The True History of the Red Cents
"I'm getting a posse together," spoke Wyatt Earl.
Everyone within earshot gasped. The ragtime piano cut short with a press of the iPod dock. Wyatt Earl straightened his string tie.
"A posse, Wyatt?" asked one of the fourteen buxom wenches tiered around our dapper hero.
'You heard me, woman," said Wyatt as he stirred his echinacea tea and honey.
'Who ya huntin', Wyatt?" asked the eager barkeep.
"Not 'who', my dear fellow, but 'what'. I'm gonna hunt me down some good times."
And with that Wyatt Earl stood, dusting several buxom wenches off his lap and waistcoat. Taking one last sip of his soothing beverage he strode from the tabaret's bistro into the street.
Wyatt Earl found the Frog selling whisky to famous ex-footballers at an infamous bottle-o.
"I need you in my posse, Frog."
"Forget it, Earl. It's stubbies or cans for me these days. That and my higher calling -- making the word a better place by penning obscure academic essays."
"Just take a look at this before you say no."
And as Tony Shaw and Johnnie "the Rat" Platten waited in line for their Chivas Regal, Wyatt Earl convinced the Frog that his destiny lay with him by showing him tapes of Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem ripping it up on the security camera system.
"Damn, those muppets are good."
"We were good too, Frog. And can be again."
"But what about ol' Smokey? Ain't heard tell of him for nigh on to two years."
"You let me worry about Smokey Dave. Just you get yourself a drum kit."
Earl found Smokey Dave on his pappy's ranch on the outskirts of Ballarat, firing crossbow bolts into the eyes of a life-size Ben Lee cutout. He sat back cautiously on his Malvern Star steed and put a lolly cigar in his mouth.
"Long time no jam, Wyatt," said Dave over his shoulder.
"Where you been, Smokey?"
Dave clicked another shaft into the prodigy's face.
"I been getting together a fistful of yen, boy. And now I'm looking to spend up big."
"What on?"
"Reckon it's time we cut ourselves a disc."
The posse almost complete, they dropped into the jazz laboratory of Big Andy T, bassist extraordinaire. As they rode their steeds down the corridor of the lab they could hear jazz chops flying all over the place. Charlie Parker coming out of one stereo, Wayne Shorter out of another, Bill Evans from a third. Big Andy T sat in the middle of the speakers, following each rhythm with the tapping of a different hand or foot. With his spare hand he was flicking through a theory book five and a half feet thick. His double bass was levitating above his head and playing by itself.
"Let me guess," he said, "you want me to join your rock band."
"It's a posse , man."
"It's a rock band, Earl. My fee is $200 per set, $500 per recording session, transport and drinks."
"We offer a one-quarter cut of whatever we make, which will probably be nothing, and a two-beer rider per gig."
"Close enough. Count me in."
And with that The Red Cents had formed, ready to ride out across the semi-temperate tundra of urban Melbourne and outlying districts, spreading the word of chops-laden roots rock. And they did cut that disc -- available at gigs - and sent that out across the land. But always their gaze is fixed on the horizon, on pleasing the punters, on the next heartfelt tune...
***
So maybe you wanna branch out to some other sites. Enjoy these band sites belonging to our mates:
CWQ www.cwq.com.au
The Ryecatchers www.theryecatchers.com
Hey, do us a favour and hassle these radio stations to give us a spin.
www.pbsfm.org.au
www.rrr.org.au |
