Nutrition proves to be a bust, as half our group skips school entirely. Jace and I go to the garage; only Max is there. He quickly sniffs our pockets. Finding no pot, he becomes disgruntled. He looks forlornly at us, barking several times to tell us we have to go out and score for him. We go to Robby’s where he and Mary are still sleeping. Robby hands me a couple of joints and tells us to come back at a more reasonable hour. Max wags his tail furiously when we return. John, Dave and Jazz skipped and are waiting for us. Max has given them the word. Soon he is stretched out on his back, unable to get up, while the rest of us tell our stories of the previous night’s tripping.
“I got totally naked,” Jazz says, showing the scratches on his chest, “and was fucking this awesome chick, but when I got done, she was nothing but a dirty, old blanket.”
“Nothing new about that,” Dave jokes, “except it’s usually your nasty old pillow.”
“Well, you said you met Jesus,” Jazz retorts.
“Did you guys get it on?” John teases Dave. “Maybe you better confess all your sins to the old priest”
“Don’t be so gay.” Dave mumbles.
“Why so subdued, dude?” Jazz asks him.
“I know it’s wrong to worship false idols, but I did it anyway. Now I’m paying the price. Maybe another hit will get rid of my headache.”
“After you confess to the old priest.”
Dawn walks in, complaining that she came by earlier and only Max was there.
“Did he bark at you to go get weed?”
“Yeah, so I scored at gym class. I hate going to gym class.”
“Light it up.”
Max perks up his ears. Somehow he makes it to his feet for another round of second-hand hits. He ends up in the corner, sighing, with his right front paw over his eye.
“Look at Spot in the corner,” someone says.
Jace and I move on either side of Max. We stroke and scratch him until he falls asleep with his head on Jace’s lap and the rest of him on me.
“What a nice family moment,” Dave teases. “Tell us about your tripping last night.
“I can’t remember anything before we got home,” Jace says.
“Me, too,” I add. “It’s like a dream that fades quickly.”
“You didn’t come home last night,” John accuses Jace.
“Oh, I crashed at Tim’s. We wrote a song for our new band. We practiced until we could barely stand up.”
“New band?” John rebukes him. “You don’t even have a decent amp. You can’t have a band with a practice amp.”
“We’re working on it,” he answers. “But the new song is called ‘False Gods.’ We wrote it when we got back and remembered more about last night’s ceremony.”
“So you think Robby’s ritual was all false?” John asks.
“No. We are false gods, wanting to be worshiped by you sheep.”
“Bah, Bah,” Iggy walks in. “Yer all sheep.”

This kidding goes on and on. They want me to sing the new song. I tell them it is not finished. Someone puts Zeppelin on the stereo. We all sing ‘Stairway to Heaven.’

Instead of going to Robby’s later for afternoon delight/Colombian Gold, Jace and I go back to my room. We are excited about working on songs. He plugs in his practice amp and plays the ‘False Gods’ chorus, even faster than the night before.

“If you play it that fast, nobody will understand the words.”
“Try dropping down an octave and filling in the bottom, like a bass, while I add some leads at the end of each line.”
We try this mix, but I switch back to singing in his high pitch guitar range without meaning to.
“I wanna sing it with you, not fill in the bottom,” I complain.
“And I thought you like being a bottom,” he razzes me.
“Okay,” as I go to my knees and lean way back, “I’ll show you a real bottom.”
He plays the leads first, then switches to the chorus. I slide under his guitar and sing from the my diaphragm, instead of the top of my larynx. I shuffle on my knees so I am right under him. He rocks the guitar against my outstretched groin, thrusting it at me. He is lost in his playing while I grind on his guitar. By the time he stops, his dick is fully aroused. My butt aches for it and gives me an obvious boner.
“We can’t play in front of people like this,” he complains.
“Jace, you’ll drive the girls mad with that humongous dick.”
“It’s too gay.”
“Nothing’s too gay between us.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” Then he kisses me.
“That’s pretty gay,” I concur.
“What if I can’t help it?”
“Hey, any publicity is better than none. We’ll be the first band with a gay following.
“What about Bowie? T Rex, Mott the Hopple?”
“What about Golden Earring? ‘Radar Love.’
We sing, in harmony, “We’ve got a thing, that’s called radar love. We’ve got a light in the sky,….. radio played that forgotten song, ….one more radar lover gone.”

