Act Two Scene II: Nasty hum by The Granite Shore Lyrics
The pool room in the studio. Pete and Steve are setting up the balls
Steve: Who's gonna break?
Pete: Well, I'd say Rich, he's been acting a bit weird, don't you think? Tony keeps pressuring him for new material
Steve: Rich always acts weird. Rich is weird. But I meant this [gestures at the pool table with his cue], shall we toss for it?
Pete: Oh. Right. Er... Heads
Steve: Heads it is. Away you go
[They start playing]
Pete: Where are Eric and Ernie, anyway?
Steve: Where do you think? They're in the, ahem [adopts faux-portentous voice] control room
Pete: [Giggles] Only place for them!
Steve: [Also grinning] Yeah, I'm guessing it was always like that
Pete: Nothing's changed at all as far as I can see. Rich's got a point about Group Time. We're all acting as though the band broke up a couple of months ago. Look at me, I'm playing pool with the drummer while those two are in the control room. [Renewed laughter]
Steve: Were you always this crap or are you just out of practice?
[Enter Rich]
Pete: Oh hi Rich. We were just... Er... How's it going in the... [Trying to stifle giggle] You know... In there... [Gestures toward the door]
Rich: The control room?
[Pete and Steve can no longer contain their mirth]
Pete: Sorry... It's just...
Rich: [Puzzled] What's so funny?
Pete: Nothing
Steve: Nothing at all! So it's going well in the... In the...
Pete: In the c-c-control room?
[Pete and Steve collapse into loud guffaws]
Rich: [Smiling faintly] Oh, I see
Steve: Oh God, sorry, we really shouldn't...
Pete: Only...
Rich: [Smiling warmly] Yes, it's all about control, isn't it? Most human behaviour is, you know. I've never come across a band that didn't harbour at least one dictator. The ones that last tend to be either those where the dictator's got the sense to share the money, if not the credit, or else the ones with three or four megalomaniacs on different but complementary power trips, so they come to a compromise where each of them has totalitarian power in a particular area. The singer does all the promotion and spouts a load of crap about politics, the guitarist produces the records, the bassist does the books and the drummer...
Steve: Here we go again. The floor's yours, prof
Pete: Impart unto us your wisdom, oh most enlightened one
Rich: [Grinning broadly] Ah, this is what I've missed. The problem with academic life is nobody ever tells you you're talking through your arse. They'll violently disagree with you, but no-one ever speaks through any other orifice so eventually you stop noticing that it's all crap
Pete: Nice long summer hols though, eh?
Rich: There is that
Steve: Leaves you free to go off and... Oh, I don't know, write some songs, maybe?
Rich: Et tu, Steve?
Steve: Nah, kicked the Creme Egg habit back in the nineties
Pete: [Suddenly serious] You'd go mad if one of us said we had a song. Actually, I've got this riff...
Steve: Couldn't you control yourself for long enough to knock out a few tunes then? I know Tony's a royal pain in the arse but he's still a great singer, and he's at his best singing your stuff
Rich: Yes, I do know that. In some ways creating art...
Steve: Oh, is that what we're doing?
Rich: I know you're taking the piss, Steve, but yes, that's exactly what we're doing
Steve: [To Pete] That's us told, then. We're [snooty voice] artists, Pete, my old son
Pete: Speak for yourself. I'm an electrician. [To Rich] It's why you wanted me in the band in the first place, remember?
Rich: Er yeah... Actually Malc's having a spot of bother with a nasty hum right now. I don't s'pose you could...?
Pete: I'll get my tool bag from the van, shall I?
[Exit Pete]
Steve: What about the drummer?
Rich: You what?
Steve: In your hypothetical band of dictators a minute ago. What does the drummer do?
Rich: Whatever I bloody well say
Steve: Who's gonna break?
Pete: Well, I'd say Rich, he's been acting a bit weird, don't you think? Tony keeps pressuring him for new material
Steve: Rich always acts weird. Rich is weird. But I meant this [gestures at the pool table with his cue], shall we toss for it?
Pete: Oh. Right. Er... Heads
Steve: Heads it is. Away you go
[They start playing]
Pete: Where are Eric and Ernie, anyway?
Steve: Where do you think? They're in the, ahem [adopts faux-portentous voice] control room
Pete: [Giggles] Only place for them!
Steve: [Also grinning] Yeah, I'm guessing it was always like that
Pete: Nothing's changed at all as far as I can see. Rich's got a point about Group Time. We're all acting as though the band broke up a couple of months ago. Look at me, I'm playing pool with the drummer while those two are in the control room. [Renewed laughter]
Steve: Were you always this crap or are you just out of practice?
[Enter Rich]
Pete: Oh hi Rich. We were just... Er... How's it going in the... [Trying to stifle giggle] You know... In there... [Gestures toward the door]
Rich: The control room?
[Pete and Steve can no longer contain their mirth]
Pete: Sorry... It's just...
Rich: [Puzzled] What's so funny?
Pete: Nothing
Steve: Nothing at all! So it's going well in the... In the...
Pete: In the c-c-control room?
[Pete and Steve collapse into loud guffaws]
Rich: [Smiling faintly] Oh, I see
Steve: Oh God, sorry, we really shouldn't...
Pete: Only...
Rich: [Smiling warmly] Yes, it's all about control, isn't it? Most human behaviour is, you know. I've never come across a band that didn't harbour at least one dictator. The ones that last tend to be either those where the dictator's got the sense to share the money, if not the credit, or else the ones with three or four megalomaniacs on different but complementary power trips, so they come to a compromise where each of them has totalitarian power in a particular area. The singer does all the promotion and spouts a load of crap about politics, the guitarist produces the records, the bassist does the books and the drummer...
Steve: Here we go again. The floor's yours, prof
Pete: Impart unto us your wisdom, oh most enlightened one
Rich: [Grinning broadly] Ah, this is what I've missed. The problem with academic life is nobody ever tells you you're talking through your arse. They'll violently disagree with you, but no-one ever speaks through any other orifice so eventually you stop noticing that it's all crap
Pete: Nice long summer hols though, eh?
Rich: There is that
Steve: Leaves you free to go off and... Oh, I don't know, write some songs, maybe?
Rich: Et tu, Steve?
Steve: Nah, kicked the Creme Egg habit back in the nineties
Pete: [Suddenly serious] You'd go mad if one of us said we had a song. Actually, I've got this riff...
Steve: Couldn't you control yourself for long enough to knock out a few tunes then? I know Tony's a royal pain in the arse but he's still a great singer, and he's at his best singing your stuff
Rich: Yes, I do know that. In some ways creating art...
Steve: Oh, is that what we're doing?
Rich: I know you're taking the piss, Steve, but yes, that's exactly what we're doing
Steve: [To Pete] That's us told, then. We're [snooty voice] artists, Pete, my old son
Pete: Speak for yourself. I'm an electrician. [To Rich] It's why you wanted me in the band in the first place, remember?
Rich: Er yeah... Actually Malc's having a spot of bother with a nasty hum right now. I don't s'pose you could...?
Pete: I'll get my tool bag from the van, shall I?
[Exit Pete]
Steve: What about the drummer?
Rich: You what?
Steve: In your hypothetical band of dictators a minute ago. What does the drummer do?
Rich: Whatever I bloody well say