This deserves an explanation. After watching Almost Famous about three times in a row, I wanted to make a story that kinda summed up what I felt about the ideas presented in that movie. So, I made this. It took me two writing sessions. One, really late at night, at about 3:30 in the morning, and now this one, which just finished, at exactly 1:10 am. So, this is not a story with a beggining and an end. It's more of a descriptive thingy. With descriptions of the feelings, the situations and the words I think the people who lived in these times would've been sorrounded by.
If you haven't seen the movie, watch it. This is not fanfic in any way, but I would suggest you watch that movie before reading this. Plus, listen to Tiny Dancer too. And please critique! Thanks a lot.
1974
They tried to make their way through the crowd, and between shoves, grunts, and pushing they managed to get a lot closer to the stage. He bought the tickets from his brother, who couldn’t be there because he had to work. And when Ray announced he was going to the concert, the three Forman kids quickly acquired their own tickets using any means available to them. They always followed Ray around. They would dress like he dressed; they would listen to same music he listened to. Ray would kid them around, saying that he already had one shadow and he didn’t three others, but he knew they were his only friends. In secret, he dreaded the day the Forman brothers stopped looking up to him, and realized this as well. So, Ray took his thick aviator sunglasses off and handed them to Georgie, the youngest of the three. Look at the world through these, he told him. Wink. George grinned widely. He felt happy.
“It’s not about the early days, man. You say they’ve gone commercial? I say, bullshit. In the early days, sure, they were creative, and they weren’t bad at all, but they sound like amateurs, man. Like eager little kids playing around with new toys. Now, they’re sophisticated. Commercial? Are you serious? I say, sophisticated.”
“You know? When they started experimenting, I wasn’t thrilled. I mean, who the fuck needs some second-rate Beatles/Lou Reed hybrid, huh? But then, they kinda started getting their own sound, you know? They started to be… different. Don’t get me wrong, they were still doing the same stuff Velvet Underground was doing, which was, you know, getting a lot of weird sounds, some steady guitar, and then chopping them together and seeing if it worked, but they were doing it… With their own sound. And I was hooked.”
“Pot is dead. Marimba is… gone. And people say they miss it. Why? I don’t. They say they miss the organic stuff. That weed took them, you know, closer to nature and shit. Fuck that. Give me some LSD, man. Acid. Chemicals are on the rise. And the more you stick into your body, you know what? The closer you are of being… them. Right? Of being Bowie. Of being Nash. Of being Cocker. Marihuana has left the fucking building, man.”
Vincent took a drag from his cigarette, and eyed Jenna for a second. She had Tommy’s arms around her. Vince smiled. His friend had been wooing Jenna for as long as he could remember; it just took her this long to finally pay attention to him. Tommy had endured her countless boyfriends, and flings, and tonight it all paid off. He felt happy for him. Vince chuckled, and scratched his long, greasy hair, while scanning the area around him in an attempt to perhaps find somebody to fulfill his own romantic necessities. He failed miserably. He was surrounded by drunken school boys, and drugged out chicks that, he imagined, in a miscalculated act of rebellion, refused to shave, or bathe any part of their bodies. He wondered how much would the band take to go on, and if he had enough time to pay a visit to the bathroom.
“He’s probably a vegetarian. I mean, I just can’t imagine God giving such power… Like, the power of song, you know? Just to fucking sing like that. I can’t imagine God, in all his infinite wisdom, or whatever, giving it to someone who eats innocent animals. I can’t. He must be a vegetarian.”
“There’s a part in that song, actually… Nobody ever notices it because it comes right before the drum solo, but… It’s this neat little thing he does with the guitar. He kinda, I don’t know what the fuck it’s called, but he kinda hits, like, this small set of notes so fast that nobody even really acknowledges they’ve heard it… And it makes the song. It just makes the fucking song. And nobody realizes it. That’s why they’re geniuses. I mean, that’s the goddamn reason. Because they’re so good that nobody even knows how good they are.”
“I heard they hate each other. That’s why I came, I mean, this is probably their last concert together, isn’t it? I mean, I heard they can’t stand each other. That’s probably why they’re so good together, though.”