GOLDEN EARRING “Radar Love” (G.Kooymans/B.Hay)

I pound on my bureau the’ bam bom bom bom butta bom bom’ beat until Jace starts his leads into “radio played…”  I scream out the words, going as high as I can, leaning back to back with Jace, my body jerking to his thrashing motion on guitar. He is so into it he does not notice when I wind an old Alaskan scarf around both our necks. When he hits the final chord and jumps up, I am violently shaken on his back, caught by the scarf. Jace gets into it and spins me around. We bounce up and down together, our dicks obviously happy to meet each another again. I look at him, thinking he will freak out and throw me aside. He smiles and we get goofy grin going until we both collapse. Jace strings out different leads.

Time for a new song
“You got that chord?” I ask
He plays it perfectly. First time.

I sing:

“He’s the boy who breaks all the rules.

He takes his time until you’re primed,

then gets it done in 60 seconds flat.

Out the door always wanting more.

Don’t tell him you’ll do it later

cause you know he’s gonna do you now.

Love it.

Want it

Now”

Jace perks up when he hears ‘love.’
“Yeah, love song. You promised we’d start one today.”
“You in love?”
“Yup,” goofy grin.
“Me, too.”
“How long’s it been?”
“Same as you.”
“You always knew?”
“Sure, no doubt. You came for help. Works every time. My main weakness.”
“How come you ain’t beat up a lot.”
“I know why the hater hates and have been there myself.”
“You’re cool.”
“You’re hot.”
“Unfair. Reset…”

Listening to love songs on am/fm radio:

‘(Love, love, love)
(Love, love, love)
(Love, love, love)
There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done
Nothing you can sing that can’t be sung

Writer(s): Gary Glitter, Paul Mccartney, Mike Leander, John Lennon
Copyright: Sony/ATV Tunes LLC, MCA Music Ltd.

“We’re not doing that song,” Jace decides.
“But that’s how we feel. Use it for inspiration. Let your own music come out. Don’t think that you are trying to be better than the Beatles. Just play what you feel – make it our chord – we’ll go from there. I’ll write down what we say. So to get others to listen, try to rhyme, ‘cause a real rhyme in time rings true. People want the truth. They will pay. So play, you and I talk in rhyme, and someone will still know it’s a simple love song. Go.”
“I’ll start:

‘I never thought I’d feel this way.
I go around happy every day.”
“My goofy grin,
takes it on the chin.”
“We’re perfect for each other
I can’t think of any other..”
“Then you, you fool.”

“Not a rhyme,” we stop.
Jace did his lines twice,

“I wake up every day with you by my side,
You reach and touch me when I say goodbye.
There’s no future, so let’s have now.
Don’t ask, some way, somehow.
We’re perfect for each other,
I can’t think of another.
I can’t trust love, but who can say
Knowing you’re here to stay?”

I write it all down, even where it does not rhyme or has different rhythms/meters.
When Jace listens to a lyric, he plays a different chord that strikes his imagination. The different rhythms disrupt his lead solos, so he moves to a note that fits his mood. ‘Goofy grin’ makes him smile so grin/chin is a true rhyme. A new chord appears, all happy and bright. Then with the rhyme ‘who can say you’re here to stay?’ doubt crosses Jace’s mind, and a dissonant scale runs up the neck.   Then a perfect A rings in the chorus:

‘We can’t live all by ourselves.
We need people we can love
We hate those who hate themselves
We know what we’re made of.’

