Friday 27 July 2007
Ben Sullivan Explained
Prepare yourself for a tale of love, loss, and blossoming insecurity...
It was the summer of 1982, some American president was president, we can't keep track, there's been so many, does it really matter.
Our story takes place in an isolated hole where people have started wearing thongs with trackpants, socks with thongs. Australia. Melbourne was a thriving city, depending on your definition of thriving. It was the 80s, what could you expect... We had Kylie.
School-children everywhere were emulating their favourite popstars; sporting mullets, waist high pants, leg warmers and all manner of stereotypical 80s gear.
One particular 2nd Alto Sax in this typical suburban school had combined every facet of the 80s culture into one hairdo in a vain attempt to attract attention fromt eh love of his life. 2nd trumpet Cyndi (no second name, nothing sounded right).
She was the prettiest girl, with the prettiest perm, the highest pants, and the warmest leg warmers. Cyndi was the coolest cat in school. Her solos were amazing and all the boys, yes all the boys, (except Jeff, who was slightly effeminate and never went swimming with the other boys... just watched) were in love with her. Even our protaganist, Ben Sullilvan had his sights set on her.
Background on Ben Sullivan /clues to deep-seated insecurity.
-Underappreciated by his family despite being an only child.
Shocking speech impediment he was not to overcome till his late 20s. (insert demo from cora-irish lisp)
-Premature development of widows peaks. Rapidly receding hairline.
-Secret, underlying desire to dress in women's clothing.
-Closet George Michael fan. Are we seeing a pattern.
-Years of therapy- this failed due to numerous rounds of experimental electroshock treatment. (It may have worked, we don't know hwat he could have been like without it.)
To return to a plot of sorts. Cyndi was not an easy person to get close to. She was constantly surrounded by trumpet 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5, all of who were male, ridiculously good looking, amazingly devoted and confident enough to wear INCREDIBLY tight pants and walk around topless. They could also sight-read, finish notes at the same time, and just had that downright cool, instinctive Jazz feel that the sax section was lacking.
It was Gambier, Ben was all set, his mullet, though strangely identical to the 3rd trumpets, was superbly over-the-top. Coincidently any competition for the 2nd alto sax position had consumed a few too many laxatives prior to their audition.
All through Cyndi's funky awesome solo, Ben was staring at her like a fat kid stares at a lolly that's fallen on the floor, contemplating the merits of the 3 second rule.
Then it was his turn. He launched into his solo, his face flushed deep red (tell me you can't see it) the sweat accumulating on his forhead while his mind was racing furiously.
What if he screwed up? What if Cyndi never noticed him? What if she never loved him? Actually it'd be okay if she loved him without seeing him. In fact it was probably better that way. What would he do if she never spoke to him ever. What if he ended up a moody, bipolar, bitter, twisted, high shcool music teacher, waiting to torment his students, particularly the trumpets HOWDARE THEY TAKE HIS CYNDI AWAY FROM HIM. How dare they sneak off with his darling Cyndi at the post Gambier celebration to a dark room for a steamy trumpet orgy, leaving him to drown his sorrows in dip. The two friends came later, much later.
Poison consoled him on the bus drive home while he watched Cyndi frolicking with her new trumpet playing boyfriends- and later girlfriends. She was experimental and he was still interested.
To this day the screeching guitar solos reminiscent of Poison evoke memories of sweary shirtless trumpet men... Male skanks...(that was for Jena and Cara.)
It was the summer of 1982, some American president was president, we can't keep track, there's been so many, does it really matter.
Our story takes place in an isolated hole where people have started wearing thongs with trackpants, socks with thongs. Australia. Melbourne was a thriving city, depending on your definition of thriving. It was the 80s, what could you expect... We had Kylie.
School-children everywhere were emulating their favourite popstars; sporting mullets, waist high pants, leg warmers and all manner of stereotypical 80s gear.
One particular 2nd Alto Sax in this typical suburban school had combined every facet of the 80s culture into one hairdo in a vain attempt to attract attention fromt eh love of his life. 2nd trumpet Cyndi (no second name, nothing sounded right).
She was the prettiest girl, with the prettiest perm, the highest pants, and the warmest leg warmers. Cyndi was the coolest cat in school. Her solos were amazing and all the boys, yes all the boys, (except Jeff, who was slightly effeminate and never went swimming with the other boys... just watched) were in love with her. Even our protaganist, Ben Sullilvan had his sights set on her.
Background on Ben Sullivan /clues to deep-seated insecurity.
-Underappreciated by his family despite being an only child.
Shocking speech impediment he was not to overcome till his late 20s. (insert demo from cora-irish lisp)
-Premature development of widows peaks. Rapidly receding hairline.
-Secret, underlying desire to dress in women's clothing.
-Closet George Michael fan. Are we seeing a pattern.
-Years of therapy- this failed due to numerous rounds of experimental electroshock treatment. (It may have worked, we don't know hwat he could have been like without it.)
To return to a plot of sorts. Cyndi was not an easy person to get close to. She was constantly surrounded by trumpet 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5, all of who were male, ridiculously good looking, amazingly devoted and confident enough to wear INCREDIBLY tight pants and walk around topless. They could also sight-read, finish notes at the same time, and just had that downright cool, instinctive Jazz feel that the sax section was lacking.
It was Gambier, Ben was all set, his mullet, though strangely identical to the 3rd trumpets, was superbly over-the-top. Coincidently any competition for the 2nd alto sax position had consumed a few too many laxatives prior to their audition.
All through Cyndi's funky awesome solo, Ben was staring at her like a fat kid stares at a lolly that's fallen on the floor, contemplating the merits of the 3 second rule.
Then it was his turn. He launched into his solo, his face flushed deep red (tell me you can't see it) the sweat accumulating on his forhead while his mind was racing furiously.
What if he screwed up? What if Cyndi never noticed him? What if she never loved him? Actually it'd be okay if she loved him without seeing him. In fact it was probably better that way. What would he do if she never spoke to him ever. What if he ended up a moody, bipolar, bitter, twisted, high shcool music teacher, waiting to torment his students, particularly the trumpets HOWDARE THEY TAKE HIS CYNDI AWAY FROM HIM. How dare they sneak off with his darling Cyndi at the post Gambier celebration to a dark room for a steamy trumpet orgy, leaving him to drown his sorrows in dip. The two friends came later, much later.
Poison consoled him on the bus drive home while he watched Cyndi frolicking with her new trumpet playing boyfriends- and later girlfriends. She was experimental and he was still interested.
To this day the screeching guitar solos reminiscent of Poison evoke memories of sweary shirtless trumpet men... Male skanks...(that was for Jena and Cara.)
# posted by Orange Week @ 9:01 pm 
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