A Rock Star, chapter 1
"Um...Anyone got any idea what day it is today?" Tre slurred as he massaged his temples with his drumsticks.
Mike yawned and replied, "Monday. Or maybe Tuesday. Oh fuck it, I don't know. What difference does it make? Every day is just like another."
Billie Joe frowned. "Dudes, we're on tour. Remember?"
"How could we forget?" Tre muttered.
Billie Joe rolled his eyes. "Remember the Kerplunk Tour? How we got no sleep and ate no food and had no equipment and still had a kick-ass time? We're on TOUR, guys, have fun."
Mike shook his head. "Look, I'm sorry if I'm acting like a fifty-year-old man. But this is fucking wearing me out."
Billie Joe looked at him in disbelief.
Tre nodded somewhat nervously. "Tours are great, but this schedule is crazy. I mean, where the hell are we anyway?"
Billie Joe paused. "Hm. Let's ask our manager."
Mike threw his hands in the air. "Our manager? Look, you're right, Billie, this is a tour. And right now, I'm not feeling the audiences, the fans, nothing. We're like a fucking circus show, and if I weren't so worn out, I'd try to do something about it. But frankly, I'm so tired that I don't care anymore."
Billie Joe stared at him. "What, you don't care about the music?"
"No, I don't care that we're becoming like the impersonal pop stars and stigmatized rockers. How long has it been since we gave a real impromptu performance? Or stayed at a fan's house? Or played for less than two hundred people? Or gotten ARRESTED, dammit. We don't do crazy shit anymore. People said we sold out with Dookie? No, we're selling out now. We're giving up, guys; we care about the music but we lost the lifestyle." Mike stopped and took a deep breath.
Billie opened his mouth as if to reply, but closed it again. Tre looked down at his feet and twiddled his drumsticks. An awkward silence filled the room.
Billie finally found his voice and said in cracked tones, "Well, what do you want to do? You think this isn't a rock band anymore?" his voice got stronger. "You wanna go back to Sweet Children, is that it? Or do you just want out? Want Screeching Weasel? 'Cause the life is one thing, but our music...well, that's another. If you want a new life, you want a new band, and that's crazy. I mean, Screeching Weasel was just not good, no matter how much we loved it. Our songs have never been better."
"Yeah, that's what all the tv hosts say, huh?" Mike retorted. "'American Idiot' is just a genius record. And you, Billie...Billie Joe Armstrong, a fucking genius songwriter of the ages."
Billie Joe froze and hung his head. Tre looked anxiously between them, then said, "Mike...that was too much. C'mon."
Mike looked down. "Look, I'm sorry, guys. I don't mean...what I mean is, our music is better than ever. It's great. And our shows should be great too. But I'm just out of energy, and I can't even think straight." He looked at both of them: Billie Joe's face still hidden as he stared at the ground, Tre holding his head in his hand. "I - I'm sorry, Billie, I really didn't mean that. Honestly. I know you, I know you're not like that, I don't know what got into me."
Billie Joe forced a smile. "I know. It's okay."
"Okay, guys, I'm gonna go get us some dinner or something," Mike announced, hoisting himself off the bed where he had been napping for the past two hours.
"Alright," Billie Joe called as the hotel door slammed. He turned to face a dozing Tre. "Hey, you know what?"
"Hm?" Tre murmured in reply.
Billie Joe twisted his hands and sat on the bed. "I think Mike was right."
"About what?" Tre asked, eyes still closed.
"I think I'm becoming someone I would have hated ten years ago."
Tre frowned, shaking of sleep. "You know, I don't think he meant any of that."
Billie Joe stood up and shook his head. "The worst thing is, I think he kind of did. I mean, it was kind of random, and he felt really bad afterwards, but it's the sort of thing that Mike would think and just not say. And..." Billie Joe sighed. "And it's the truth."
Tre shook his head adamantly. "Billie, it's not true. Mike didn't mean it, I don't believe it, and how about your family? What do they think?"
Billie Joe held his head in his hands. "I don't know if it's about me as a person. I don't think so. I think it's about the musician, the image, all of that..." he uncovered his face, and Tre could see the bags under his swollen eyes. "God, I'm becoming a rock star."
Tre blinked.
Billie Joe continued, "Remember how we used to joke about being stars? Well, now we're going to parties and hanging out with celebrities and even pretending to like the people we hate, so we can play on their show or their friend's show...this is crazy. And it's my fault. It's all my fault."
Tre took a deep breath. "Billie, even if all that were true, we're a band, and all of it is all our fault together. C'mon. You can't take the blame like that."
Billie Joe shuddered and said, "We gotta change. It's gotta happen. Somehow...I can't deal with this anymore." He looked at Tre. "Can you?"