So, we have our love song. Jace agrees that a little Beatles inspiration is okay. His style creates a mood for more than love. He grabs me and throws me on the bed (No.8). As I fall, I glance out the window and see Robby and Mary watching us. I panic. As he dives on top of me, I roll sideways and whisper ‘Robby.’ Not one to skip a beat, he lifts my rag doll body over his shoulder. He turns to the window and shouts, “Welcome to the Jungle.” with lips like Mick.

It takes Robby a few seconds to recover from being exposed.
“Fuck you guys! What is all that?”
I jump down, “Band practice. Did you see ‘Radar Love?’”
Robby drags Mary by the hand into my room through the window. She still seems stunned from last night, but it might be the shock of seeing us fag off. I play it safe.
“Whatcha think of our stage presence?”
“What the fuck?” Robby repeats himself. “It’s better than Kiss.”
“Not better than the New York Dolls.”
“You seen them?”
“I sang ‘Personality Crisis” with David Johansen at CBGB’s.”
“What the fuck? Where’d you learn them moves?”
“He sang ‘Trash’ to me.”
“This is your band’s music?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Jace just wrote a total song. You saw it created from nothing.
“You need longer hair.”
“Fucking hell. This is us. You promised to be our drummer once Samhain was over. Get us amps, someplace to rock out. This is the band, ‘False Gods.’
“You never told me what you saw. You are the seer of the spirits. Tell us what’s your vision?”
“I let the spirits in. I died and went to Hell. I spoke with God. He laughed at me. This is my vision, the band, ‘False Gods.’ Now make it happen.”
I had never seen Robby in awe of anything. Now I really see him, just a kid, who controls his friends with pot.
“Can you do it?” I ask.
“What?”
“Play drums with us, get Jace a decent amp, find a place to practice. This is my vision for us.”
“Do I gotta give up drugs?”
“Why the fuck ask that? This is rock n roll, not college.”
I think about Mary, sitting listless and spaced out. I put out my hand, grab hers and pull her to her feet.
“Please sing with me.’
She looks lost.
“’Freebird,’” I whisper to her and Jace.

He picks out the melody, note by note, sliding down and back up the neck, leading up to our vocals.

“If I leave here tomorrow” (I sing to her)
“Would you still remember me?” (she sings back)
“For I must be traveling on, now,” (I return)
“’Cause there’s too many places,” (she returns)
“I’ve got to see.” (We both sing)
“But, if I stayed here with you, girl” (Me )
“Things just couldn’t be the same” (Mary)
“’Cause I’m as free as a bird now” (Me)
“And this bird, you can not change.” (She finishes)
… and together we sang the long chorus:

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
And the bird you cannot change
And this bird you cannot change
Lord knows, I can’t change
Lord help me, I can’t change
Lord I can’t change
Won’t you fly high, free bird, yeah?”

Songwriters
VAN ZANT, RONNIE / COLLINS, ALLEN
Published by
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

Jace does the long guitar solo while Mary and I hug Robby until he finally smiles with us.

Samhain complete. Stardust ahead.

The next couple of days, Robby moves his drums over to my room and we practice in the afternoon. A few days later, I find a note from Dad that the neighbors complained. Jace worries Dad will find out he is staying with me, so we move to the garage. John has a conniption fit about the garage being busted. We promise to sound proof it with egg cartons. Jace’s step-mom comes home and kicks us out. Robby still has not found us a real amp. Jace brings his SG back to my room. We ban everyone else from coming over and tell Robby he is also banned, until he comes through as he promised. He gets Michael to let us practice at his house, a mansion south of Bird Road. It has a music room, with drums set up, a piano, several amps and a mic’d PA. Good job, Robby. Now we have two drummers and have to put up with Michael’s little sisters, who try to watch, until Michael is real mean to them. Jace takes a while to adjust when anyone new is there. I worry he will have stage fright when we actually perform. I start learning rhythm guitar (axe thanks to Michael). We practice so much, Jace just knows when I am going to miss a note. He slides to my wrong note and turns it sweet. It is so much fun, I get lazy about practicing, knowing my mistakes are part of the songs. So every time we play a song, it is always different due to the random errors that need harmonizing. I love being saved by his virtuosity. Because he has to pay attention to me, he forgets about everyone else in the room. Soon the regulars follow Robby over every three o’clock for their joint hookup and random people are coming over because word is spreading about us.

