that band who’s in town special, just to play for all their local followers, the people declarin’ eternal love and devotion in a sentence or less? Does it mean downloadin’ that new song, buyin’ that new t-shirt, and braggin’ about your love for those music-makers on your chest?

It sure used to.

And because of that, bands, they did well. They made a buck or two, could afford their practice spaces and gas for tourin’ and maybe if they’d made it to a major record label, there’d be videos and other goodies like that.

But now, an indie band plays their music for free over a website or two that ain’t even theirs; it belongs to some big corporation that takes all the money while the band gets squat. Fans follow what the dudes and chicks who make the music gotta say, but they ain’t ponying up for tickets so fast. Not unless that band we be talkin’ about is a big band. Been around for years band. One-a them bands that’ll do okay just ’cause of who they are. Heck, even Deadly Metal Hatchet t-shirts are still sellin’ like hotcakes. Chelle knows. She bought two last week, all by her lonesome.

It’s the new guys, bands like Temple of the Book (read more about them here), who need yourself, in person, in front of their stage. Buy their EP. Wear their shirts. Talk about ’em to your followers. Spread the gospel; I know the readers of this here Trumpet newspaper are smart enough to know what to do.

You heard it first, and you heard it here: If you gonna follow, do it right. Do it so it makes a difference. ‘Cause if we don’t change, all we gonna get to hear is Golden Oldies. And it scares Chelle to think of ShapeShifter as a Golden Oldie. Not in this lifetime.

A Sunday Scribblings for you, more directly related to the prompt than usual for me.

Word comin’ out of Riverview this week is that the annual Musical Hanukkah Celebration hosted by Chelle’s favorite boys, ShapeShifter, was a bigger hit than ever. They pulled in more money, had more fans around, and even invited a few drag queens to dance up on that stage with their handsome selves.

Believe it or not, but there’s some bitchin’ goin’ on about this year’s shin-dig, and it’s comin’ from some very interesting places, if you catch my drift. If not, here’s a hint: it’s comin’ from every big name star who was pining for an invite to join the party. Seems like if you’re in a band other than ShapeShifter, you weren’t wanted anywhere near that Rocket Theater place the band took over for the benefit. And now there’s some mighty peeved people out there in music land.

Now, my name being Chelle LaFleur and all, I had to get the skinny about what those ShapeShifter boys think they’re doin’, tellin’ all their friends to kiss off. That ain’t no way to treat no friend.

“I know, Chelle,” that handsome Mitchell Voss told Chelle over the phone on her desk at the Trumpet’s office. “We realized we’d hit a crossroads this year. We could have made millions — I’m not kidding. Millions. We had musicians like Sammy Spencer offering to donate cash for the chance to be there. Cold hard cash, and a lot of it, too. He didn’t even want to get on stage. He just wanted in. Those guys who were coming around were offering us so much money for tickets that our heads swam. We could have helped out a ton of kids if we’d gone that way.”

So why didn’t ShapeShifter bow to the mighty dollar?

“It was Eric, so blame him,” handsome Mitchell said. “He’s always been the force behind this, and when he reminded us that the idea was to show our fans they don’t need to be millionaire rock stars in order to make a difference. That five bucks means something in this world, something more than a cup of coffee. The party’s about helping kids have the means to make music, sure, but it’s about giving hope and power to people who think they don’t matter, too.”

Am I hearing this right? ShapeShifter, one of the world’s biggest bands, went for the little guy over deep pockets?

“It’s about the fans, Chelle,” Handsome Mitchell said. “They want to believe they can make a difference, and we’re lucky enough to be able to show them that they can and help them do it. One of the hardest parts can be choosing who to support. Where do you start? Save the panda? Buy land in the Everglades? Rebuild homes in New Orleans? What about the tsunami victims from all those years ago? You think their lives are normal yet?”

To be honest, Chelle ain’t given them a thought in a long time. I ain’t about to head over to Sri Lanka and wherever else got hit with that monster wave to see, but Chelle’s bettin’ the man’s right. About all of it: that them people ain’t got their lives back any more than a lot of the folk who’re tryin’ to repopulate this city of mine. He’s right that you gotta start somewhere.

You heard it first and you heard it here: ShapeShifter’s all about giving their fans a voice. Gotta love a band who helps people believe they can make a difference.

Yeah, I was going to leave it with our last post, but blame this on Wylie and Shelley. They asked; I delivered. The mystery of where Deadly Metal Hatchet’s missing invite has been solved: ShapeShifter turned into equal-opportunity dissers. Nice to know my boys have integrity.

It only took ole Chelle here two years to figure it out, but when there’s a message taped to her phone, waitin’ for her in the morning, and when that message don’t say nothin’ but “Be at your phone at seven, your time, Wednesday,” it means one thing and one thing only.

