Monolith Records Chapter 8: "Juke Box Hero"

It was late in the day on a Sunday, and it was one of them ‘all-hands-on-deck’ days that Kendall had been warned about. All of the employees working were excited though, buzzing about the aisles with wide smiles on their faces and a newfound kick in their step. Not only was today Cinco de Mayo, which was sort of a big deal around these parts, but Gordon had, in his infinite wisdom, decided to schedule an in-store appearance for that afternoon. No matter who the artist was, in-stores were always fun because it meant that there were more customers than usual in the store. And let’s face it… meeting famous people was always a kick in the pants.

On top of all that, Cookie Newley from Video had invited everybody over to her place for a party once the store had closed. Cookie’s parties were a thing of legend around here at Monolith. With the promise of bands, booze, and hopefully some broads, it was sure to be a good time.

The scheduled in-store appearance was with this new ‘guitar god’ that had already been christened by the likes of Rolling Stone, Guitar Player, and BAM Magazine as the next big thing, a guy who called himself, Jake Shredder. When the appearance was announced via a note pinned to the schedule, Kendall was quick to do a little homework on the guy.

Shredder, as hard as it is to believe, was not his real name - Jack Porter was – and he was supposedly a European session player who, in actuality, was from New Jersey. In the bio that the label provided, it said that he’d reportedly grown frustrated with the anonymity of session work in Europe, so he’d returned to America where he’d formed a metal band called Folsom.

The band was a trio with a guy named Glen Pugh who’d played bass for the Prog Rock band, Ragamuffin, Nick Rutherford who’d played drums for Bordertown, and Shredder on guitar. Their first record – called Bombs Away – went gold almost immediately with comparisons to Boston’s and Ted Nugent’s first records being the tone of most of the album’s reviews.

Almost immediately after winning the Grammy though, Shredder broke that band up, grabbed a couple of different guys that he’d gotten to know doing sessions in Europe, and went solo. This appearance here at Monolith was in support of a tour for his initial release, a ridiculous, ego-fueled monstrosity called Cock of the Walk.

With his newfound reputation as someone who could sort of handle himself, Kendall had been assigned to monitor the activity around the front door as well as the passageway to Tapes, in order to help regulate the flow of customers between stores. He was joined at the post by Todd Mann, the beefy guy from Receiving, and Jordan O’Neill.

O’Neill was still wearing that same damn leather jacket despite the heat, and there were a pair of slippers that resembled grizzly bear paws covering his feet. From the look of him, he’d rolled straight out of bed and into work without ever feeling the need to change out of his pajamas. Cora Dunham and Ori Stone (the other half of the Grady Twins) were working register and Jessie was hanging around up front to help out if needed.

“So hey, fuck this guy,” Kendall finally said to Todd Mann, trying to fill the time. “Anything new coming out?”

Kendall knew Mann kept abreast of everything that had been released (and what was about to be) as he did the Billboard Magazine reporting every week. The magazine had been the industry standard for years, tracking sales numbers and Top 10 placements from week to week and month to month, genre to genre. Since he’d started working here, checking in with Mann or Jean-Luc to get the skinny on New Releases was a thing Kendall made it a point of doing every once in a while.

Mann thought about it a second before responding. It amused Kendall that he actually stroked his chin as he tried to recall what was coming to the store. Then, he began ticking off his fingers as he went through the list. “There’s a new Hank Williams Jr. coming out called Five-O, a REM record, an Eddie Murphy record that he fuckin’ sings on, if you can believe it… Let’s see,” He paused, his gaze rolling to the ceiling. “There’s finally gonna be a solo record from Sting coming, a new Jeff Beck, and there’s a new record from The Damned at some point.”

Kendall scowled. “So, nothing good then?”

“Oh, sorry, Mr. Prog-Jazz Dude,” Mann laughed. “Let’s see… I remember seeing a solo Lyle Mays, the guy who played piano with The Pat Metheny Group, on the way… more of those Windham Hill things, a new David Torn, a couple of Charles Mingus re-releases, aaaaand… there’s a collaboration between Ornette Coleman and Prime Time coming that I hear is just fuckin’ wild.”