We are asked to play a Thanksgiving party for college kids home for the holiday. Someone makes a flyer for the party with a turkey flying across a poster of Lynyrd Skynyrd, saying ‘free bird’ and the party address. Mary is really nervous about singing with me. I go with her to Church. She loses herself in the gospel music that Santeria people all love. Afterwards, she smiles at me.
“I guess if I can sing out in front of God, a bunch of stoned college kids won’t faze me.”
I can tell she is pleased with my little manipulation. She asks to bring her girlfriends to practice.

Robby and Michael are constantly fighting with each other about the various drum parts. I make them practice so there are no abrupt shifts, each fading in and out with the other. Jace and I know it will not be perfect, but two drummers has to be better than one. Michael’s dad wants to come and see Michael play. We tell him it is up to the people having the party. We say he will be on the guest list. Then everyone wants to be on the list, so we tell them if they sneak in, they can go. We rationalize that it is just a party. We will play what people want to hear. We plan to only do one of our own songs, False Gods, and then end it with Free Bird. I tell Mary to sit by the band to be ready for ‘our’ song and for any backup vocals to the covers we are asked to do.
Pete, the party’s host, comes by to make sure we are good enough for his friends. We put on a real show for him, then ask what covers he wants us to do at the party. He asks for The Eagles’ ‘Take it Easy,’
I turn around and go; “One, two, three, four.”

‘Well I’m a-runnin’ down the road try’n to loosen my load…’

Writer(s): Jackson Browne, Delbert Mcclinton, Glenn Lewis Frey
Copyright: Music Corp. Of America Inc., Swallow Turn Music

Mary gets up for the chorus. Pete just stares at us in disbelief.
“Was that just luck that you knew my song?” and we do the first few bars of his next three choices.
“You’re hired.”
“We want a hundred bucks and you pay for beer and pizza at Sorrento’s.
“$80 bucks?”
“$125 bucks.”
“Okay, a hundred and pizza.”
“And beer.”
“Okay, Okay. The Saturday after Thanksgiving.”

Robby pulls out a joint. Our promoter promptly gets high and ends up taking us all to Sorrento’s. It costs him twenty bucks more. We celebrate in our normal booth. Pete is afraid he will get carded, but we tell him we are locals and know the Don. It is the first time we have been back since I blew the last of my Hollywood money. Robby asks about my past, New York, Hollywood, Alice’s Restaurant (I just tell him about the burned-out Viet Vets).
“I thought you were some hayseed that got lost trying to find a swim team – just a jockhead.”
“After seeing all the junkies and whores when I was fourteen, it scared me straight.”
“There’s not a straight bone in your body.” Mary jeers at me.
I leaned over the table, take her friend’s chin in my hand and lay on the longest French kiss in Sorrento’s history. Maybe the only one.
“How’s that for straight?” I challenge Mary. Her friend is choking from shock.
Jace moves over and Frenches me back. That turns heads.
“Jealous,” I ask him.
“No, just needed to know you’re still you.”
“No doubt.”

“They’ll find us out.”
“True as a rhyme that flew.”
All at once five people need to know if we are really gay. We both have practiced our comeback, “Gay as night and day, straight as come what may.”
Most of them just scratch their heads
“A rhyme in time is always true.” We are finished with that question.
I look over at Mary’s friend, who is still in shock, “How about double dating with Robby and Maria. Jace doesn’t date yet.”
Mary says, “We need to talk about this later.”