Time to talk up this year’s Musical Hanukkah Celebration over in Riverview.

Yeah, yeah. I know. We don’t live nowhere near Riverview. We be two time zones over and at least a thousand miles away. So what’s Chelle doin’ talkin’ this thing up?

You boys and girls who’re regulars know the answer to that. The Musical Hanukkah Celebration is the baby of the one and only ShapeShifter. And that means fat ole Chelle gets the skinny from the luscious Mitchell Voss himself. He’s probably the only man who could tell Chelle when to get herself by a telephone. He’s worth it every time.

Except, luscious Mitchell Voss… he ain’t the best with the hellos. Know what Chelle hears when she answers the phone? “We’ve got our best charity yet for this thing.”

No Hello? Where’s the How Ya Doing, Chelle?

“It’s the Mr. Holland’s Opus Foundation. Stable. Been around awhile. Famous ’cause of some movie I never saw. And we’re moving into the Rocket Theater this time, too,” Mr. Luscious said. “It’s bigger. The stage is bigger and it holds more people. The backstage area’s nicer, too, so we can have a few more guest stars. We’re pulling out the stops this year. And wait until you see the t-shirt. We’re making more of those, too. People want to buy ’em online and help support the cause. Since it’s such a good cause, we’re all for that.”

There you go, boys and girls. We get t-shirts this year if we ain’t gonna make the trek to Riverview. And why would we? We got us some great weather this time of year. Gettin’ on an airplane might cost so much, you gotta sell your favorite band t-shirt on eBay, and that’s before you get to the airport and they call for a cavity search. No, boys and girls. Let’s stay put. There’s a great local scene here y’all should be explorin’. Chelle’s got a rundown of who to go see later on this week.

That don’t mean you shouldn’t buy those t-shirts when word gets out that you can. Any donation’s sure to make those little kids happy and grateful. It’s all about bringin’ music to the kids, remember that. A kid who plays the flute now might turn out to be tomorrow’s Mitchell Voss. We ain’t gonna know until that kid gets the chance to make some precious music.

For now, you heard it here and you heard it first: ShapeShifter’s Musical Hanukkah Celebration. Gettin’ bigger, getting’ better and with t-shirts for all, not just the folk who make it inside. Gotta love that. Chelle sure does.

If you’re new around here, this whole Musical Hanukkah Celebration thing has got to seem as though it’s from left field. Click here to read the beginnings.

While the characters in this piece aren’t real, the Mr. Holland’s Opus Foundation is. Profits on the t-shirts and The Demo Tapes will go toward this great effort to keep our kids musical. There will be more details and hoopla to come, I promise. And a lot more fiction, too, building up to this fun event.

You may ask why I’m blurring the line between real life and fiction like this. The answer’s easy: Today’s clarinet player might be tomorrow’s million-selling lead singer. Every child all deserves that dream.

Now, if you know Chelle LaFleur like you supposed to know Chelle LaFleur, you know all too well what sort of ShapeShifter fan I am. I am sayin’ right here and now that I could go head to head with any other ShapeShifter fan out there and beat ’em when it comes to trivia. And that any other fan bit? It includes their own Mommas and Poppas. Maybe even the boys, themselves.

So I don’t know what local townie Bradley thinks he’s doin’. Oh, no, not the gettin’ married part. That’s the part that makes sense. So do all the wedding plans, with the flowers and the cake and fire hall and the decorations and all that.

Where it all falls apart is where he looks at me and says, “Hey, Chelle, what do you think about us using Behold Me as our first dance song?”

Okay, now. No one’s exactly lining up to marry ol’ Chelle’s fat self here, so maybe I’m a little bit out of touch with what’s hot in the world of weddin’s these days. Maybe I am. I’ll say that up front. But last time I checked, you was supposed to pick a slow song, something that gives a man and a woman reason to snuggle up in each others’ arms while everyone watches and coos about how cute you are. Behold Me is no slow song. So Bradley, what’s your plan, boy? You and your beautiful bride gonna hold hands and lead the head banging? You really think Great-Grandma’s gonna get what you two be doin’? Won’t she fall out of her wheelchair if she tries to follow along?

Now, Chelle here sees another problem entirely with this plan of Bradley’s. And that problem’s the meanin’ of the song. Behold Me isn’t some sappy plea from the outcast high school girl who wants to get herself noticed by the quarterback. Oh, no, sir-ree. Behold Me‘s about more substantial stuff.

Just to make sure Chelle was hearin’ things right, I went right to the source. My main man, Mitchell Voss.

Now, you all know about Mitchell Voss. They call him a dragon, and for good reason. So Chelle here wasn’t exactly expectin’ to hear laughter when she told Voss what was up.