“Nice,” Kendall said, making a mental note. “Hey, before this thing gets too nuts, I’m gonna pop into the back and take a whiz.”

When no one put up any protest, Kendall went into Tapes, moving down one of the aisles toward the backroom. The bathrooms were located in the cramped passageway between Tapes and Video. Employees used the facilities to not only relieve themselves, but also as a haven, an oasis, from the craziness that was constantly going on in the rest of the store. It was also a pretty nifty place to do lines of cocaine or pop whatever pills were going around. At least that’s what Kendall had heard.

The bathrooms were small, private, and they had this feeble locking mechanism on the door that looked like it had been forced open a time or two. Just outside, there stood a wooden tower that had been built so that the store’s security guard, a retired older man named Matteo, could watch from on high for miscreants and shoplifters.

 Kendall went into one of the restrooms in which there was only a small sink, a mirror, and the toilet. He did what he’d come to do, washed his hands, and checked his reflection in the mirror. Opening the door, he took one last look at himself, and left.

Outside, in the little hallway, he ran into Sasha Borden, one of the artists he’d first met in the Art Room not too long ago, and they chatted for a minute about Art and the impending party at Cookie’s place. But then, both back doors were abruptly pulled open, and Kendall noticed a black limo parked right outside.

The first person out of the long car was a young blonde woman with a clipboard and one of those newfangled portable phones that looked like a brick. In other words: the Assistant. Attractive and dressed to the nines in a form-fitting beige business suit with these impossibly large shoulder pads, she came in and sauntered right up to Gordon, who was over by Jessie’s desk. Together, they quickly reviewed the checklist that was Jake Shredder’s Rider.

After her, there came an older man in a baseball cap who looked like he’d just come from playing golf. From the pompous way he carried himself, Kendall guessed that he was either a tour manager, an agent, or a suit from the record label. He might have been all three for all Kendall gave a shit.

Next came a short woman with hair that had been teased to within an inch of its life. She had on clothes that were not only a few years out of style, but looked like they’d been made for a much younger – and smaller - woman. The lady walked into the store like she owned the place, immediately telling anyone who would listen that she was with Jake, and only she knew what it was that would make him happy. Kendall recognized her from some of the articles he’d read on Shredder as Hattie, Jake’s long-suffering wife. And within seconds of seeing the way she interacted with the staff, that dismissive air she had with just about everybody, Kendall knew he needed to steer clear of her. She was pushy and fuckin’ rude, and woe be it to those who drew her ire.

After another minute, a tubby guy in his early forties, who looked like every aging rocker you’ve ever seen, sauntered in. As he entered, he flicked a half-finished cigarette back over the hood of the limo, the butt hit the ground with an eruption of sparks. His sandy hair was drawn up into a samurai’s topknot and he was wearing this gaudy turquoise jewelry that looked like it was meant to augment his open-to-the-navel silk shirt. Instead, the baubles looked cheap, like he’d picked them up at a roadside stand someplace. Leather pants and unscuffed motorcycle boots completed his hackneyed costume.

“Hey guys!” Shredder whooped as he came deeper into the backroom. “Are we ready to rooooock!?”

The employees that were gathered around clapped respectfully, but quickly went back to whatever they’d been doing when the group got there. Most of the employees had all seen rock stars in the store before, and everyone seemed a little non-plussed by this one. Kendall used Shredder’s arrival as cover so that he could run back up to his post by the door. When he got there, he saw that Mann and Jordan were still where he’d left them, leaning against the Soundtrack rack, and talking.

“He’s here,” Kendall said, taking his position by the door.

Mann looked up suspiciously. “And…?”