Even though the crowd had been standing around for almost an hour, there was almost no booing, or complaining. The people simply talked about what songs they wanted to listen to, how long they wished the show would last, what lyrics they felt the most strongly about, what other concerts had been legendary, how the sound of the guitar was… incendiary. There was a group however, older than most of the others, sitting far in the back, clean-shaved, their hair elegantly combed backwards, that had been hissing about the delay to anybody who would listen. They worked as salesmen for a local goods store, and had won their tickets in the annual raffle. They didn’t really want to be there, but it would’ve been rude to turn down a gift from their boss. Specially this close to the Employee-of-the-Year party. Mumbling to each other, they crossed their legs tightly together almost ceremoniously, waiting for the music to come and go, so that they could go home.
“I’ve traveled all around the country with nothing but a bag full of clothes, and my guitar. It was the most enlightening experience of my life. I’ve done every little thing you could ever imagine. Even more. And that’s the kind of trip that builds an artist. My friend, those weren’t vacations. Those months on the road were school. They taught me. The roads spoke, and I listened, and I learned.”
“Well, I’m his soulmate. He doesn’t know it yet, but… He will. Because I have seen inside his soul, and I know he will love me.”
“No, I wouldn’t say they were influenced by Zeppelin. I mean, sure, you could say anybody’s influenced by Zeppelin, but that’s just because they came earlier. No. Just listen to me. These bands that are surfacing, what, seven, maybe six years after Led Zeppelin started to be heavy, they were trying to surface during the same time Zeppelin was. And they were influenced by the same stuff Zeppelin was influenced by. Right? That is, Muddy Waters, et-fucking-cetera.”
“It beats any orgasm in the world. It beats every rush that ever existed. It beats any drug, any high. It’s everything. They are everything.”
Stephanie had been trying to get his attention all night. She was already pretty drunk, but still jumped at the chance of slamming down some more alcohol whenever he was looking. Clumsily, she made her way towards him, and pulled his hand. He turned around, and smiled at her, then returned his attention towards his group of friends. Disheartened, Stephanie returned hers to the bottle of whiskey she had smuggled in. Her friends didn’t stop her, although they wanted to. They will probably end up carrying her home. They sigh. It is going to be a long night. Meanwhile, he’s still trying to build up the courage to go talk to her.
“—piano man/he makes his stand/on the auditorium/looking on/she sings her song/the words she knows/the tune she hums/hold me closer tiny dancer—”
“There are about fifty variations of Tae-Kwon-Do. I’ve studied every single one. And it’s a proven fact in circles of the sport, that listening to music can soothe you into a trance that makes you deadly for your enemies. That’s why Japanese music is so fucked up. Because if they would’ve played something like this, or… I don’t know, something that even resembled post-Sgt. Pepper’s Beatles, then there would be no Japanese. They would’ve killed each other already. I know these things, because I’ve studied them. It’s crazy, man. Crazy. That’s why I always pack a record player. You never know when you have to use your abilities. And if I do use them, I go for the kill. No questions asked.”
“I think somebody’s singing Elton John. Heh. Ha, ha… What was that? Oh, nothing. It’s just that… I find amusing the fact that… You know, anybody would sing a song by an artist who is known for sticking to what’s considered establishment in the business, when they’re attending a concert by a group that’s known for their anti-establishment roots. I mean… I just find it sad for the… music.”
“Look, it’s just that… They spoke to me. They spoke to me, man. They… With their songs, those songs were my songs. They were meant for me. And for you. And for everybody else. I mean, they are the voice of our fucking— They’re our legacy. You know? They speak all the things that we wanna hear. That given the spotlight, that given their talent, we would say.”
Paris had sneaked out of her house. Klaus had stolen money from his father to buy the tickets. Harmony had to kiss a girl for hers. But it was all worth it. Because when the lights went off, and the crowd cheered, and the roar traveled across the room, from right to left, from back to front, and the promoter announced the names they had all been waiting to hear, they forgot about everything else. It didn’t matter to Johnny that he had left the baby with his mother, who was probably drinking. It didn’t matter to Valerie that she had been throwing up all day, and that her period was late. It didn’t matter to Howard that it’d probably take a month to get Gaby to forgive him for going for the concert without her. And the band marches out, their silhouettes carved by the multicolored lights that fill the stage. The guitar-man raises his instrument and hits a string. The sound is almost lost among the screaming. But not quite. Then the singer sings his song, and the drummer joins in, all of them carried firmly by the bass. Some of the people listening are crying. It’s the first time Jean has in years, and her father died just last month. In the back, the salesmen start to nod; they carry the rhythm with their feet. One of them even stands up.
They will all remember this night forever.
But not much else.
