#i remember leaning over to james when we first saw it during the intermission like

[aemiron-main]

Currently going insane over the fact that a.) Victor is labelled as “Corporal” in the ST playbook, despite introducing himself to Mr. Newby as “Sergeant”-

-and b.) the fact that Adams and Hicks from the Eldridge crew were both listed as “corporal” by the actors despite Adams’ actor previously having listed him as “sargent”:

Which is especially interesting considering this bit from the ST4 Papa script re: “Sergeant Hicks”:

(and of course, Sgt. Hicks is involved in raiding the NINA bunker, hellooo TFS NINA weirdness!!!! also staring at this vs TFS Brenner Jr yelling at Henry about “any hick with a buck knife,” plus “Hickman Hill,” in the Elvis Cloned by Aliens Weekly Watcher article, PLUS the article from the end of ST1 talking about State Attorney Thomas E. Hickman (hello “E” as in (Edward”…) )

And I’m also staring at all of that/all of the weird Hicks vs Hickman vs Hickman Hill and the Hickman Hill alien ship stuff vs a.) the way that both Victor and Hicks get their officer title changed vs how Victor’s uses alien movie-esque language in the foyer (talking about how “they’re here,” and he’s NOT referring to Henry and Patty, instead, the identity of the “they” that Victor is referring to is unclear, and gets wrapped into his WW2 flashbacks/he then talks about being able to smell the smoke from “their” bodies, so weirdly enough, the victims of Victor’s WW2 bombing misfire are getting paralleled to aliens)

(especially with the fact that in-show Victor’s casting auditions were done by having the actors read from the script for the movie “Signs,” which is an alien movie)

b.) the way that Brenner Jr talks about making a connecting/making the connection & how that also has very similar alien movie-esque vibes re: “making contact”/“making a connection” with aliens

And c.) the Eldridge being a ship vs the spaceship supposedly seen above Hickman Hill vs Hicks being a sailor on the Eldridge.

But anyway, what the hell is going on with the weird mismatched WW2 officer titles??? Especially considering what I talked about wayyyy back re: Victor in Normandy on D-Day versus D-Day’s huge communication & chain of command problems & how that resulted in soldiers doing the duties of ranks they werent supposed to be doing/basically accidentally rising in the ranks… Versus TFS Victor introducing himself as being a rank above his “actual” (according to the play book, at least) rank, as Sergeants are ranked above Corporals.

And all of this gets extra interesting with the fact that there’s a direct reference to Welcome to Marwen (the movie from the ST4 board where a guy pretends to be a WW2 captain to cope with trauma & creates a whole fake little town as part of it hellloo hawkins esp with ‘welcome to marwen’ vs ‘welcome to hawkins’) during the scene where Mr. Newby and Victor meet for the first time… hahaha what the hell is going on???

Especially re: the parallel between Victor’s “corporal vs sergeant” stuff vs the Eldridge crew’s “corporal vs sergeant” stuff versus the Eldridge crew & Captain Brenner also having references to Welcome to Marwen…

[artisthousemusic-blog]

My Favorite Day

By Marc Broussard

I’ve had a lot of “favorite” days. They kind of happen by default when you travel the world. I could tell you about the day I signed with Atlantic? Or, when I found myself seated facing backwards in a small plane that was bolting off the deck of the USS Enterprise in the middle of the Persian Gulf.

Those were awesome days, sure, but I want to tell you about when I performed at the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame induction. 

Disclaimer: Because of my profession, my days start at night. While this story takes place over the course of two consecutive evenings, we’re still within that 24-hour window, technically speaking. 

It starts on March 12, 2006 at 9 p.m.

I’m at a rehearsal space in Manhattan. I had just bought a vintage Epiphone Sheraton the day before in Burbank, CA, and I couldn’t wait to plug it in. I was there to rehearse for a tribute to Wilson Pickett for the Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame Induction Ceremony. I’d be accompanied by two other singers: Leela James and the legendary Solomon Burke. We were to sing a medley with me taking the lead on a classic, “Mustang Sally.” Our backing band was Paul Shaffer and The CBS Orchestra.

Needless to say, I was stoked! 

