Written on 23 January 2019
“Jake, mate. You're a phenomenal bassist. You've got the potential to be in the top 10 of all time. If not top 5. But, I swear to god, if you come in late one more time I'll shove Tim's snare drum up your cock!”
Kevin was going all Whiplash again. Jake just shook his head.
“Kev, it's cool. We've got plenty of time to get it right.” Tim said diplomatically.
“Don't even get me started with you, Tim. You're hardly fucking Keith Moon, are you? Your fills are completely arsing out today.” Tim looked hurt.
“You're hardly Pete Townsend yourself mate.” Came Tim's stifled retort. Kevin smirked, the same clawing, smug grin he wore on stage.
“You're right. I'm a better guitarist than him, and a superior singer to Daltry.” He said, playing a three second elaborate solo to prove his point.
“Guys, I don't wish to fight. You're both fantastic musicians. But we HAVE to get this right. Battle of the bands at the shack is only two weeks away. Two weeks to be perfect.” Tim and Jake looked at each other. They were about to be sentenced to solitary confinement with this egomaniac.
“Every day. We'll be in here every day until we're ready.”
And they did. Six hours a day for two weeks. The last two weeks of their summer holidays. Whilst everyone else enjoyed the balmy evenings swimming and fishing and partying, they were locked in Kevin's stuffy garage.
They finished fourth out of seven at Battle of the Bands. Kevin fired his rhythm section shortly afterwards, opting to take his act solo.