“Seemed like a bit of a wanker, really,” Kendall shrugged. “His hangers-on are kind of debatable.” He chuckled. “And wait until you get a load of the wife…”

Jessie ambled over from the front counter, having just hung up the Tie-Line from the back room. “Okay, this guy’s coming out in a second…”

“Shredder? Shredder’s coming out here!?!” Kendall said with faux excitement. He looked over at Mann. “Do I look all right!?!”

“Quiet you,” Jessie replied, rolling her eyes to let them all know that she had pretty much the same opinion that Kendall did. “We’ll start letting people in right after we get him seated and settled.”

Kendall, Todd Mann, and Jordan all nodded at her like chimps.

Then, as if beckoned by the mere mention of his name, Jake Shredder came bounding out of the backroom like he was going onstage at Madison Square Garden. He landed and his feet slipped a little on the waxed linoleum, allowing him to slide across the floor, his feet making a high-pitched hissing sound.

“Rock-n-rooooll!” he shrieked.

“Jesus…” Jordan O’Neill whispered, shaking his head dismally. “What in the actual fuck, man?”

Taking a minute, Shredder and Hattie first roamed up and down the center aisle like they were doing a little shopping. Then, the two of them sat where Gordon directed them, at the Information Booth. They’d pulled the Phonolog off the table and put it onto the floor so that there was plenty of room for their guest to shake hands, sign records, pictures, magazines, whatever his adoring fans put in front of him.

Shredder finally sat down, but continued bouncing in his chair, leaning against the table, and pushing back and forth on it as he talked. From where he was standing at the door, Kendall silently wondered how much coke the guy had snorted on the ride over - probably a lot. Meanwhile, Hattie… stood nearby, watching the proceedings like a vulture watches a wounded animal struggle across the plain.

Gordon gave a quick high-pitched whistle that let everybody know that they could start letting people in. Jordan stepped over to the entry between Records and Tapes, his hands clasp behind his back, like he was a sentry or something. And with that, Mann unlocked the door and the people in line started filing in.

The majority of them were older, in their thirties and forties, and depressingly male. All… were dressed identically: Docs, jeans that looked like they were only rarely ever washed, some variety of a Folsom tour shirt, and, of course, the obligatory leather jacket. Kendall let about twenty of them in, blocking the door with his foot every now and then to keep things flowing smoothly.

He looked out of the door at one point and was surprised to see how many people were lined up along the sidewalk. It had to be at least a couple of hundred. He sneered when he noticed that they were all carbon copies of the ones that had already been let inside.

Clearly though, Jake Shredder had himself some fans.

Someone in a baseball cap outside suddenly shouted out a hearty, ‘Woo!’ in an attempt to get the crowd’s excitement up, but the crowd responded anemically. Mann pointed the guy out to Kendall as the culprit. Kendall remarked that he’d seen the same dude get out of the limo.

“That’s Jeremy. He’s the rep for this clown’s label.”

Kendall nodded. “Yeah, that’s about what I thought.”

Todd Mann smirked, shaking his head sadly. “Fuckin’ parasite.”

And so, for the next hour, the line flowed smoothly. Kendall and Todd Mann kept the number of customers in the store at any one time to a workable minimum. People were lined up at the register, most of them waiting to buy copies of Shredder’s new record, and then they all lined up dutifully to get it signed.

Jake Shredder seemed to be having the time of his life, shaking hands, and signing things, even scribbling his signature across a few breasts every now and again. Hattie, on the other hand, continued to scan the room, looking like someone had just dropped a house on her sister.

When the Folsom record that was on the turntable ended, the blonde, Jake’s presumable assistant, went up and said something to Cora Dunham. Nonplussed, Cora shrugged her shoulders, and then she turned toward the record player. A second later, Shredder’s newest album, Cock of the Walk, came on at an ear-splitting volume, a song called “Sonora.”

Immediately, the air was filled with thumping drums and a molar-rattling bass. Then, coming in over the top like a fighter jet, were Jake’s screeching guitar gymnastics, sweep arpeggios whose notes themselves sounded as if they were high on methamphetamine. The other instruments in the band were clearly there only to provide a platform for ol’ Jake to tear his fretboard up.

