The night the Rhymer went whack
Chapter 22

22

Music relieves the mind from frustrations. It brings people together, giving them motivation while creating a universal love—for everyone. It’s the only answer.

and had been the saving grace of what was left of society, and yes, Straffe’s Sound Factory was a haven to a select few, but the masses were also in need of an outlet. Bars, clubs, hole in the wall juke joints, people still congregated in search of that musical freedom. You could always find a jam session where individuals would karaoke, play a few songs or hum a few notes. But you had to be careful, slow, melancholy music was not allowed.

If someone tried to play something dramatic, it may bring back a sad memory, resulting in a bullet between your eyes, so artists stayed away from the wistful and focused on the upbeat. Popular were Michael Jackson, Disco, anything Motown and for some reason, The Chipmunks; the shrill voices of Alvin, Simon and Theodore always moved the crowd. People would sing along in good cheer and toast to good times. Only a few brave souls dared karaoke, and when attempted, they’d keep to the basics, “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye,” was easily the most sang song along with, “Once in a Lifetime,” by the Talking Heads. There were a few others, but these were easy crowd pleasers that the performer couldn’t butcher.

Very few dared trying Michael or Prince, because if they messed up, they’d be subjected to the same fate as a singer of a slow song, so performers stopped singing them or rarely took the chance. But some did and succeeded, and the success would elevate them to celebrity status. They could walk the streets with impunity with their only protection being a quick verse on demand from a passerby.

These performers stood out by wearing a large coat or shirt with their name boldly ingrained on the back and front, but of course, since their status protected them, there were imposters that would imitate the same coat and same name. They’d hit the streets and receive hellos, give autographs, and get high fives, all until they were demanded to belt out a tune. At first, they’d feign sick, “I sang last night, my voice is hoarse,” but eventually that tactic would become stale and render it no longer effective. They had to be able to actually sing. If not, they’d be shot dead on the spot.

This is was what happened to Monet, a legendary artist with an extremely large fan base. Approached, she was actually sick, but her assailant didn’t recognize nor believe her, so she shot her dead with a quickness. Monet’s talent was exceptional. She didn’t just do karaoke; she composed and sang her creations, and they became huge hits. She even held concerts that were celebrated so when her murder took place, her fans vowed revenge. On the run for a few days, her killer ultimately gave up. Suicide ended the hunt.

One of Monet’s biggest fans was Nick. He loved her music. He’d dance to her performances, never singing, just mimicking the guitar licks, bass drums, horns and cheers. Her appearances on television was the only thing that could tear him from the window. An obsession, having a large poster of her in his room which he would rub his hands across her lips every morning upon awakening. Sometimes he’d mouth her lyrics and feel his mouth and jaws to make sure his structure was correct, just like hers. He began to perfect her so well that his mom swore during certain notes, he actually resembled his idol.

And this was when Nick said his first word.

“Monet,” he whispered, so faint that his mom wasn’t sure she’d heard it, so she continued stroking their piano, lightly tapping the keys while keeping an eye on her son. A few notes later she heard it again, rechanneling her focus to be sure as to what she had just heard. Nick was smiling, stroking the television lovingly, just like he did her poster, after she had just wrapped up her performance. He was pleased, almost giddy as the TV went blank. In silence, they both stood still, she near the piano and he staring at the blank screen, still grinning. “Monet,” he spoke, a little louder as he turned and faced his mom. She produced a smile fifteen years in the making and enjoyed the slight tear that caressed her cheek.

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