They go to the Ladies together. I realize that girls always go together to compare notes. Boys only go together to compare each other.
Jace whispers in my ear, “You naughty boy.”
“Payback is tonight.” I answer.

Our sex life has a simple routine. Jace likes to get off as many times as possible, but usually wants to be the top. I can handle him once a session, usually the first and quickest time for us both to get off. I’m not about to get loose and flabby over some cucumber dick. So after round one, whoever stays hard initiates the next round, with more variety of action, kinks and role-playing. The long fuck is saved for the shower, with me washing him inside out, but occasionally both of us getting off in the warm water which never runs out. Go, Dad, with the extra-large water heater.

I am making a bit of an effort with Susan, who I realize is a passive ally by not intruding into my room. She asks if I will go out to eat Thanksgiving dinner with them. I think and carefully ask if I can bring Jace. She looks at Dad, who is trying to be noncommittal, and then nods at me. I give her my biggest, fakest smile, and she is all smiles, too. Dad looks suspicious but says nothing.
Dad chooses a fussy French restaurant in the Gables. I lend Jace a jacket, and he swears not to tell Robby that we actually wore shoes to dinner. Dad and Susan like that Jace is so quiet. He does not seem uncomfortable, just taking it all in. I cannot help myself and propose a toast.
“To the best Mom and Dad in the world.”
They both blush, which is odd for adults. I go right ahead and tell them about our band.
“Our first show is tomorrow night,” I announce.
“You want us to come?” they dutifully ask.
“It’s a college party, not really a sit-down recital. We’ll get a real gig with seating which you will really enjoy. Jace is a genius on guitar.” He blushes and wants me to end any conversation about him.
“What instrument do you play, Tim?” Susan asks.
“Rhythm guitar and vocals, which I share with Mary. Robby and Michael both play drums.
“Two drummers?” Dad asks.
“Yeah, it’s a new idea. We rock it so hard on guitar we need two sets of drums to keep up. And, also, they own most of the equipment.”
“Doesn’t sound like our kind of music,” Dad dismisses the idea of going.

Dinner goes so well that Susan says we will do it again. Jace has trouble with the crème Brule, which looks burned to him. Susan shows him how to crack the glaze. He eats all the cream and leaves the glaze.
When we get back to the room, before we strip and attack each other, I hold Jace before a mirror, noting how nice we look together. My jacket was a little long on him, but he stands up to fill it out.
“How about we dress up for tomorrow night?” Normally we just wear frayed jeans and ratty shirts, without shoes.
“I ain’t wearin’ shoes,” he declares.
“Fine, no one will know unless they look. Robby and Michael – no one sees them in the back. Mary is sure to dress up.”
“Okay, enough fashion talk. I got hormones to lose.”
We do it, half-dressed, with white shirts and black trousers still mostly on. He looks like a hungry vulture flapping his open shirt, thrusting like we are a washing machine load going round and round. This goes on like we are practicing for doing it on stage Friday, until he comes, pulls out and offers his virginal self to me. What a come on. By the time I am finished, he is back to full glory. I fall asleep, but he drags me into the shower, where he does me lying on the tiles with the water splashing over us.   But that may be a dream. Before going to sleep, he murmurs, “Thanks.” I do not need to ask what for. It is the giving thanks holiday.

