Post by Awesome Stick Labor on Sept 27, 2015 22:26:39 GMT
Episode V
“FLY HIGH”
“FLY HIGH”
JACK GAITHER'S PERSONAL LOG – September 25, 2015
The Cruisers are back—but we'll never truly be “whole” again.
As the party goes on and on, a lingerin', soberin' doubt remains—a common enemy which I personally can't bear to face...the fear of bein' rejected by those who don't understand us—our greatest phobia.
The Cruisers are back—but we'll never truly be “whole” again.
As the party goes on and on, a lingerin', soberin' doubt remains—a common enemy which I personally can't bear to face...the fear of bein' rejected by those who don't understand us—our greatest phobia.
There's a sense of joy aboard the HMS Bounty.
In their fifth week across the pond in Northern Ireland, we find Jack Gaither and his three remaining Cruiser bandmates Livia, Mack, and Blade as they celebrate their reunion in the back lounge on the grounded 707 jetliner over several glass bottles of non-alcoholic beer, but they soon discover that they're out of bubbly.
BLADE DANIELSON: Shit, we're outta brew. We gotta go into town.
LIVIA MACHADO: C'mon babe, let's mosey right along.
The drummer and saxophonist both exit the aircraft through the rear air stairs as Jack and Mack, while sitting in a small table, look out the window towards the crystal clear skies that dominate the weather on the McFly farm.
TERRY “MACK” MCNAMARA: Now that Blademan and Livvie are gone, we need to talk.
JACK GAITHER: Sure.
The two men swiver their first class-style seats so that they face each other.
MACK: What's all this bullshit about them mystery tapes—about you and Willy doin' that jam session all these years ago?
JACK: I was just tryin' to experiment, Mack.
The bassist perks his brow up.
JACK: Willy knew some dudes who owned a recordin' studio down the road from old Astrodome, where a big rock 'n' roll festival was gonna take place. The funny thing is, I couldn't believe that I was in the presence of muscial gods on my 24th birthday...
–-------------
HOUSTON, TX
March 24, 2006
March 24, 2006
Fly high my friends,
may your course be steady;
the wind'll be at your back,
the road at your feet,
and the stars in your eyes.
may your course be steady;
the wind'll be at your back,
the road at your feet,
and the stars in your eyes.
Inside a small recording studio on a rainy spring evening in suburban Houston, we find Jack Gaither—sporting long, flowing black hair and a scruffy beard, celebrating his 24th birthday—using his raw and powerful voice to perform an original song called “Fly High” as lead guitarist William “Willy” Knorr, a fresh-faced 20-year-old collegiate sophomore attending Rice University, plays a ballad riff in B-flat as rock music legends Brian May, Lars Ulrich, and U2's Bono look on.
JACK (voice): ...here I was, playin' alongside Bono of U2, Brian May of Queen, Lars Ulrich of Metallica. I figured “gee, this is freakin' awesome! This is what I wanna do for the rest of my life.”
The song ends, and the former lead guitarist of Queen—sporting a black suit to match his long and curly hair, politely applauds as the U2 frontman, wearing a white tuxedo, takes notes on a small notepad.
BONO: Not bad.
Sporting a tattered white Rice Owls athletic shirt and black shorts, the lead Cruiser guitarist scoffs.
WILLIAM “WILLY” KNORR: Pfffft...whaddya mean “not bad?!”
Bono passes the notepad over to Brian, who writes some notes of his own down before handing the document off to Lars, who wears a charcoal-grey suit.
BRIAN MAY: Not bad means “not bad.”
WILLY: What the hell, man—I suppose “thanks but no thanks” means the same thing.
Willy and Jack both stand up, perturbed over the fact that the trio of rock legends won't give them a straight answer. Lars writes his notes down before taking the two miffed young indie musicians off to the side.
LARS ULRICH: Mr. Knorr and Mr. Gaither, let's say you're playing your sound at a local pub in some little town in the middle of nowhere. Sure, you got a catchy tune that's gonna attract loads of attention, but most of the time people will just go home after the show and forget about what you did out there.
BRIAN: Guys, the point here is that you can impress people all you want to with some five-minute guitar riff or ballad about living an honest life on the road, but when it all boils down to it, if you don't give the sound you're playing a living, breathing conscience...you might as well pack your bags and go home.
The two Cruisers sigh.
BONO: Look at Metallica, U2, and Queen—their music had a life, had a soul; it's captured audiences for GENERATIONS. Honestly I hate to be very blunt...but quite frankly, you two aren't on that plane just yet. Someday, perhaps, you'll be bigger...
Willy and Jack look on with anger in their eyes as the well-meaning, good-natured voice of the U2 lead singer trails off in their mind—distraught over the apparent “rejection.”
JACK (voice): But to them, it was just another night of jammin' with some critiques thrown in. Then ya know...
---------------
The image fades back to the present day as Jack looks out the side window, watching as the engineers on the tarmac continue making essential repairs to the Bounty.
JACK: ...I got to thinkin', wonderin'...that I wasn't good enough.
The lead singer sighs, solemnly nodding his head.
JACK: Then Willy died, and I...I couldn't take it no more. I couldn't handle the rejection--'cause it was all my fault.