“They want to what?” he asked and nope, there weren’t no laughin’ going on. At least, I don’t think that noise was laughin’. Count me in that group who thinks that boy don’t know how to laugh.

I told that handsome man I was callin’ him to see if the song’s about what I’m thinkin’ it’s about. And like I said, ol’ Chelle may be fat and slow, but no one knows ShapeShifter better.

“Behold Me is a song about a homeless guy who wants to be noticed and seen. Maybe helped,” Voss said. “There’s nothing romantic about it. I mean, s—, this is ShapeShifter we’re talking about. We don’t do romance.

“On the other hand,” he said, “more power to this couple if the song holds that much meaning for them. Maybe one of them was homeless. Who knows? It’s not the song I’d pick and no, Chelle, don’t ask. I’m not telling you a damn thing about my life.”

Boys and girls, lemme tell you somethin’. When Mitchell Voss married that pretty little artist of his, do you know who the first media person he called was? Do you know how many dreams of Chelle LaFleur’s got trashed with that phone call to that first rock reporter? And that boy thinks he ain’t gonna tell me a “damn thing” about his life?

Seems that Bradley’s pulling a Mitchell Voss on me, too. Chelle picked up the phone and tracked that boy down, but if he knows why he and his lady picked Behold Me for their first dance, he ain’t sayin’. Whatever.

You heard it first and you heard it here, right outta the horse’s lips. Behold Me‘s a song about homeless people, not the adorin’ gaze of lust.

Once again this week, I had a million ideas when I saw this week’s Sunday Scribblings prompt: wedding. I thought of letting Pam dream about her wedding to Mitchell. Lyric was going to put together special wedding baskets in the store. I even played with ideas for Roadie Poet and Deadly Metal Hatchet.

In the end this won. Hope you like.

For more Chelle, use this link.

For more Mitchell, use this link.

For more ShapeShifter, use this link.

Lots of you come up to me and try to keep me from leavin’ shows when I got to. I try to be nice and all, but boys and girls, Chelle’s got a deadline here. If she don’t hit that deadline over at The Trumpet, her review don’t make the paper. Capiche? And since the whole reason Chelle’s got a job is to review bands for The Trumpet, if she don’t make her deadlines, she don’t get a paycheck.

You heard it first and you heard it here: Let Chelle make like Cinderella and get to the paper on time.

Another attempt at Velvet Verbosity‘s 100 word challenge! This one wrote itself, but I still like the first one better. If you’ve never met Chelle before, click on her name and check out her bio page, which includes links to more of her journalistic endeavors.

How many of you faithful readers remember that day when a href=”https://westofmars.com/Chelle.html”Chelle/a was waxin’ poetic about how we all flip CDs over to read the track listing on back, even though the track listing don’t mean doo doo until you hear them songs?br /br / Here’s another puzzle for you to spend some free time thinkin’ about. And that’s the pictures of the band. You ever stop and look at them? I mean really span style=”font-style:italic;”look/span, not just notice what band’s t-shirt they wearing or whose hair is longer than yours, or if the chick is hot or not.br /br / Chelle LaFleur looks for more than that stuff. Every time she sits down to review a new disc, she takes out that booklet and leafs through it. She reads them liner notes — and she knows who’s smart enough to thank her in ’em, too. She reads the lyrics, and you betcha, she studies them pictures. You can sometimes get a lot outta those pictures. When you gotta write a review of that music blarin’ outta your speakers, you gotta do more than say whether or not it’s good. You gotta say why. And you gotta sound smart, too. No easy feat when you’re Chelle LaFleur.br /br / Let me share a secret with you since I’m in a good mood and all. Lookin’ at those musicians, boys and girls, helps a music writer figure out what to say. And to sound smart doin’ it, maybe even smart enough to get a bonus from the bosses ’cause your quotes get picked up all over the place and you be giving the paper a good name. br /br / Try it at home. The picture staring, that is. Go on, you be Chelle for a few. Just don’t go on expecting to be like me and see them words you’s about to write in this here span style=”font-style:italic;”Trumpet/span, you hear? That gig’s reserved for yours truly. You, you’re just tryin’ things out. You on a mission to find out how right old Chelle is.br /br / Sit and stare at that picture as you listen up. Really span style=”font-style:italic;”stare/span. Can you figure out what that band’s tryin’ to tell you? They for real, or is there some poseur action happenin’? You wanna hang with them? Even if they ain’t what you’d listen to every day until the laser wears a hole in the disc, are they any good? And you gotta answer span style=”font-style:italic;”why/span or span style=”font-style:italic;”why not/span for all these questions Chelle’s throwin’ at you. br /br / What’s with this music you be hearin’? Can you figure it out? That picture helps, don’t it. You get it all sudden-like. It goes into new dimensions. br /br / You peeps in bands out there, you think about that picture you busy dreamin’ of and posin’ for when you’re home alone, just you and your mirror. What you tryin’ to tell us out here, safe in our cars and our bedrooms and blarin’ in our earbuds? Use that picture of you and talk to us. It don’t all have to come outta the speakers.br /br / You heard it first and you heard it here. Pictures really span style=”font-style:italic;”are/span worth a million words. br /br /br /br /br /span style=”font-style:italic;”Ahh, the a href=”https://creativegoddesses.blogspot.com”Poetry Train/a. Hop aboard!/span

