Play that Funky Kazoo

Anathema was the name of Clyde's rock band when he was in his late teens. It was a heavy metal/experimental/blues band. They usually rehearsed two or three times a week, but if the weather was especially nice, they would postpone the rehearsal since two of the band members preferred to go swimming, fishing, breakdancing, or playing tetherball during the time of good weather instead of being locked inside a sweaty rehearsal space with people they had grown to despise over the years.

So one particularly warm day when the sun was beaming down and birds were gliding over the dusty abandoned roads, Clyde decided to defy convention and call for an emergency rehearsal ASAP; and the other band members were not happy about it.

The bass player, Ryan, was the first one to show up - thirty minutes early. Ryan had a thick handlebar mustache and hypersensitive skin. Whenever he would play his bass for too long the tips of his fingers would callous over, and the next day a half inch circle of skin from each fingertip would completely fall off. For some reason Ryan could never retain callouses to protect his finger tips. When he arrived at the rehearsal space, Clyde noticed Ryan was in an especially foul mood. His face was tight and red and he only grunted at Clyde when he walked in. He immediately began searching through the garbage in the rehearsal area and eventually located a microphone. He dug it out of an old cardboard box, grabbed a mic stand from a far corner and set it up in front of his amplifier. He plugged the microphone into the P.A. system, then lifted a purple kazoo out of his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Clyde said.

"I bought a kazoo at the Dollar Store this morning and I thought I would hook up a microphone so I can blow the kazoo while I play my bass."

Clyde put his hands on his hips. "Umm, I don't think so."

"What do you mean?" Ryan's face got tighter and more red.

"You're not going to play a kazoo on any of our songs. Those things are too corny."

Ryan lowered his head and sighed. "Listen, Clyde. I don't even want to be here right now. It's a gorgeous day and I'd rather be at the lake with my wife and kids, sitting back drinking a few beers, watching my children make sand castles, maybe even watch some hot women stroll by on the beach. Can't you at least give me a freaking break and let me play the new freaking kazoo I bought today?"

"Well, do you mean you only want to play it during today's rehearsal?"

"No, I want to play it all the time. On every song. Not just for today, man. I want to work it into our music and play kazoo melodies and solos and get the arrangements worked out perfectly. I think the kazoo will be one hell of a compliment to our music."

"No way, man. That's ridiculous. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of. If I wanted kazoo sounds in our music, I could easily make them with my guitar. Kazoos are childish and for amateurs. Nobody wants to hear them. We're a serious band here, Ryan. We're trying to transcend with our music. Not sound like a bunch of junior high students clowning around in the basement."

Ryan put the kazoo in his mouth, tooted it three times, then took it out. "Once again, Clyde, you're acting like a fascist. You think you're the freaking main dictator of this band. You don't believe in democracy at all, do you? Kazoos are based on ancient African instruments. They're awesome regal devices and they should be given your full respect. You should feel honored one of your band members wants to put kazoo melodies in your damn crappy songs. Kazoos are the farthest thing from being childish or immature. What the heck is wrong with you, Clyde. You used to have an open mind, but lately you seem to think everything is stupid. Wait, I just figured out why - it's because you're stupid yourself."

Ryan pushed Clyde out of his way and stepped up to the microphone. He put the kazoo in his mouth and pressed the end of it to the mic and started playing the main melody to "Funky Town." The thick raspy buzz of the kazoo blasted through the P.A. system and filled the entire rehearsal space. Ryan started dancing as he played the tune.

Clyde raised his hand and swatted the kazoo out of Ryan's mouth and it bounced over the thick green carpet. Ryan was shocked, stepped back and scoffed, then he glared at Clyde. "You dirty son of a biscuit eater. How dare you slap a kazoo out of a man's mouth when he's right in the middle of Funky Town. I also know the bass line to that song and I can play it while blowing the melody. You should let us do that song at the Battle of the Bands this year. I'll even let you throw in some of your weird guitar improvisational crap." He paused. "Ya know, Clyde. I sure hope you don't keep your mind closed forever."

"Forget about it, Ryan. No kazoos in this band. Ever. I should stomp the damn thing until it's busted right in front of you. Those things are so childish. We're trying to be real musicians here. You'd make us look like fools at the Battle of the Bands if you tooted that darn kazoo throughout our songs. Hell, you make so many mistakes as it is just trying to play your bass by itself, there's no way you should be thinking of trying to play another instrument along with it."

Ryan went over to the kazoo, bent and picked it up. He brought it close to his nose and examined it for damages. Then he brushed it off and stuck it in his pocket. "You're not a real musician, Clyde. If you were you would appreciate different kinds of instruments and every type of music out there. I saw a picture of the great Leonard Bernstein playing a kazoo once. He is a real musician. Not you. You have no vision, man. You don't see the potential inherent in unusual combinations of instruments. We could really transcend through the use of a kazoo. But no. You have to accept what other people tell you is correct. You close your mind tight as a steel trap and just shove everything away. Just because the common multitude says that kazoos are too simple. I should stop playing bass in this band right now and start playing kazoos exclusively. It's a wonderful instrument and it makes me sad to know you'll never be able to appreciate its capabilities."

The drummer walked in. Shane. He was six foot six with a long thin face and a mass of curly blonde hair that stuck out in all directions. He stared at Clyde and Ryan, sensed the tension between them and said, "What's wrong, guys? Is there a problem?"

"No," Clyde said. "No problem at all. Ryan just wants to incorporate a stupid buzzing noisy kazoo into our music, playing it on every song, and I told him it was a ridiculous idea. So now he's throwing a little hissy fit about it, aren't you Ryan?"

"A kazoo, huh?" said Shane. "Hmm... That could be interesting. Have you guys tried it yet? How does it sound?"

Ryan smiled at Clyde, then lifted the kazoo out of his pocket.

-end-

(The story above is actually a chapter from my novel, Heartless Bast*rd In Ecstasy. Google the title for more information.)

Bio: Jason Earls is the author of the books Cocoon of Terror (Afterbirth Books), Red Zen, How to Become a Guitar Player from Hell, Heartless Bastard In Ecstasy, If(Sid_Vicious == TRUE && Alan_Turing == TRUE) {ERROR_Cyberpunk(); } and 0.136101521283655... all available at Amazon.com and other online book stores. His fiction and mathematical work have been published in Red Scream, Scientia Magna, three of Clifford Pickover's books, Neometropolis, Wretched & Violent, Mathworld, Chiaroscuro, Switchblade, Dogmatika, Prime Curios, the Online Encyclopedia of Integer Sequences, OG's Speculative Fiction, AlienSkin, Escaping Elsewhere, Werewolf, Recreational and Educational Computing, Thirteen, Theatre of Decay, Nocturnal Ooze, Prime Curios, Bust Down the Door and Eat All the Chickens, Swallow's Tail, and other publications. He currently resides in Texas with his wife, Christine.