We wake up the morning of the party full of crème Brule driven energy. We get Robby and Mary and go to Michael’s house to move the equipment to the party location. No one thought about logistics, nor does anyone have a car. It is about fifteen blocks to the party. We discuss pushing everything by hand. The speakers have wheels, but the 2 drum sets must be carried. As we start to move everything, Michael’s dad walks into the music room. He asks if we need help. Cool. Well, he knows a guy, and a rental truck shows up shortly. We tell Michael’s dad he can be our manager for the night; he looks at Michael, who reluctantly agrees. His dad seems pleased to be helping. We arrive at the house and meet Pete, the college kid having the party. He is impressed we have an equipment truck. Soon we set up to do a sound check. I need Mary to check her vocal levels for singing with me. We do Free Bird, which goes on forever. She is suddenly shy again. I tell her it is the last song we do, so she will be plenty relaxed by then. I also encourage her to stand up and do backup vocals, when she feels moved by the music. A second mic is set up on the side. The party room is big with all the furniture removed. I have a notepad which I plan to use for song requests solicited from the crowd before we go on. Jace is so excited about our first gig, even though it is just a party. He starts to get all hyper, running around checking everything twice. I drag him into a bathroom for a quick blow job. He is more together after that. Pete has beers for everyone. I keep an eye on Michael’s dad, who seems comfortable with it all. He later tells me Michael has been drinking for years. The only rule is he only drinks at home. He seems to give Michael a lot of leeway. It is just odd to have a parent hanging out with us. We go off with Pete to Sorrento’s for pre-show pizza. Pete asks Michael’s dad if he will drive us back to the party. He has lots to do to get ready. He gives him thirty bucks to pay the bill, which amuses Michael’s dad no end.
“How’d you find a place to serve 16 year olds beer,” he asks us when he comes back to the table.
“We just used your name,” Robby blurts out.
Michael looks a bit panicked. His dad just laughs, “Good plan.”

It is eight o’clock by the time we get back to Pete’s. College kids are milling around the house. Someone is sitting at Robby’s drum kit, trying to do solo rolls. Robby gets in his face and kicks him off the stool. He is no competition. I go around the house and ask for song requests and bands for us to cover. Lots of people do not have a clue of what they like. The choices range from Sha Na Nah to Black Sabbath. No Bowie or other glitter bands, not for the preppy college crowd. The Doors and Grateful Dead are favorites; I think of them as oldies. Morrison has died and the Dead are just a Frisco blues band. I look out at our friends. They are sitting quietly by the equipment. Stage fright.
“This is a party. Get your asses out there and talk to the people. Get a beer and find out what songs they want to hear,” I yell at them.
They seem to wake up and disperse into various rooms. We are fearless. When people look at us like kids, we tell them we are the band and promise to play their favorite music. We say our name is False Gods. By nine o’clock we are ready to go on.
I jump up to the mike, “Hello, hello.”
Then I see a big guy pushing Dave, Jazz, and John out the door.
“Hey, leave them kids alone. They’re our friends.”

“Yeah, let ’em stay. They’re with the band,” several college types yell as well.
The bouncer looks over at Pete, who signals it is okay. The gang is set free. Iggy, Dawn, and Greg also come running in.

“Thank you, thank you. We are False Gods…. One , two, three, four,..”
We break into “Louie Louie’ by the Kingsmen.

It’s funky enough that several girls run to the front, shaking and bumping in front of us. Pretty soon about ten girls are all dancing with their boyfriends who nervously look like they do not like to dance.
We play ‘Radar Love’ next.

With the long drum solo intro, two drummers get the boys swaying in place while their girlfriends back into their arms and sway with them. When I break in with the vocals, with an up tempo beat, the girls are bouncing as the boys try to hold on and have to bounce with them. Some girls break free with the boys chasing them across the floor. A bunch of kids run to the front and are singing all the words with me. At the end, we do not pause and go straight into Stairway to Heaven,

which slows everyone down, back to swaying. We switch to Sabbath’s “Paranoid.’

“Finished with my woman `cause she couldn`t help me with my mind.
People think I`m insane because I am frowning all the time.”

Songwriters
ANTHONY IOMMI, WILLIAM WARD, TERENCE BUTLER, JOHN OSBOURNE
Published by
Lyrics © T.R.O. INC.

With a real metal song to rock out to, the guys take the lead. Not dancing but bumping and grinding on the girls in their arms. Those alone start moving helter-skelter all around the space before the band. Real metal brings in people from the other rooms. We have an actual crowd pushing toward the front. All our stoner friends act like true groupies, shouting and yelling our names. The Doors’ ‘Love Her Madly’ gets arms in the air.

