Hi Everyone, and welcome to a new thing I’m gonna be doing. I’ve started writing more fake band stories in the vein of The Ballad Of Buttery Cake Ass. At the end of that book, there’s a 50 page Discography, complete with track listings, of other, made-up, artists relating to the Buttery Cake Ass world - solo projects, acts who recorded with legendary producer Reg ‘Baton’ Button, and a selection of works by that big influence on the boys, jazzman Nigel Dinks. Those looking closely will find a strange coincidence between Dinks’ last album, The End Is Ni, and Buttery Cake Ass’ sole LP, Live In Hungaria. The Discography took me an extra month to write after the book was finished, but it was totally worth it, so much fun did I have doing so.
This first one will be free for everyone to read but I’m adding a paid account for future short stories. The plan is for one a month, and I’ve made it as cheap as possible (Substack doesn’t let you charge less than $5/month but yearly subscriptions work out to $3/month). Many thanks if you choose to support my writing in this way. I’m hoping this will help to keep things going.
And without further ado, the first of these stories, ‘Racket Required’:
Racket Required
The underground was all abuzz, for word on the court was that Dentist Tennis had reformed. Signing to a lucrative deal in 1995, many felt the band’s brand of angular hard rock would slide in nicely somewhere between the Britpop outposts in America and those strongholds where grunge was still riding out its wave. Gen 5 Records A & R man Billy Evidence, however, was trying to predict the future. Which he was sure was a return to the sound of Phil Collins circa 1985. So certain in fact, he mortgaged his home to build a state-of-the-art recording complex and get any bands aligned with his vision in there post-haste. So far there were no takers. And although Billy told everyone his new venture was located ‘just on the outskirts of Laurel Canyon’, Sue Studios - named after his wife, or so he claimed - would actually be found almost an hour south of that musical haven, occupying a non-descript structure on Hardy St. in Inglewood. Once through the door it was massive, home to spacious rec rooms, puppet theatres, offices reserved for 24 hour barometrical pressure readings, suites filled with priceless busts of biblical figures, and anything else Billy Evidence thought might bestow an 80s Phil Collins vibe on the music made within. There was also a corridor dedicated to doing just that. In which Evidence eventually got to work on the third album by 80s cult act, Dentist Tennis.
It was not, however, the true Dentist Tennis that devoted readers of Record Retainer magazine would remember. Rather, one night injecting his big toe with a cocaine cocktail after a long day of once again failing to find ‘the next big Phil’, Billy ended up in a Hollywood emergency room. Not due to any complications from the drugs but rather because he felt he wasn’t as high as he should’ve been, and wanted to know what went wrong. As Billy grappled with succinctly wording this on the clipboard form, in whirred a stretcher fresh from an ambulance, complete with drip and confining straps, and barreling towards the bustle in back. It was one of those instances of synchronicity that sometimes come giftwrapped straight to your awaiting fingers. For as the gurney whizzed by, someone mentioned a name, one that Billy recognized from the past. And although the prone figure was thrashing and foaming at the mouth making a clear view nigh on impossible, Billy connected the two. If this body were to survive whatever currently raged within, it would belong to that of one Deuce Bandwith, lead singer of defunct legends Dentist Tennis. Whom Billy would then sign to Gen 5.
Perhaps the band weren’t ‘legends’ on a national scale, but to all who, like Billy, had caught wind of their complete-with-chainsaw-and-pneumatic-drills cover of Elton John’s ‘Rocket Man’ outside CBS headquarters on May 17, 1990, purposely coinciding with the final few minutes of the last ever episode of Falcon Crest, they were stars. The band had of course changed the chorus to shout above the clamor ‘we’re the racket men’, though it was hard to say how many people initially noticed this or were even aware it was a cover version, so cacophonous were the proceedings. This was only clarified days later, and never confirmed, as the group, without any permits to be on Sixth Avenue, were wary of legal action. Immediately following the tune’s chaotic conclusion, they had tossed their equipment into awaiting unmarked vehicles and absconded to the Mirrorette Club to play a set Ted Impact of The Canal Street Root reviewed as ‘extracting genius at every turn’. Still keeping stumm, Deuce denied knowledge of the Falcon Crest fiasco when questioned about it before their Friday night show at Colgate University. The grainy video footage that began to circulate on bootleg VHS copies does little to provide proof that it was Deuce & co. Yes, it definitely sounds like them, but the four figures causing the ruckus are all wearing balaclavas with the word DENTIST spray-painted across the top in hot pink capitals, as was the fashion at the time. The band maintained that it could’ve been anyone. And whoever it was were also clearly seen wearing surgical gloves, leaving not a fingerprint to be found on a single one of the intermingled pages torn from both Gravity’s Rainbow and Infinite Jest that the masked musicians had let flutter where they will.