Our rehearsal never materialized that evening because of technical problems. The facility had provided one sound engineer. He was running back and forth between monitors and front-of-house, trying desperately to please the band on stage and the board of directors. Shaffer, having had enough of it all, grabbed a wireless mic to let everyone know that rehearsal was over, made some choice remarks about the facility, and then proceeded (with all his might) to slam the wireless microphone to the ground. Not satisfied with the level of destruction on his first attempt, he picked it up and again threw it to the ground—this time, with pieces flying in every direction.

Felicia Collins came over to me and said, “I’ve known him for 25 years and I’ve never seen him do anything like that." 

My night was over but I didn’t care because I knew I’d get to tell this story some day. And it was just the beginning! 

I woke up the next morning early with my mind set on getting some new threads. I went to H&M (a store I’d never heard of) and picked out a new fancy shirt and jacket. Jumped into a Kenneth Cole and scooped up a pair of shoes and I was ready. Well, almost ready. My label had arranged for me to get a haircut and beard trim in my hotel room.

At this point, I was feeling like a bonafide rock star. New York. New clothes. Fresh hair.

And I was set to perform in a room full of rock legends! 

This opportunity, mind you, had its roots back at home. You see, having booked Leela and Solomon for the tribute to Wilson Pickett, it was told to me that Jann Wenner queried the rest of the show producers as to the possibility of "a soulful, white man” to round out the trio. My name was put forth as the primo option by Rick Krim, who ran VH1. He only knew who I was because one of his dear friends did me the honor of introducing us years earlier at her home in Los Angeles. She was a Lafayette girl by the name of Leah Simon, a woman holding a debt I’ll never be able to repay, and not nearly for just this one occasion. 

We arrived at the Waldorf ballroom before most everyone else. I had no idea just how epic the scene would become by the time I hit the stage. Though we hadn’t rehearsed fully the night before, Leela and Solomon had worked on their parts and “Mustang Sally” was an easy enough tune. I was told by the production staff to get off stage quickly, as there would be a crew coming to help Solomon off once we were done. When it was my time to go, Paul Shaffer called my name and I took my place on stage. 

Now, “Mustang Sally” is a perfect song for a ham like me—tons of space for a “ha” or “good god” in between lyrics. The lights were in my eyes and the room was dark, so I couldn’t really see the audience. What I’ve learned about these kinds of performances, though, is that they tend to be fairly energizing but are always over too quickly. There’s nowhere for all of that energy to go afterwards, and I often need to take a breather once it’s all said and done. 

As soon as the song ends, I threw up a peace sign, unplugged my guitar and headed for the stage exit, but the crew to help Solomon was already streaming in and I was forced back out onto a wing of the stage. There I stood, holding my guitar, looking at a now fully lit ballroom filled to the absolute brim with rock and roll royalty. 

Hey, there’s Ozzy and Sharon. Oh, that’s Bonnie Raitt. Kid Rock and Ahmet Erdogen are over there. Holy shit, that’s Brian May sitting with Metallica!

These weren’t A-listers because none of these people needed to be on the list. These were, and still are, the biggest rock stars on the planet and none of them are paying attention to me. I took my breather right there in front of everybody, scanning the room for faces I recognized. The best descriptor for how I felt at that moment was, “fly on the wall.”

However, that all came to screeching halt as my eyes came back to the center of the room. There sat one man, surrounded by friends and contemporaries, all chatting away … save for him. He’s been waiting for me to see him. As soon as our eyes lock, he throws me a huge thumbs up.

Once I realized this man was Sting, I lost control of myself for a second. My hands jerked to my head like I’d just seen my life savings disappear and then thrust forward, fingers spread as if to say, “IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING?!?!" 

I finally made my way off stage, packed away my guitar and headed to my seat at the VH1 table, three feet from the stage-right speaker stack. I was immediately pulled to the big table front and center to say hello to my old label executives, who were no longer at my label having moved from Island/Def Jam to Atlantic. I remember feeling kind of awkward at the way Lyor Cohen leaned all the way over the table to plant a big, wet kiss on my cheek. It was like something out of a mob movie.