They were like Hendrix in that way…

And in no way else.

Kendall sighed and looked over at his two coworkers in disbelief. “Geez, this is awful.”

“Cats in a goddam clothes dryer,” Mann chuckled, shaking his head.

Jordan O’Neill grinned wryly. “I don’t know. I kind of like it.”

“Shaddap!” Mann said laughing. He looked over at Kendall in faux disgust. “Kids these fuckin’ days, man…”

As the song progressed, Shredder began clapping and jumping around in his seat at the Information Boot, trying to get the crowd’s excitement up. The throng responded warmly, but not to Shredder’s standards, nor to his expectations apparently. His displeasure of the situation played out pretty plainly on his face.

He got up abruptly, sending everyone around him - including Hattie – scrambling to get out of his way. Despite having a bit of difficulty, he started to climb his way up onto the stool. It took him a minute until he was finally able to stand all the way up, teetering like a Jenga tower on top of the seat. Jake wasn’t as nimble as he’d once been, but he finally made it. The crowd in the store all turned around, curious to see what he was up to.

“Come on, motherfuckers!” Jake shrieked in his stage voice. He raised his hands over his head and clapped energetically to “Sonora’s” beat. Even the stool on which he stood rocked along almost imperceptibly to the song’s rhythm. “Isn’t this a great record? Come on, man! Clap your haaands!” His last word rose to a shrill falsetto, like someone had just stepped on a cat’s tail.

Kendall knew that no matter how long he lived, no matter what else happened to him in his life, he would always remember what happened next.

Hell, they all would.

“I’ve been gone too looong,” Jake sang along with the record at the top of his lungs. His face reddened as he pushed himself to get maximum volume, even if it meant that he was consistently a little sharp or flat. He’d always had a strong voice, able to hit notes few of his contemporaries could. These days though, what with the touring and the booze and the smokes, the cracks in his ‘instrument’ were becoming more and more noticeable. Even his guitar playing had suffered. “But I’m back for a song…” he roared. “At Midnight we’ll ride… Through the land where all have diiiied.”

“The man’s a goddam poet,” Kendall said sarcastically from out of the side of his mouth.

Unbelievably, the crowd perked up a little, all of them responding by clapping along to the music, but it still felt a little halfhearted somehow. Unwilling to give up quite yet, Shredder did the unthinkable and he stepped up onto the tabletop of the Information Booth.

Todd Mann looked over at Kendall nervously. “That’s… not a good idea.”

Once Jake had his balance on top of the counter, he went back to waving his arms back and forth as he prepared for the song’s finale. And then, just as the music started to fade, Jake threw his head back and screamed out the final line of the song at full volume.

“Sonorrrrrrrra!”

Unbelievably, the table on which Jake was standing suddenly collapsed beneath him. One second, he was howling his new single’s hook to the proverbial moon, feeling fuckin’ awesome. And in the next, the ground just disappeared out from under him, stability falling away as if in a dream.

Jake hung suspended in the air like Wile E. Coyote for just a millisecond. Then, he dropped like a stone to the ground. Unfortunately for Hattie, who’d done what she could to catch him, he landed right on top of her, crushing her beneath his weight. There was a very undignified grunt from both of them, and an eruption of Phonolog pages that were tossed into the air like confetti by their landing.

Kendall wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen anything funnier in all of his life.

Of course, ol’ Jake wasn’t hurt, he couldn’t have been. The fall was all of four feet. The only thing that did get hurt in all of this though was his dignity…. and possibly Hattie’s. Of course that didn’t stop him from milking the situation for some sympathy.

“I… I just can’t… I can’t do this shit anymore,” Jake whined as Hattie struggled to haul him to his feet.

Shredder feigned injury to his arm, even though, from the look of things, it had been Hattie who’d borne the brunt of the impact. But it was all too easy for Kendall to imagine Jake on the floor, like a turtle on its back, still laying on top of Hattie, with the back of one hand draped dramatically across his forehead.

