Screening Fans

The Maestro led a band that looked like it might be signed by a decent label any day. They toured nationally a couple times a year. All the members got by on part-time jobs because they pulled in some money. The Maestro led the band. He wrote and arranged most of the songs, right. Every time they did a show in their hometown, St. Louis, the leader was surprised to find tons of concert posters up all over the city for the show, because neither he, his promoter nor the venue’s promoter ever made them and put them up. They did make some 8.5 x 11 Xerox posters that they hung around, but hundreds of other - much cooler - posters came from… who knows?

These were nice posters, too. Screen printed by hand. At least four colors, every time. Big, bold imagery, usually of bizarrely anthropomorphized appliances in some sort of intercourse (talking, fighting, having a picnic). The Maestro had a collection of the prints. He always stole one off the kiosk beside the fire station around the corner from the building where he had his apartment.

The Maestro did not mind the free promotion, but it all sort of freaked him out somehow, too.

A manager from a label in Seattle flew in to St. Louis to see him one day. They had ideas about producing the band’s next album. They met up at a coffee shop downtown and had lunch. The coffee shop had one of those big bulletin boards where anyone could put up whatever they wanted. One of the first things the label guy said to The Maestro was that those were some pretty sweet posters they had made.

The Maestro explained that they didn’t make them. That they didn’t know who made them.

The label guy asked if he ever brought it up at shows. The Maestro said sure he did, it was sort of a joke around the local music scene. Everyone liked the posters. Everyone wanted to hire the guy or girl who made them. No one knew who they were. The label guy said it was sort of cool, in a creepy way, as long as none of the band members ever woke up and saw some guy standing over their bed watching them sleep.

The label guy had come to town to see The Maestro’s band in a show. The Maestro had told him they played best at this bar called Gamma Ray that had been a major local music scene gathering place since the 60s.

So they talked for quite a while but then they both needed rest and The Maestro put his band through a soundcheck that was almost a practice.

When the show finally got going they followed up this hot electronica duo from Lawrence, Kansas that got the crowd totally jazzed. The Maestro’s band had a knack for starting up almost as soon as their openers were done. They had it all worked out. they had a hire energy show. They didn’t dick around between songs like a lot of half-assed bands do. They rocked out. In fact, their drummer chick sometimes stood on her stool and played with burning batons… and the guitarists would fake swordfights. That’s how cool they were.

The Maestro was jumping up and down on a trampoline while they sang the single off the album they were working on, when suddenly the whole audience turned around, turned away from the band.

Two human sized paper mache monsters were walking in the back of the club. One looked like a TV with arms and legs. The other looked like a table lamp with arms and legs. They had fliers in their silver and gold begloved hands. The flyers had the same hand silkscreened look as the mysterious posters.

The label guy took a flyer and walked to the front with it. He handed it to the Maestro. The flyer advertised a “We Love The Maestro Party - Free Whiskey!” a few blocks away, following the show. The Maestro looked at the label guy as if to say, y’wanna go?

The label guy shrugged his shoulders and nodded, as if to say, whathell - we can find out who these jokers are.

The Maestro got the band’s funk back on like they had it licensed from Monsanto and the paper mache monsters grooved their way back out the door, flyers all gone. They shook their asses and waved their elbows as if to say, we are the greatest fans you are ever going to have, you lucky fools.