Mack shakes his head, his voice becoming more comforting by the second as Jack frowns.
MACK: Willy OD'd. Why do ya blame yourself for his death?
JACK: I couldn't save 'im—I couldn't save the band. I was pushin' 'em to get a sound, and I didn't care about nobody or nothin'. It never even occurred to me that Bono was right...
Jack's voice trails off as Mack tries to talk some sense into him.
MACK: Ya didn't kill Willy—the monkey was on his back long before he even knew you. He was just a player with a gift like all of us—like Lars, Brian, and Bono. Maybe that's why those music legends treated that night like it was any other and critiqued y'all the way they did, and that oughta tell ya somethin'. It doesn't matter whether or not ya think you're “good enough.” Just go out there and play the best ya can play—have fun—and don't worry about a l'il rejection. That's just a part of rock 'n' roll—a part of everyday livin'—but shit, who knows? Maybe we'll get it right this time.
Jack chuckles and ekes out a sly grin, knowing that his old friend has a way with words that he still doesn't understand to this very day. Withotu warning, we hear a female clearing her throat; Jack and Mack turn and spot Fiona McFly—sporting an emerald-green outfit—stepping onto the airplane from the rear exit. The mood turns quiet.
MACK: Ya know, I hate it when people do that crap...
JACK: What's wrong, babe? You a'right?
Fiona has a stone-faced expression as she solemnly weaves her head negatively.
FIONA MCFLY: It is time to go back—back to the place where my nightmares began.
***************
Handlin' rejection has been quite a tough battle for me throughout my lifetime.
No matter where I was—from the high school gridiron and concert stage to the ring—I've had to live my entire existence knowin' full-well that I was gonna have my dick bashed for simply wantin' to be the best at my craft. Nine years ago I was critiqued rather harshly by some of rock music's biggest names, and any normal or sane person would take that rejection to heart and learn from it. But I didn't—I perceived the likes of Bono or Brian May as bein' nothin' more than a bunch of pretentious sumbitches who didn't care about an indie singer like myself and my band, the Cruisers. In the grand scheme of things, I didn't care about nothin' or nobody—and it hurt me in ways that I can't bear to describe.
In the present day, I've started to realize that it was THEY who were right—and that I was wrong.
I made the transition from rock 'n' roll to wrasslin' thinkin' “gee, this is what I wanna do for an honest livin'.” I've spent the last eight years of my life on the road, takin' every loss or fuckup like a rejection from some big names in the gig. If this was 2006, I'd have probably gone outta my way to blow my own brains out and save everyone on the Imperial roster the time and trouble of havin' to deal with me. I would've kept hangin' onto my own perception that everyone and anyone was out tokick my ass, but this ain't 2006.
This is 2015, and honestly...I only wanna make things right—in both worlds--not just for my own sake, but for the sake of those 'round me--ESPECIALLY Fiona.
After all, I'm just a player with a gift--like the superstars and Diamonds of the IWF--and all I've set out to do is real simple: go out there and play the game my way--the best I can play--without havin' to worry about gettin' my ass killed all over social media.
Alex Atwater, the one-time mercenary of the Imperial world, despite the fact that I haven't seen your ass on IWF programmin' in a few weeks, you've had quite the run as of late. Invictus trophy, a spot in the 2015 Heir to the Throne series...you've had it all—includin' a couple of bits in which ya stomped my guts out. That's peachy-keen and all that shit, but let's face it, I got the last laugh in makin' it all the way to the final match. And as far as your Invictus title run goes, lemme take a good look-see at who you've managed to face at Legacy:
Guernica? Pffft...I've whomped 'im before.
Kyle Mason? Puh-leeze, he's overrated—couldn't beat Renee Pleasant even if he was under blindfold.
Mohammed Al-Thani? I take a good look at 'im now, and I see he's become a shell of his old self—an overinflated loudmouth that makes ME look like William Shatner.
But ya ain't grapplin' with 'em no more, son. Ya gotta deal with me—and as far as the “here and now” goes, it's a whole new ballgame.
While you've been sittin' on your ass for a month, lettin' your prideful self be content in holdin' onto that trophy of yours, I've been tunin' up the band for a reunion—and I'm MORE than ready. While you're comin' up with some counter-productive idea on how to keep me on the ground, I'm goin' out to rock 'n' roll with the best folks that Imperial has to offer. And while you're thinkin' about makin' all kinds of lettuce on your next job for somebody else, I'm out there doin' what I wanna do 'cause...welp, I wanna do it.
It's just that simple, bud.
I don't care about what others might think about me or if I ain't “Good enough” to hack you into oblivion, and I CERTAINLY don't care about the money—for I ain't no hired contractor that goes out there and completes the mission for a huge reward. I just wanna go out there and play the game of grapplin' in the manner in which I wanna play—without givin' a flyin' fuck about what 'Hawk or Alex Jones might say about me. I understand that I'll never be truly "whole" again as I've lost a few close friends along the way, but I can take comfort in one honest-to-God truth.
I am who I am, son—you can't take that away from me. And by the end of the night, I'll have the one thing you hold so dearly.
Jack Gaither, Invictus Champ? Fuckin' 'A.'
That's how I see it.
Well howdy there pardner.