Green Room

Shit.

Sam.

- ( Sam groans ) - Sam, wake up.

What's wrong?

Fuck.

What'd you do, Tiger?

- When did we crash? - Sam: You tell us, asshole.

I guess I fell asleep.

Yeah... with the engine running.

Fully charged. Did you kill the battery too?

You hear the radio?

There's a skating rink about 11 miles from here.

Big parking lot.

Ice skating or roller-skating?

Just says they're open. Why?

Reece: Hockey players whoop more ass.

I don't know, dude. I've seen some pretty bad-ass roller skaters.

At 7:00 AM? All right, I'll come with.

- Sam? - Sam: Tad.

Awesome. Hey, I work nights,

but I’ll catch up with you guys for breakfast.

- Okay. - I'm in 2-R up the stairs.

Just crash wherever. Uh, park in the side lot.

Rear door is tight to the wall, so no one steals your shit.

All right. Yeah?

Sam: These all have mushrooms.

This dude's legit.

Reece: Why? 'Cause he wakes up at 5:00 in the morning

- to put jizz in his hair? - Tiger: Mm...

No. He's true.

Ree-Ree.

- Who you callin'? - Is that your business?

I get the bills.

I'm going to bed.

We're gonna drink.

- Mornin'. - Hello.

You were the first to fall asleep?

Okay, I'm with the Ain't Rights from Washington, D.C.

Uh, technically, we're from Arlington.

Nice. Uh, and this is for Seaside HCFM.

Not for the zine?

I'll do a print version for that,

but this will run on our college station.

- Uh, if that's cool. - Yeah.

So, you guys working on anything new?

Sam: Mm, yeah. A few songs.

Maybe enough for, like, a seven inch.

Sweet. Will you actually press one?

Yeah, if we can afford it.

Tad: Yeah, no, I really dig the analog style.

Uh, which brings me to the fact you guys are hard to find.

Why no social media presence?

Reece: That's because booking more shows,

selling more records would blow.

It's not hard rock.

No one wants to starve, but...

When you take it all virtual, you lose...

the texture.

- What do you mean "texture"? - Just...

You gotta be there. The music is for effect.

Its time and aggression...

Technical wizardry.

And it's shared live...

and then it's over.

The energy can't last.

- Unless you're Iggy Pop. - Yeah, well, good for him,

but I don't think I wanna be in my 70s still listening to Minor Threat.

- But Tiger does. - I won't live to be 70, so...

Okay, so, uh, this is a good segue into one of my traditions.

Uh, for each of you, name your desert island band.

Only one?

Reece: if I were to say Black Sabbath,

would I get Ozzy and Dio?

No caveats. Just name the band.

Okay.

Misfits.

No, The Damned.

- Um... - Tiger: Oh, fuck it. Misfits.

- Sam: Poison Idea. - CroMags.

Tad: That's a good one also.

Reece: Why don't you say something, dude?

Tiger: What about Steely Dan?

- Hm. No, Candlebox. - He's a Juggalo.

- Uh... uh... - Tiger: Britney Spears?

Hey, hey, you... you... you're gonna edit this, right?

- I can chop it up a bit. - Tiger: Oh, you should let it go raw.

Um, when is this gonna air? Like, maybe we should plug the show?

Yeah. Um...

My last show at The Muni Center didn't end well.

Uh, lots of vomit, some fecal matter.

County commissioner got wind and pulled my permit.

You guys were already en route.

- No, you gotta give us a kill fee. - We went 90 miles out of our way.

I've got a backup lined up.

Um, lunch, 50% cut on the door, and you guys would headline.

- Is anyone still on the bill? - No.

Turn that shit off.

I gave you my cut.

Uh, the house got theirs, but I didn't.

Split four ways, it's six bucks each.

$6.87. .88 if you just round up...

You dipshit, fashion punk clown motherfucker.

- Christ. - Now easy there, jujitsu.

Yeah. We don't wanna go to jail, too.

- I think you just ended this tour. - Fuck yes. Let's call it.

All right, so we'd have to beeline to DC.

We have enough for one tank. We'd have to siphon the rest of the way.

That's not a problem. We got rice and beans.

We can head up north. Take the 80 all the way.

What the fuck you doing, man?

Let me call my cousin. I can get you guys a solid gig.

Where? Here?

Scene is dead. You'd have to dip down closer to Portland.

Tiger: I say we just gank his vinyl.

All right, so all set.

Uh, matinée tomorrow.

Door's at 1:00, you guys are on at 3:00.

- I texted the addy. - Sam: How much?

Uh, $350. Minus your tab.

And, um, just so you know, it's mostly boots and braces down there.

Skins? There's some at every show.

What? DMS? SHARP?

Uh, right-wing, or technically ultra-left, but not affiliated.

- And your cousin's cool? - Yeah, yeah.

Uh, don't talk politics, but stick with Daniel.

I'd tag along, but he and his girl are coming here to crash.

Gotta vacuum and shit.

So they're not, like, burning crosses or anything, right?

- Like, we just play rock? - Uh, I'd play your earlier stuff.

Heavier stuff.

I usually keep the originals, but since this one never happened...

- Can I still run that interview? - Yeah.

What station is it on?

Uh, FM 85.5. Breakfast With Champions.

- Thanks. - Reece: Yo, Tadpole...

I'm sorry I almost obliterated you, man.

Not a problem.

Take it easy.

At least the dude can draw.

Yeah, it's pretty sweet.

Yo, Pat...

You know, there's something I've never told you...

...or anyone, for that matter.

What?

Was that real? Ew!

- Open your window. - Oh, my God.

You Tad's friends?

Uh, he sent us. Are you Cousin Dan?

Daniel. You guys look hammered.

Tiger: One night at Tad's will do that to you.

And if your girl's gonna be crashing...

- Don't mention that. - Okay, I was just...

Yeah, no worries whatsoever. Just shut the fuck up

- about him, and me and her. - Yeah.

Drummer? Drummer?

Using the house kit or are you using yours?

- I'll use mine. - Okay. Load in's here.

Sam: That's bullshit.

"Aren't Rights"? Yeah.

Stage rest in here. Don't block the hallway.

The owner doesn't fuck around with the fire codes.

Sound check in 15.

- You're on in 20. - Got it.

Pat: Hey, Tiger...

are you okay?

Yeah, I'm fine.

Are these guys not creeps?

They run a tight ship.

Except it's a U-boat.

Hey, y'all... I got a dumb idea.

Stagehand: Where'd you say the power supply was?

It's like a mini-transformer...

Testing, testing one, two.

- Meow. - Stagehand: Got it!

Pat: There's no guitar.

- Or not. - This was your fucking idea.

You back out now, I tell them you're Jewish. Go.