Musical Hanukkah: Wolf Whistle

The band had gathered at the practice space as Mitchell had asked. For once, they’d beat him there, which pretty much told them he had a big announcement. He’d never shown up late with anything but a doozy. Mitchell usually didn’t do late.

“So what’s going on?” Eric asked when Mitchell walked through the door, grinning.

“Wolf Whistle’s going to play All Access tomorrow night.”

As Eric laughed with delight and Daniel hooted, Trevor threw his head back and howled.

The band’s official Wolff whistle.

“Everyone’s on board. Grey’s so glad to have us back, he’s got everyone donating their time again. Whatever profit we make, it’ll all go to the charity.”

“It won’t be much,” Daniel said. Eric frowned and nodded. “No jam session ticket sales, no t-shirt sales…”

“Every bit helps,” Eric said. “And maybe it’s more important that we’re making a stand with Wolf Whistle.”

Mitchell bobbed his head. He could always count on the lead guitarist to get where he was coming from, even as Trevor was lifting a lip to sneer at Eric.

Wolf Whistle was the only band in Riverview history who could book a last-minute show and still manage to pack the place. Then again, Wolf Whistle was nothing but a code name for ShapeShifter when they wanted to fuck around. Everyone knew it. Hell, the line was probably already forming.

“What’s door?” Daniel asked.

Mitchell shrugged. “Not even close to what we’ve been charging for tickets the past few years. Like you said, no one gets to pony up to jam with us. We don’t have t-shirts. This isn’t going to bring in big bucks.”

“Then why are we doing it?” Trevor asked.

“Because I’m pissed we’re not doing the usual,” Mitchell said. “We’ve been doing good here and I’m pissed everyone’s come along and ruined it. So we’ll play and let everyone hear about it after the fact and feel like heels.”

“Nothing like a little bit of guilt to make people realize what jerks they’ve been,” Trevor sneered.

“I don’t really mind losing the jam session,” Eric said quietly.

Mitchell nodded. While popular with the fans, the jam sessions were tough. People were everywhere, there wasn’t anytime beforehand to make sure everyone knew what was going on… really, it was all about letting fans pay for a chance at five sloppy minutes onstage with ShapeShifter. But it brought in big money that went directly to the charity, so the band put up with it. It was for kids, after all. For making music.

It all came back to music.

Mitchell frowned and rubbed his chin. He’d have to get with Daniel and probably Eric later on. There had to be a way to turn all the whining into something positive. These people who’d thrown a fit last year hadn’t been upset about not being given a chance to join the benefit. They were pissed at missing some easy promotion.

They’d managed to ruin this year’s fun, for an awful lot of people. Not to mention the schools who depended on the money they donated — last year, it had been a solid five digit donation they’d made. That had bought a lot of trombones. Or paid part of a teacher’s salary, saving him or her from being laid off.

He was more pissed than he was willing to let on. All those pretentious assholes, trying to ruin it for the kids. Who were they to limit a kid and try to stop music from being made? What if that was tomorrow’s star they were trying to limit?

No more, Mitchell resolved. Wolf Whistle would let at least a few of them rise above.

A brave move from the band, perhaps. Yet it’s definitely one that keeps alive the traditional themes of Hanukkah: hope and miracles. Check in at Sunday Scribblings for more acts of bravery. And pick up the Demo Tapes, why don’t you. My dreams of making enough money from my books to be able to donate to charities such as the Mr. Holland’s Opus Foundation still need your support before they can become a reality.