Dentist Tennis first rose to national attention in 1985 when Sudden Pony Records released their debut, Ballbreaker, and had parted ways at the end of 1991 after the 15-month slog promoting Occult Racket. The intervening years had seemed like an eternity. Especially to Deuce Bandwith, who now spent his nights uninvited in Hollywood motel rooms attempting to relive or at least retell his glory days. The events of this evening however were shrouded in mystery, as he confessed to Billy Evidence who checked him out of the hospital when his heart rate had returned to normal. “Dunno, man. Musta gotten hold of some bad nitrus.”
Allowing the singer to live in his guesthouse, Evidence took care of the necessary managerial duties, and only after everything was in place with Gen 5, presented Deuce with a contract. Deuce was thrilled, he had spent the time if not exactly getting clean, then at least working on new material using the guest piano, vacuum cleaner, and assortment of badminton paraphernalia. Billy was not particularly interested in these new compositions, catchy though some of them were, as he had other ideas. Subliminally of course, Phil’s entire solo catalogue was being piped into Deuce’s quarters on a constant loop, specially spliced so that ‘Rocket Man’ appeared between every song, in the hopes that these would rub off on Bandwith, seep into his songwriting, and ease Evidence’s own plans into fruition. But with comeback careers being so delicate in the gestation period, Billy felt it best to press his cards against his chest, and also cut out the mainlining of any form of stimulant lest the urge to talk prove too great. His being of an excitable nature, keeping his schemes to himself was often tortuous, and when questioned why the legal documents read ‘Dentist Tennis’, Billy, ready to burst, did confess to Deuce that it was because he was sure the album title ...And Then There Was One... would sell millions.
“How do the rest of the band feel about this?” It only now occurring to Deuce that he hadn’t seen Quiv Lineroller, Cav Holman, or drummer Steve ‘Smackin V’ Mackenzie for quite some time. Over the course of his destitution he had lost their numbers, Billy unable to stifle a slight smile upon receiving this information. To which he then shrugged as if the matter was settled, Dentist Tennis would continue as Deuce solo. It was not unheard of for a singer to do such a thing, or for a singer to show no outward signs of guilt for doing such a thing. And so into Sue Studios they went, architect and inaugural artiste, Billy beaming as he showed off its wares. The first thing Deuce asked was “Why are there so many pictures of Genesis on the walls?”
Billy Evidence looked quizzically about him, taking in the tone of concern. “Oh. I’ll have to have a word with my decorator. Tsk, tsk.”
The next day Deuce arrived to find the offending frames replaced with shots solely of solo Phil. The album covers, stills from his videos, and candid close-ups of Collins boarding the Concorde to perform at both Live Aid events either side of the Atlantic. “Remember that day?” Billy asked with pride.
“Naw, man. Missed the whole thing. We were in the middle of the Ballbreaker tour at the time, out of our minds on Jolt cola, pixie sticks, novocaine, and quaaludes. Heard Madonna threw her shoe at the audience in the name of world peace or something like that.”
It was the first time Billy felt even the slightest apprehension about this venture. How could anyone not have wanted to catch Phil on live TV? Especially in those days when channel space was so limited. And listening to Ballbreaker it was as if the band had never listened to him at all. Though soon Billy breathed a sigh of relief, recalling that Deuce recognized Genesis by sight as soon as they had walked in the studio.
Deuce set to work with an intensity he had not known in years. It felt great to be back in the studio. And that Billy was paying for the drugs. Within two weeks, he had twelve tracks finished, the proposed album considered done and dusted. Deuce especially couldn’t wait for the world to hear ‘Deploy The Noise’, ‘Masonry Dictionary’, and ‘Throwin’ Bolts On Michael’s Boat’. As well as a cover of the KISS song from which he got his name when he was nine years old. In fact his first band had played primarily KISS tunes, all dressing like Gene Simmons, necessitating three bassists, no guitars, and a drummer whose cat make-up was modified to be more ‘demon-esque’. Upon hearing this, Billy knew it would need to be whitewashed out of the official history, competing as it did with the Collinsophilia he had in mind. Becoming more perturbed when the singer got to enthusing over ‘Deuce’ being ‘the comeback single’. “Makes sense, you know?” But to Billy it most certainly did not. So it was time to unveil the big picture to Deuce. These new recordings would be, if not scrapped, then at least held in abeyance until after the world received the real first single. Which was sure to knock them senseless, being a cover of Elton John’s ‘Rocket Man’ done in the style of Phil Collins and altered to read ‘Racket Man’. Singular. “How’s that for a comeback single?” Billy quickly gushing more of his masterplan, “And we’ll call the record No Racket Required. It’ll be, like, metaphysical, man!”
Deuce stood stunned. His expression matching that of the framed ...But Seriously sleeve that hung next to his head. It was a minute before he could speak, “What?”