Now, I don’t get what all the howlin’ and cryin’s about. Seems legendary singer Sammy Spencer is reuiniting with the last two living original members of Scarred Heart. That ought to be good news and we all oughta be celebrating this. Scarred Heart was, for you too young to know your roots as proper as you should, one of the bands that brought the words Heavy Metal into our world. They took Johnny B. Good and taught him how to bang his head.

Scarred Heart’s die-hard fans been yowlin’ for a reunion for years now. Chelle here been one of ’em ’cause she never got to see them live the first time out, and that’s one of those things that’s gotta get fixed so Chelle can die a happy woman. News of the reunion was met with a big cheer here at the Trumpet’s office, and around the world, too. It was a heck of a sound; I’m surprised you missed it. Cows in heat don’t often walk around New Orleans, you know what Chelle’s sayin’ here?

Now comes word that fans are threatening to boycott. Seems that Sammy Spencer can’t reach those high notes that make Chelle’s kinky hair stand on end. Seems that in thirty years, Sammy Spencer had the good fortune to grow himself up. For men, that means their voices get lower and they can’t get up to those high notes no more.

Oh, sure there are a few who can. But Chelle wants to know if they can do it outside of a recording studio and with the taped voice track turned off. If so, she wants to see what they got in their pants. It’s either nothing ’cause they’ve been snipped so their voices stay high, or else there’ve got something making them mighty uncomfortable…

None of those options fit the Scarred Heart style. Remember, boys and girls, this was the band that was all about keepin’ it real back before keeping it real was a trendy thing. This was the band who made us all sit up and realize that not everyone kept it real.

That means there won’t be vocal tracks piped in over Sammy’s real voice. That Sammy’s not going to hurt himself to bring us his famous high notes.

What it means is that the band’s changing the tuning of their songs, so that Sammy can sing ’em the best way he can. ‘Cause we all know: Scarred Heart’s gotta keep it real.

Keepin’ it real is what you so-called fans are now having hissy fits over. Seems you’d rather have fake music in the name of it bein’ like the albums you probably never replaced once vinyl went out of fashion. You don’t want to know that your hero’s gettin’ old and can’t hit those high notes. You want it fake.

You peeps are spoiled. Let Scarred Heart tune it down. Let ’em show us that they can still rock with the best of them. And quit your bitchin’. Save it for the next time ShapeShifter’s resident hottie Mitchell Voss refuses to take his shirt off during a show. Now that, that is a thing to whine about.

You heard it first, and you heard it here: Let Sammy sing it the best he can. He’ll still rock your socks off.

Why aren’t you riding the Poetry Train?

Now, you may not have heard this here first, but you’re hearing the truth here first. That counts for a lot in Chelle’s book.

I just got off the phone with my favorite rocker, Mitchell Voss, and this is what he had to say:

For some reason, we couldn’t take the bus from the hotel to the arena, so the promoter sent a limo for us. It should have been a twenty-minute drive. An hour later, our tour manager gets out of the limo and walks up the side of the road to see what’s going on.

Turns out, a car broke down. They can’t even move it off to the shoulder, it’s the middle of rush hour. Traffic’s a disaster. Our tour manager comes back to the limo and says the car’s driven by three girls on their way to … you guessed it. Our show.

Trevor, Daniel, and Eric aren’t stupid. They’re also lonely. Or, they were.

That’s right, girls and boys. Those ShapeShifter boys smelled opportunity and they didn’t let anything stop them. Those girls with that broken-down car got the star treatment on their way to the show. They got to watch the show from the special VIP section with Mitchel’s wife, the most amazing Kerri Voss, and they got to be the after-show party, as well.

Chelle here knows how many of us dream of this happenin’ to us, even you guys out there. Like any good music reporter, I tried to find those girls and get their take on the night, but that handsome Voss man wasn’t coughing up any names.

So girls, if you’re out there and reading this, drop me a line, will ya? You just went and lived yourselves a dream and the rest of us, we want to know all about it.

You heard it first, and you heard it here. ShapeShifter loves their fans.