At the end someone yells “Beatles.’ I wink at Jace. He breaks into ‘All You Need is Love.”

I put my arm around his shoulder and sing to him, “Love, love, love, Love is all you need.” Nobody is dancing, but the girls have that longing look, watching us, as the boys hold them and sway. Jace plays real slow and easy, leaning back into me, so we are swaying together. I move the mike so we are both singing. I see a couple of guys react to the sight of teen boys singing to each other by holding tightly to their girlfriends. Other boys push their way to the front to be closer. I almost think Jace is going to kiss me, but at the end he does a wind up finish, that pushes me aside.
“We’re going to take a break,” I announce. We walk off arm in arm.
People yell for more and clap a lot.
“We’ll be back. Someone get me a beer.”

We collapse on the floor next to Mary and Michael’s dad. Robby and Michael, who continue to play dueling drum rolls, finally come over. Michael has that ‘was it okay, Dad,’ look on his face. His dad grabs him, bouncing him up and down.
“That’s amazing. I’ve been to concerts from Sinatra to the Beatles. I’ve never seen a band get the crowd going like that.’
“Well, it’s all covers, so they already love the songs.”
“How do you know what to play?”
“We asked them before the show.
“You can just play those songs from memory?”
“Sure, we grew up on this music – oldies, pop, rock, metal, even all those dumb show tunes you made us listen to growing up.”
“Michael, I’m so proud of you. Who came up with the double drums?”
“Well, it’s so we could all play together. We’re all best friends.” I say with my arm around Jace. “But Robby and Michael kinda compete with each other. It creates a different energy. As long as they stay on beat, they can duel each other as much as they want. It does blow up sometimes, but Jace is able to make it work – he’s a guitar hero.”

Another adult comes up. Seeing us talking to Michael’s dad makes it more comfortable for him to chat us up.. He says all the normal fan things and asks if we have a manager. I point to Michael’s dad. They go off and talk. Some girls bring beers over for us. A shy girl has one for Mary, who looks bemused. All our stoner friends want beers, but are told to get them at the bar, so they leave. The girls ask all of us questions. About where we go to school, we say we’re dropouts, bad boys. They think we’re older than 16. Jace soon has a couple of obvious groupies, which makes me slightly jealous. He is clueless. When they offer him coke, he says, “Break it out,” They just want him alone, so he blows it off. Time for a second set. I get us all together, telling Mary to do backups this time. She is happy to get away from her new girlfan. I say we will do our own song, but first we should warm everybody back up with Kiss’s ‘Party’ song. Once everyone is in their places, I jump up, grab the mike, and scream, “Rock n roll all night and party every day.”

Writer(s): Paul Stanley, Dan Arlie, Gene Simmons
Copyright: Hori Prod. America Inc., Cafe Americana Inc., Falferious Music

Jace and the drummers hit it. All the partyers push forward. The room is hot instantly and sweat runs down faces and bodies. I cling to Jace singing over his shoulder.
At the end, I let him go.
“We’re False Gods and this is our song:

‘We rushed in where angels feared to tread
They gave up hope, gave us up for dead
Our memory lingers on eternally
From the abyss we heard Lucifer’s plea

But we too wanted a world of our own
Dreamed of ruling from a throne
We ran away from them to see
How we’ll be happy for eternity

We are false god,
We are false gods

We found this world so meek and blind
We stand here laughing at your kind
You cynical fools don’t understand
Fall to your knees useless man

This world so full of flaws
Facades and miracles applause
Eulogized not despised
Cause we’re not that kind.

