Democracy
"G House Recording Studio - Jamaica, Queens" by pasa47 is licensed under CC BY 2.0.
by Gavin James Murray
INT. A RECORDING STUDIO IN IRELAND - EVENING
Four people sit in a dirty-looking room with padded walls and an array of musical instruments that are all not properly taken care of. Three of the people sit in chairs with their respective instruments in hand and the other sits on a stool behind a drum kit.
One guy, PATRICK in his early 20s, that closer resembles a giraffe than a human sits with a guitar in hand and starts to screw around and make the most excruciating sounds known to man. As he does this he holds the absolute stupidest fucking grin known to man that makes his face ten times more punchable than usual.
Another guy, DECLAN, who needs to be introduced to a proper meal sits across from him, the kid who is so skinny that the average person could wrap their pointer finger and thumb around both his ankles and wrists.
An argument breaks out where their heavy Irish accents get to flourish.
DECLAN
Stop. Stop. Stop. That just sounds bad just play the song
PATRICK
Well it's miles better than-
DECLAN
That was just the placeholder. It's not the ONLY option
PATRICK
Ian, what do you think?
Ian is visibly older than the rest of them but only by a couple of years. This is mainly because he has an incredibly poorly kept-beard.
IAN
I don't particularly lean one way or the other
The drummer, who is younger than the rest of them, a fifteen-year-old, weighs in. His teeth are more crooked than a blind man trying to parallel park.
DRUMMER
Well I like -
DECLAN
Shhh! The adults are talking
The drummer stays quiet.
DECLAN
Ok well, I'm making the decisions because this is MY band, and we all know that not a single great band was EVER a democracy
PATRICK
Ok - well - The Beatles - whatever - but I think we can all agree that my suggestion is at least not rubbish-
IAN
Oh my god. Let's just finish the fucking song first man, then we can figure out the effects
PATRICK
Fine I'm gonna get me pedal then.
DECLAN
The pedal you found on the side of the road?
PATRICK
Yeah. Ha-
DECLAN
We are not using your fucking off- the-road pedal, I'm sorry it sounds like shite.
PATRICK
I don't see the problem, to be honest, I found the pedal on the side of the road just like ya mum found you.
DECLAN
You think you're grand mate!
PATRICK's stupid fucking grin returns.
PATRICK
A little bit yeah
The drummer, ADAM, giggles.
DECLAN
Adam, you're only here because the last guy overdosed!
A beat.
IAN
C'mon Declan.
DECLAN
Alright fine, let's just hear Patrick out.
Patrick gets up and walks over to the analog recording machine, everyone else follows. Patrick clicks a few buttons and whatnot and the group sits back and listens.
No one says a word until DECLAN gets up and walks back into the padded room they were in before.
DECLAN
Everyone just shut up and give me a couple of minutes.
The other 3 watch him from the window while DECLAN strums his guitar and writes things down in his notebook.
After a couple of minutes, DECLAN stands up in hopelessness, kicks a trash can, and walks out.
PATRICK
Declan, where are you going?
DECLAN
(Bluntly)
I think I'm going to have a cigarette now.
DECLAN keeps mumbling to himself as he walks out. After a minute, PATRICK gets up and follows.
PATRICK
I'll go see what the man's issue is.
IAN
Is that the best idea?
PATRICK does not respond and is already out the door.
CUT TO:
EXT. OUTSIDE THE RECORDING STUDIO - SUNSET
DECLAN is seen leaning against a railing overseeing an expressway with a lush landscape in the background, smoking a cigarette, and PATRICK walks up.
PATRICK
Gimme one.
DECLAN hands him the pack.
PATRICK
Reds?
DECLAN
Mum said the blues killed me grandad so I'm only smoking the Reds.
DECLAN smiles and then PATRICK smiles.
DECLAN
I just need it to be good, everything about the band needs to be good.
DECLAN's smile fades.
DECLAN
And I can respect you as a musician but you are not remotely serious at all.
PATRICK's smile fades too. DECLAN is using his hands to accentuate every word he says.
DECLAN
I mean, did you even read the contract? The label is only covering distribution. We are pretty much paying them right now. And this is mostly me money paying for all this, and you're in there acting the maggot. We are fucked if we end up being shite. I want you to be involved, you can sing and write songs, but you have to fucking care. So when we go back in there, stop causing problems and shut up for just two seconds.
DECLAN puts his cigarette out on the railing and walks away, leaving PATRICK staring off into space in shock.
END SCENE