So you’ve come to The School That Rocks. You got big dreams. You want fame. But fame costs and right here’s where you start paying. Specifically with course fees – I mean for a degree you’re talking in the region of £16,000 for two years which is actually pretty reasonable all things considered. It’s the Academy of Contemporary Music in Guildford I reference and 18-year-old Henrietta is our first hopeful. She came up in the gospel tradition and has that winning mixture of hubris and stupidity that defines the young. “World domination – that’s my dream” she says but when she comes to perform in front of her classmates she flops like a particularly lethargic giant squid with Lou Gehrig’s disease that’s just been dropped onstage at an underperforming off-Broadway production having been told “sing, you invertebrate fuck!”
Henrietta flops like a particularly lethargic giant squid with Lou Gehrig’s disease that’s just been dropped onstage.
Henrietta feels bad about bombing so she visits the college mentor and a fat lot of fucking use she is. College mental tells her to utilise her time better and while she avoids saying “work harder you lazy bitch” she clearly wants to. Henrietta feels the mental is being condescending but that’s only because she is. She’s got that “well I can’t do the work for you” cunty vibe coming off her the people in those dreary jobs often have. Once a tutor talks to her like she’s a grown-up Henrietta perks up a bit and next time she warbles for the class it’s significantly less shite. She’s got a decent set of pipes on her. She’ll probably be OK.
What about soul vocalist Ella? She’ll be 20 soon at which point she’s as good as fucked in this industry. Everyone agrees that she may as well murder-suicide the entire class if she hasn’t got a record deal by her 20th birthday so the stakes are high. Living with her borefriend Sonny and fronting his soul bland Ella wants to broaden her horizons a bit and to this end she auditions for trainee producer James. On his third course at the Academy Lames is returning from a disillusioning stint working in the music business and one of the few things more depressing than that is the thought of having to recount their dipshit collaboration so I’m fucked if I’m doing that.
But the real stars of the show are college bland Massmatiks – that’s Martin, George, Josh and Joe. Massmatiks party as hard as they suck and that’s exceptionally but don’t let their complete lack of credibility fool you. Asthmatics are a band going places, specifically to an
industry showcase performance where they will prance and shout for a squad of Ryman League A&R fucknuts where the prize for the best act is a Jim’ll Fix It style trip to the fabled Metropolis Studios where they can pretend to cut a record.
It’s the opportunity of a lifetime but disaster strikes right before the showcase when George sprains his vagina kickboxing. Coldplay’s ‘Fix You’ plays but there is no fixing George’s ruined fanny. He can suck a dick a day until he dies if he thinks he’s playing guitar again in a hurry.
Disaster strikes right before the industry showcase when George sprains his vagina kickboxing
Fortunately they have these things called “replacement guitarists” and they ship one in for the performance with George performing stoically on vocals. They stink the place out as comprehensively as it’s ever been stank but on energy and cluelessness alone they win through and Asthmatics get their day trip to Metplopalot Studios where, after gaining permission from their parents, they press a Fisher-Price rubber 12 inch which they are told will be sent out to record companies but is actually thrown on a giant pile and burned the moment they walk out the door with all the staff making wanker gestures out of the window at the boys as they leave.
A bit unnecessary that but it all just goes to demonstrate that the music industry is a cold unforgiving place filled with the worst human beings on the face of the planet.
Be careful out there, kids.
The verdict: Franz Turdinand
Marks out of 10: 6