Was he signaling to someone else in the room? I didn’t know. 

What I did know was that I needed to pee, so I excused myself to the restroom. Metallica happened to be making their way to the stage just as I was about to enter the men’s room and we crossed paths, briefly. "Hey man,” Kirk Hammett hollered out to me. “You’re a badass!”

The stalls and urinals were all occupied, so I took my place on the wall opposite one of the guys at the urinals, waiting for him to finish his business. This is the kind of thing guys do all the time. When the guy finishes, he turns around, and without making any sort of contact, verbal or otherwise, you man up to a hot, steamy urinal still fresh with another man’s fluids.

It’s disgusting … hence the unwritten (but very real) no contact rule, especially with the eyes. Nobody ever had to tell me that was the rule, mind you. But this time was different because the guy that turned around that I wasn’t supposed to look at was Ozzy freakin’ Osborne! I think I even said, “What’s up, man?” which, again, is a big no-no. He mumbled some gibberish as he walked past and I stepped up to handle my business, morbidly enjoying the whole experience. 

Metallica performed a Skynyrd medley before the lights came up again in the ballroom. Kid Rock comes over to me and says, “Hey man, Ahmet wants to meet you." 

(Ahmet Erdogen was the legendary founder of Atlantic Records and one of the most influential figures in music during the 20th century.) 

"Young man, you were amazing,” Ahmet commented. “Tell me: Where will you be at the end of June?“ 

I told him I’d be wherever he needed me to be. 

He went on. "Have you heard of Montreux? Well, this year, the first night is dedicated to me and I’d like you to perform." 

I glanced back with a quizzling look at my manager who heard the exchange and she just nodded. So, I nodded in turn and the encounter was done. Not 30 seconds went by when Brian May (lead guitarist from Queen) comes over to me and says, "You’re a great singer, man. So I hear you’re going to be at Montreux.”

News apparently travels quickly in those circles. 

From that point on, I only had one thing on my mind: meet Sting. Every time the lights came up between sets, I tried to make my way to his table. Everyone would get up from their seats and start mingling, clogging up the space between tables. I’d get half the way there and then the lights would fade again. It was frustrating, but I was determined. Luckily, my seat would serve me well. Because I was seated so close to the stage, you had to walk right next to me if you wanted to go to the bathroom. During one of the intermissions, I saw my opportunity as Sting made his way to the loo. 

I just popped up out of my chair at the very moment he got to my table. It stopped him in his tracks and he grabbed me by the shoulders, leaned back to get a good look, pulled me in for a bro hug, pushed me back at the shoulders again and said, “Man, you’re a badass!”

I was in shock. The only response I could muster was, “You’re Sting.” We exchanged a few more kind words and then I let him on by. 

The evening was filled with moments like this one. I had performed well enough that every single one of these celebrities that walked by me said something kind. I was on the proverbial cloud 9 and starting to enter the stratosphere! What happened next was a moonshot. 

To close out the entire show, they had hired a man who lived three miles from my house: Buchwheat Zydeco. It was, I thought, a serendipitous end to the whole affair. Just as the band kicked it into gear, Debbie Harry sashayed up the stairs directly in front of me and up onto the stage. Rick Krim and my manager both immediately started to urge me to go dance with her. I flatly refused with a quiet “No!” through a grimaced smile. They insisted. “You’ll be on TV dancing with Blondie, fool! Get on that stage!” I relented.

Climbing the steps, I wondered as to exactly how I was supposed to ask Debbie Harry to dance with me. It turned out to be pretty easy. I just tapped her on the shoulder and presented her with body language that said something like, “Eh? How about it? Wanna give this a try?” She happily accepted the offer. 

So, to recap, in one evening, I sang with Solomon Burke, got kissed by Run-DMC’s old tour manager, mafia-style, high-fived Metallica, peed on the remnants of Ozzy Osborne’s pee, got invited to perform at one of the most prestigious music festivals in the world, made small talk with Kid Rock and Brian May, got a hug from Sting and two-stepped with Debbie Harry while Buckwheat Zydeco played us out.

I could’ve died right there.

I think I did die right there because I don’t remember anything after that until many days later.