The auditorium was filled to the brim for Battle of the Bands. It was the one time during the school year when everyone seemed to contain at least a shred of school spirit, including myself. Liz and I were sitting near the front, and we were both pretty nervous.
“So, from what you saw, do you think they can pull off this ‘epic’ song?” Liz asked.
My stomach churned. “Well … if they’ve practiced a little more since then …” I trailed off lamely. Liz grimaced.
The curtains rose and the MC for the evening, Mikemaster Malcolm Ariza, said some unfunny spiel, and then introduced the first act: five girls dressed up as hookers from Hot Topic, lip-synching to The Pussycat Dolls. I glanced at the dad-like person sitting next to me and shifted uncomfortably in my seat. Damn these girls for putting us in this awkward position!
We had to sit through some pretty bad yet hilarious acts before the Raw Meat Demons came onstage. Two suburban boys rapped to the Beastie Boys’ “Girls.” (One of them ended the performance by ripping off his track pants and tossing them into the audience.) Another good one was the Schilling siblings, all seven of them with their wheat-blond hair and handmade clothes, lined up singing an acoustic version of some hit song by the Osmonds. The boredom was palpable.
And finally: “All right, everyone, here to perform their spanking new song, ‘Apathetic Inferno in D Minor,’ are THE RAW MEAT DEMONS!”
The audience roared in response, coming back to life after that last performance. I glanced around at everyone nervously because I knew they were in for a big surprise.
The lights dimmed and projected images of bare tree branches and birds flitting across a screen. Then came the obscure monologue from Doctor Zhivago. A few people in the audience murmured in confusion and I started to sweat.
One by one, each of the Raw Meat Demons came out onstage. They were all wearing black — Carrie in a mini-dress with tights and boots, David in a button-up shirt and jeans, Karen in a weird turtleneck/leggings combo, and Oliver in a T-shirt and slacks.
“What’s with the black?” Liz whispered while getting her cell phone out of her blazer pocket, ready to record.
I shook my head. “More pretentious?”
Once they were all situated, Karen started with a few mournful, pretty notes on her bass, and Oliver soon followed with a mellow beat. So far, so good.
Then David and Carrie came in and that’s when things started to go awry. First, Carrie started off with the lyrics:
A swivel of vowels
Come at the unsuspecting
Through it all
Bear, walk toward me
I held my breath as people started to snicker. Then things veered off into the bizarre — the song seemed to change and I cringed, knowing that one of their goals was to create a song like “A Day in the Life” or “Bohemian Rhapsody” — a song that changed completely halfway through. Somewhere John Lennon and Freddie Mercury must have been rolling in their graves.
Liz leaned over and whispered, “Good God!”
It got worse. I could tell that the band was starting to lose confidence, and little mistakes were being made here and there. Carrie flubbed a lyric and then Oliver dropped one of his drumsticks during a crazy drum solo.
The audience started to get ugly — some kids were yelling insults and booing. I whipped my head around furiously, ready to rip some throats out, when I heard Oliver yell out, “One two, a one two three!” as he slammed his drumsticks together over his head. He never looked more like Animal than at that moment.
He started playing “Killer Whale Love,” the Raw Meat Demons’ biggest hit to date. It’s the song that everyone at BHS knew and loved. And it was stupid, silly, and short.
David and Carrie exchanged panicked looks, and then looked at me and Liz. We both raised our arms and whooped, “KILLER WHALE LOOOVE!”
And that’s all it took. They went into the song full force, kicking aside some of the weird instruments and props they had lying around (like an accordion, for God’s sake), and Carrie swung her hair, bouncing up and down while singing:
She was a girl
He was a boy
But they were whales
Woo ooh
Whales!
Everyone started clapping and singing along. We were in a frenzy — kids who were moshing in the aisles had to be escorted out by sweating middle-aged teachers.
The band finished to a standing ovation and looked ecstatic. Liz and I stood up, cheering louder than everyone else. I spotted Carrie’s mom in the crowd, throwing a bouquet of sunflowers at Carrie, and David’s parents beaming and clapping enthusiastically. Although David’s dad never quite approved of his music obsession, he looked pretty proud of him right then.
“I am SO glad they changed songs!” Liz exclaimed as we sat down.
“Me too. I mean, talk about epic. That was totally epic!”
But the Raw Meat Demons had one major competitor left: Midnight Dawn. And they were up.
The stage turned pitch black, and it was silent for almost a full minute. Then laser beams of neon pink and green shot across the stage, creating a hypnotic pattern. Fog filled the stage and the lights cut through it like lightsabers.
The audience oohed and aahed. “Oh, big whoop,” I said loudly. Liz snickered and the man next to me glared at us. Oops, must be a Midnight Dawn dad.
The lights on stage suddenly shone intensely, blinding everyone, and when we recovered our sight we could see seven guys wearing hipster preppy outfits — shrunken pastel jeans, Ray Bans, popped collars, socks with Vans, and some sported tortoise-shell glasses.
Liz made a face. “Yuck. Trying so hard. Someone must have told them that prep is in.”
“I know, get outta here. The last show they were all leathered out. Who are they kidding? It’s like a J.Crew catalog exploded onstage.” The man next to me cleared his throat loudly. Liz and I looked at each other and tried to suppress our giggles.
Midnight Dawn continued to perform an echoey, ethereal number called “Looseleaf Memoir.” I had to admit it was pretty, but it definitely lacked energy. The lead singer crooned in a falsetto with his eyes closed so lovingly that I expected him to start making out with himself onstage.
Also? The song lasted for eight minutes. Prettiness be damned, people started to get antsy.
The show wrapped up with one more act — a girl singing alone with a piano, which would have been nice except she forgot the lyrics to the Lady Gaga song she was attempting to cover, and the piece ended in tears. After she was rushed offstage, Liz and I nervously awaited the results of the competition.
“I think they might win,” Liz said with excitement.
“Shh! Don’t jinx it!” My superstitious Korean side always came out in moments like this. I knocked on the tiny portion of wood on my seat’s armrest for good measure.
Mikemaster Ariza lined three trophies up on a table and announced the third-place winner — the five Pussycat Dolls. Yep. All the guys in the audience cheered raucously, and Liz and I shot disgusted looks at the ones sitting around us.
After clearing his throat, Mikemaster Ariza announced, “And the second-place winner for this year’s Battle of the Bands is …” A silly drumroll came from somewhere backstage and the crowd tittered nervously.
“MIDNIGHT DAWN!”
There was an audible gasp from the audience, and Liz and I looked at each other, eyeballs bulging. Holy crap!
Midnight Dawn came back onstage, looking pretty stunned in their stupid outfits. The one in the bow tie looked particularly crestfallen.
Okay, so this didn’t mean that the Raw Meat Demons won…. But who else would, right? Liz and I clasped hands and jumped up and down like little girls.
“Now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Please give a round of applause for this year’s Battle of the Bands champions …”
My heart stopped beating.
“THE RAW MEAT DEMONS!”
Carrie, David, Karen, and Oliver ran out onstage to get their trophy and started hugging each other and jumping up and down. I ran to take a picture of them, and they all lined up with the trophy held between them — sweaty and happy.
It was great.
I knew at that moment that it didn’t matter if you weren’t technically the best. I also knew that I would be going back to ballet class next week. And those catty dancer girls? Bitches better watch their buns.