We are false gods
We are false gods

From up the hill we hear your pleas
Bring us presents, fall to your knees
Pray and speak in semaphores
Sacrifice your hallowed sheep

Pitiful slugs that you are
Dance and sing around the fire
Arms waving all around
We’re so happy
This world we’ve found
Omnipotent beneficence astounds your broken minds
You’re just like toys
We’ve made our minds to be
False gods, False gods

We are false gods
We are false gods

We will live eternally
To hear your painful screams
Just wait 20 years or so
You will know just what we mean

False gods
False gods’

Copyright: MIB; David Delgado 1981

No one knows this song. Mary does backups on the chorus, people start singing along with us. No one dances. Jace’s leads put some into trances, transfixed on the soaring notes.
We end, but people are yelling, “False Gods, False Gods,” over and over. I bow and Jace strings out a long lick of leads. Cheers go up as people kept screaming our name. I turn and point at Robby. He stands up and bows, too. Jace jumps up and begins Sabbath’s ‘Paranoid,” for the second time. Everyone pushes to the front again. We do Mott the Hopple’s ‘All the Young Dudes,’ with me strutting back and forth.

Songwriters
BOWIE, DAVID

A couple of younger guys move with me in the crowd. Maybe I have my groupies, too. I see Jace laughing at me. We sing the chorus as a duet, my arm around him, the mic between us.

‘All the young dudes ,( I sing)
(hey dudes), (Jace)
Carry the news, (Me)
(where are ya), (Jace)
Boogaloo dudes, (Me)
(stand up come on), (Jace)
Carry the news, (both of us)
All the young dudes, (Me)
(I want to hear you), (Jace)
Carry the news, (Me)
(I want to see you), (Jace)
Boogaloo dudes, (I point at my groupies)
(and I want to talk to you, all of you), (both)
Carry the news,’ (both)

Songwriters: BOWIE, DAVID
All The Young Dudes lyrics © EMI Music Publishing

We walk toward the crowd. I point at the two boys who shadow me. They hug each other, which is not what I expected. Gay groupies, carry the news.

It’s time for Mary’s song. I motion for her to come up to me at the main mic. I nod to Jace. Mary turns around, walks over to Robby and gives him a real kiss.
Jace motions to me, and somehow I don’t blow the rhythm intro. Jace comes in with the wailing lead, and I turn to Mary,

““If I leave here tomorrow” (I sing to her)
“Would you still remember me?” (she sings back)
“For I must be traveling on, now,” (I return)
“’Cause there’s too many places,” (she returns)
“I’ve got to see.” (We both sing)
“But, if I stayed here with you, girl” (Me)
“Things just couldn’t be the same” (Mary)
“’Cause I’m as free as a bird now” (Me)
“And this bird, you can not change.” (She finishes)
… and, together we sang the long chorus:

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
And the bird you cannot change
And this bird you cannot change
Lord knows, I can’t change
Lord help me, I can’t change
Lord I can’t change
Won’t you fly high, free bird, yeah?”

Songwriters
VAN ZANT, RONNIE / COLLINS, ALLEN
Published by
Lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group

Jace’s solo goes on for at least seven minutes. I add little licks, the drummers play opposing solos, Mary swings her hair loose from its tight bun. Robby whistles the bird song parts from behind us, something we did not practice. Next time we will mike him. At the end he jumps up. Mary runs to him, I grab Jace and together we shout, “Thank you, you’re the best. Thank you, thank you.” Jace and I stand there arm in arm, Robby and Mary are hugging. Michael looks at his dad with the happiest expression I have ever seen from him. When his dad does not come over, Michael runs and hugs his dad who turns bright red. Everyone at the party is doing their hippie dances and arm swings. When we finally end, the silence is deafening for three seconds, then everybody roars. They clap and clap, until I come up to the mic, raise my hands, and ask,
“That’s all we planned. Now what do you want?” my cheap trick to get an encore.
People shout ‘more.’ Then someone yells, “The Dead.” People groan but others cheer. I turn to Jace and say “Truckin.’ Mary comes over to me at the mic. Looking at the drummers, I slowly count to four, and we go ‘Truckin’ all night long.’

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