Mike yawned and replied, "Monday. Or maybe Tuesday. Oh fuck it, I don't know. What difference does it make? Every day is just like another."
Billie Joe frowned. "Dudes, we're on tour. Remember?"
"How could we forget?" Tre muttered.
Billie Joe rolled his eyes. "Remember the Kerplunk Tour? How we got no sleep and ate no food and had no equipment and still had a kick-ass time? We're on TOUR, guys, have fun."
Mike shook his head. "Look, I'm sorry if I'm acting like a fifty-year-old man. But this is fucking wearing me out."
Billie Joe looked at him in disbelief.
Tre nodded somewhat nervously. "Tours are great, but this schedule is crazy. I mean, where the hell are we anyway?"
Billie Joe paused. "Hm. Let's ask our manager."
Mike threw his hands in the air. "Our manager? Look, you're right, Billie, this is a tour. And right now, I'm not feeling the audiences, the fans, nothing. We're like a fucking circus show, and if I weren't so worn out, I'd try to do something about it. But frankly, I'm so tired that I don't care anymore."
Billie Joe stared at him. "What, you don't care about the music?"
"No, I don't care that we're becoming like the impersonal pop stars and stigmatized rockers. How long has it been since we gave a real impromptu performance? Or stayed at a fan's house? Or played for less than two hundred people? Or gotten ARRESTED, dammit. We don't do crazy shit anymore. People said we sold out with Dookie? No, we're selling out now. We're giving up, guys; we care about the music but we lost the lifestyle." Mike stopped and took a deep breath.
Billie opened his mouth as if to reply, but closed it again. Tre looked down at his feet and twiddled his drumsticks. An awkward silence filled the room.
Billie finally found his voice and said in cracked tones, "Well, what do you want to do? You think this isn't a rock band anymore?" his voice got stronger. "You wanna go back to Sweet Children, is that it? Or do you just want out? Want Screeching Weasel? 'Cause the life is one thing, but our music...well, that's another. If you want a new life, you want a new band, and that's crazy. I mean, Screeching Weasel was just not good, no matter how much we loved it. Our songs have never been better."
"Yeah, that's what all the tv hosts say, huh?" Mike retorted. "'American Idiot' is just a genius record. And you, Billie...Billie Joe Armstrong, a fucking genius songwriter of the ages."
Billie Joe froze and hung his head. Tre looked anxiously between them, then said, "Mike...that was too much. C'mon."
Mike looked down. "Look, I'm sorry, guys. I don't mean...what I mean is, our music is better than ever. It's great. And our shows should be great too. But I'm just out of energy, and I can't even think straight." He looked at both of them: Billie Joe's face still hidden as he stared at the ground, Tre holding his head in his hand. "I - I'm sorry, Billie, I really didn't mean that. Honestly. I know you, I know you're not like that, I don't know what got into me."
Billie Joe forced a smile. "I know. It's okay."
"Okay, guys, I'm gonna go get us some dinner or something," Mike announced, hoisting himself off the bed where he had been napping for the past two hours.
"Alright," Billie Joe called as the hotel door slammed. He turned to face a dozing Tre. "Hey, you know what?"
"Hm?" Tre murmured in reply.
Billie Joe twisted his hands and sat on the bed. "I think Mike was right."
"About what?" Tre asked, eyes still closed.
"I think I'm becoming someone I would have hated ten years ago."
Tre frowned, shaking of sleep. "You know, I don't think he meant any of that."
Billie Joe stood up and shook his head. "The worst thing is, I think he kind of did. I mean, it was kind of random, and he felt really bad afterwards, but it's the sort of thing that Mike would think and just not say. And..." Billie Joe sighed. "And it's the truth."
Tre shook his head adamantly. "Billie, it's not true. Mike didn't mean it, I don't believe it, and how about your family? What do they think?"
Billie Joe held his head in his hands. "I don't know if it's about me as a person. I don't think so. I think it's about the musician, the image, all of that..." he uncovered his face, and Tre could see the bags under his swollen eyes. "God, I'm becoming a rock star."
Tre blinked.
Billie Joe continued, "Remember how we used to joke about being stars? Well, now we're going to parties and hanging out with celebrities and even pretending to like the people we hate, so we can play on their show or their friend's show...this is crazy. And it's my fault. It's all my fault."
Tre took a deep breath. "Billie, even if all that were true, we're a band, and all of it is all our fault together. C'mon. You can't take the blame like that."
Billie Joe shuddered and said, "We gotta change. It's gotta happen. Somehow...I can't deal with this anymore." He looked at Tre. "Can you?"