Billy Evidence, on the verge of seeing all his dreams leak out of his brain into a beautiful fully-formed reality, now reiterated his intentions with the fervor of a pastor on fire. Yes, having two albums in a row with ‘Racket’ in the title might be strange, but not so if they rolled this into a trilogy, perhaps approaching Digital Underground about a possible collaboration - ‘Sex Rackets has a nice ring to it’.
“No,” Deuce declared, and walked out of Sue Studios.
Billy chasing after him. “But that’s what you’re known for, man!”
Deuce didn’t see it that way. In fact, during those alien years on the Hollywood motel circuit, inflicting his stories of the good old days on various wayward vacationers and overly polite ingénues, he never once brought up the Falcon Crest incident, and occasionally, when someone would remember, their eyes alighting in recognition, Deuce would shrug it off. No, the tales he told always dealt with what he really wanted to be known for - the music that Dentist Tennis had created. Uncompromising heavy rock. Hard as, well, teeth, and taut as a net. The Ballbreaker tour, despite its whirlwind of drug-addled devastation, had also glimpsed laughing gas glory, audiences pulverized yet begging for more. And getting to work with Reg ‘Baton’ Button had brought their recorded sound incredibly close to what he heard in his head, rattling his jaw into a proud smile. Dentist Tennis was so much more than whatever May 17, 1990 had been.
Lying on his bunk in the guesthouse, listening back to the rough mixes, great as these new tunes were, Deuce now saw that without the other guys, it truly wasn’t the same. And so set out to find them. Which didn’t take long as, hearing the rumors that their band had reformed without their knowledge, Quiv, Cav, and Smack had traveled to Tinsel Town to see just what the hell was going on. But not before contacting the firm of MacArthur, Dent, & Molar, whose senior partners, the secretary informed the boys in a cruel twist of irony, happened to be panting their way through a game of mixed doubles at the moment.
The lawsuits all came at the same time, the name of the studio taking on a darker meaning as a consequence. Sue Evidence was filing for divorce, citing mismanagement of funds as the studio and guesthouse had been procured with her family’s money. Quiv, Cav, & Smack managed to obtain a cease & desist order in regards to use of the Dentist Tennis name. And Deuce himself felt the need for legal protection in case Billy conspired to alter and release the recordings. Wise, as Evidence was planning on doing just that, combing through the tapes in the hopes of finding enough snippets of melody and words to cobble together the version of ‘Rocket Man’ he had in mind. He came surprisingly close, as his subliminal assault had worked a treat. In the end, Deuce decided to discard those tracks and start over, working the new tunes up again with the band, a process that shed any trace of Collins/John/Taupin, even without knowing they were there in the first place.
Before they went ahead, however, Deuce had to convince the rest of the band that he genuinely had not realized they weren’t to be involved. Remembering the time on the ’88 tour that he drank three pints of goat’s milk back to back, having spent two hours scouring the town for such a commodity, because he’d heard it would ‘take the edge off’ the PCP-laced speedball he’d been looking forward to mainlining all day and, unlike the last time, keep him out of the hospital - though of course it very much did not - Quiv, Cav, and Smack soon believed him. The fact that the press had been so exuberant over the news of their getting back together helped ease things along. And so they set to work, injecting their disjointed signatures into Deuce’s new tunes, ‘Exhibit B’ and ‘Mega Bite’ sounding particularly maniacal. The band opted to stay with Gen 5. After all, it was their name on the contract and a lot of money on the table. Gen 5 were also prepared to pay millions for a version of ‘Racket Man’, in whatever style they wished, complete with a guarantee of handling the steep legal fees. But the band declined, noting that this would amount to a confession concerning the Falcon Crest incident. Evidence, if you will. They were working with a different A&R man, of course. It taking a couple of tries before they finally found someone who understood them. Before hooking up with Briars Magnum, they had had to deal with the likes of ‘Sheriff’ Sam Zahndern who greeted them by suggesting a change of name. “Dentist Arena Football would make a great callback to your initial run.”
Deuce’s time with Evidence did provide a couple what might be deemed concessions to the disgraced A&R man’s ideas. Ahead of the album, a common trick at the time to gain indie cred, their former label Sudden Pony Records released a 12” single of ‘Bass Value’, a track notable for refusing to adhere to standard mastering practices and thus rendering it impossible to listen to on the format issued, as the needle kept jumping out of the groove. Its b-side was a remix by none other than Sue Evidence. Her first crack at such a venture, before she became the beloved DJ she is today. The full-length, Invisible Touchdown, hit shelves June 25th, 1996, receiving rave reviews across the board, and far outselling ‘Balls (In The Air Today)’, the Wimbledon-themed single Billy Evidence rush-released on his new Fill & Drill imprint.