“I… I need to go back to the hotel,” the guitarist sobbed pitifully. “I… I don’t even know if I’ll be able to play tonight.”

Hattie rose to her feet like Godzilla right before he incinerated a Japanese city, her face red and enraged. She got Jake to his feet, letting him lean on her until he could support his own weight. All the while, she glared angrily at the staff, like they’d somehow meant for it all to happen.

“If he’s hurt,” she said menacingly as she turned on Gordon, Jake hanging off of her shoulder like a stole. “I swear to God that we’ll sue you… and Monolith!”

The two of them were swiftly joined by the blonde assistant and Jeremy, the baseball cap guy, who appeared as if summoned by an illusionist’s trick. The only thing that was missing from their appearance was the sudden puff of smoke. They all supported one another as they collectively limped off the sales floor and into the backroom. Gordon followed along after them, apologizing profusely the entire time.

A few seconds later, everyone in the store couldn’t help but hear the back door slam. The crowd that were still gathered in the aisles, stood there, looking at one another dumbfounded and gapemouthed, like witnesses at a mugging.

“Fuck!” shouted a husky voice from the back. Gordon.

“Look at that, in and out in no time at all,” Todd Mann said sarcastically. He glanced over at Jordan. “That’s some sort of a record, ain’t it?”

The crystalline silence in the store held for a heartbeat as the customers all processed everything that had happened in the last few minutes. As far as they knew, everything had been going fine, the line was moving and people were getting their things signed. But then Jake got up and started to sing, and well… something had happened and shattered the general mood like glass, and everyone in the aisles started talking at once.

“What the fuck happened?” one distraught man in his forties crowed.

“What the shit?” groaned another. “The only reason I bought this fuckin’ thing was because he was going to sign it,”

Out of nowhere, Jessie banged on the front counter with a stapler, shouting over the din. “Listen… Hey listen, you guys!” Once the crowd had settled down and she had their attention, she continued. “We apologize for Jake having to leave so suddenly. Quite frankly, no one could have guessed he would do that, and no one could have imagined how it would all end.”

She looked out over the crowd, like Patton surveying platoons of nervous troops.

“So, how about this?” she offered. Her gaze passed over the crowd like a lighthouse beacon, as her mind raced to find just the right pitch in order to appease them. “How about, for the next…” she quickly glanced at her watch “…half hour, whatever you all purchase, we’ll give you twenty per cent off.”

The crowd murmured back and forth and the general tone in the room slowly began to shift. The customers who had come to see their leather-clad Jesus were all still pretty clearly upset by what had gone down, but at least a silver lining was being offered to make up for all of it.

And through it all, no one saw any sign of Gordon.

“Also,” Jessie continued. “I have uh… a copy of a new record that’s not supposed to come out until next month.” She paused long enough for the crowd to grow curious. “Does anybody want to be the first to hear the new Live Scorpions record?!”

 The mob immediately started applauding, nodding, and murmuring their acceptance of her proposition. And with that, the mood in the store once again pivoted, becoming one that was almost celebratory in its nature. Sure, some of the people who’d come to specifically meet Jake Shredder and his harridan wife Hattie, left in disappointment. The rest of them however, while annoyed, were still able to view the experience as a positive one, some even spending more than their budgets had initially allowed.

Kendall let his gaze wander around the store, watching people happily shop. Pursing his lips, he shook his head dejectedly. After a second, he looked over at Todd Mann and Jordan with a grin. “It’s impossible for these guys to NOT make fuckin’ money,” he said with a wry grin. “Even when catastrophe strikes, they still come out in the black.”

Todd Mann laughed and scratched the back of his head, kipping his Giants cap slightly to one side. “Yeah, well…” A sigh as he set his hat back into place. “I’m going into the back to finish up some shit. Then, I’m heading home,” he said fraternally to Kendall and Jordan O’Neill. “I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah man,” Jordan O’Neill said happily. “Cookie Newley’s having a party! And when Cookie has a party, Cookie has a part-ay!”