The Auditions: Snore Poison, so I’ll know it…. Jane Risdon Part 1
From ‘In the Mix’
Part one begins in 1989 in Los Angeles.
The Auditions: Snore Poison, so I’ll know it….
Back in 1989 two musicians were invited to audition for a super group in Los Angeles, whose lead singer was known all over the world for his shocking live shows. Originally he requested a lead guitarist managed by the same team, but the guitarist had other ideas; he wanted to be a star in his own right, not part of a touring band supporting a super-star.
All this was very frustrating given the amount of hard work his management had put into getting them all noticed and considered – competition was global for this incredible opportunity and only the best were to be auditioned – not to mention the management’s financial outlay on their behalf. Typically, he kept his thoughts to himself until zero hour when Visa’s had been arranged and paid for, air-tickets had been purchased, hotels rooms booked – not to mention a whole new wardrobe. But let’s not dwell upon all that.
So he dropped out and they took the drummer and the bass player as originally planned.
Having learned every song ever released by the super-star over a very long career, the musicians were ready be put through their paces. It was hard work preparing but they were enthusiastic and excited at the prospect of world domination, tons of dosh, and more women than they could imagine, so they gritted their teeth, checked their image constantly and took on the persona befitting soon to be super-stars.
One of the musicians, the bass player, had never been to America before and his head was obviously swimming with excitement and the awesomeness of it all. He wanted to drink it all in and experience everything and, believe it guys, when he got there he did his best to drink as much as he could at every watering hole he could find.
The drummer, an old hand at being in Hollywood, spent most of his time warning his fellow musician about the gun crime – snipers on every roof Downtown apparently – and the hookers on every street corner whom he seemed to befriend whenever he could. That’s as far as it ever went, his managers were sure. The drummer was a very sensitive creature and was concerned only for their welfare – seriously he was.
He was excited, interested in visiting every clothing store he knew rock stars frequented, purchasing the latest way-out fashions and showing off his own ‘British’ rock look which, apparently, had everyone thrilled and excited to behold. His management noticed the looks and overheard the comments. He, on the other hand, only saw and heard what he wanted to.
The bass player enjoyed being the object of curiosity around the hotel pool. He really looked the part of the cool British Rock Star. No end of bikini-clad ‘resting’ actresses asked him more than once if he was ‘anyone famous.’ He decided to keep them guessing. The management lips were sealed.
These sexy young hopefuls spent their day lounging beside the pool, make-up expertly applied and their very expensive boobs spilling from their designer tops, reading scripts or talking loudly about their next movie, television series or audition, or where the best place to see and be seen happened to be. The drummer could’ve given them the low-down.
They ventured into the water now and again, complete with all their jewellery on show, heads bobbing as they gently swam, desperately trying to keep their Beverly Hills hair creations above the waterline, all the time watching the comings and goings around the pool, mindful of those who might be ‘someone.’
The afternoon before ‘the’ audition it was suggested the musicians relax by the hotel pool, chilling with the would-be starlets posing hopefully, desperate to ‘connect’ with a movie director, famous rock star or rich husband whoever he might turn out to be.
The musicians were warned about ‘fortune hunters.’
But they were men of the world; they’d been there, done that and were wearing the tee shirts to prove it.
They’d rehearsed themselves silly and needed to chill and prepare themselves mentally for the task ahead. The pool was safer than letting them loose on the town and the bars.
Previous experience of them relaxing and fighting off a hooker’s irate pimp outside their suite wasn’t something the management planned on repeating the night before the auditions. Time is money after-all, even if a potential ‘client’ only wants to ask the girls what led them to the life they were leading…seriously.
Their management managed to blag time earlier in the day on a fabulous drum-kit and an expensive bass guitar in The Guitar Center, where anyone who’s anyone goes to tinker and show off to an audience of everyone else, tinkering and showing off their musical skills. It’s one of those places. Besides, the musicians were sizing up new gear which they’d purchase once they were part of the super-star singer’s touring band.
Back to the pool.
Out to impress, the Dublin born bass player decided to take a dip in the pool. He climbed the diving board in his sexiest swimming shorts and posed for the girls, before diving head first into the pool…at the shallow end.
(c) Jane Risdon 2014
Besides knocking himself out, he managed to break his nose and blacken both his eyes. Not quite the image needed to impress the super-star singer. The dark shades would be needed all right, and not for the usual posing.
Backing vocals – if required – might prove challenging.
Murder crossed his management’s minds, but they were in America. Visions of electric chairs soon put paid to such thoughts – for now.
A trip to the local pharmacy managed to patch him up with wadding up his nose and plasters across it. He refused a trip to hospital – he was Irish after all, and could deal with the pain, so he insisted. Topped up with pain killers he returned to the rooms he shared with the drummer, insisting he wanted to have an early night. The drummer had his usual string of international phone calls to make; he had a harem waiting back in England, hanging on his every move and waiting to know the latest from Hollywood.
Instead of going to bed early, the draw of Hollywood night-life proved too much, and the Irish bassist decided to pay a visit to a well-known Irish pub, The Cat and Fiddle, to drown his sorrows, even though he’d been banned from going out at night without telling his manager. He crept out, so they couldn’t say no.
The drummer, once his calls were made, decided upon an early night and was apparently fast asleep when the bass player returned worse for wear in the early hours. They shared a room in the same corridor as the management who thought they could keep a watchful eye on them both. Right.
Their managers were woken in the night by what they first thought was an earthquake. But it soon became clear it was the bass player’s loud snoring, his broken nose and alcohol obviously being the cause. He’d delighted everyone with his nocturnal rumblings before. No doubt everyone else on the floor could hear him as well.
Suddenly there was a loud crash and yelling.
Their managers dashed into their room to find the drummer smacking six bells out of the drummer with the telephone, screaming at the top of his voice, ‘If you’ve got to snore, snore ‘Poison,’ so I’ll remember it in the morning.’
He had to be dragged screaming and kicking from the room. The bass player sat up, looked around the room briefly, and fell back asleep. Soon he was snoring as loudly as ever.
Part Two of The Auditions and other antics coming soon on Jane Risdon’s Author Blog:
Jane Risdon has spent her life in the International Music Business and her experiences often find their way into her writing,
most recently in her co-written novel, Only One Woman, with Christina Jones
Accent Press Ltd. USA/UK/Australia
Pool photo (c) Jane Risdon 2014 All Rights Reserved.