Crossover day! LOTRips & Hard Core Logo
Apr. 9th, 2004 12:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hackthis_archive1. Why is ‘schadenfreude’ not an emotion? Dude, we need a new set of emoticons. It should also include: aggrieved, resigned, murderous, fangirling/boying, desperate, insane, and lustful
2. I broke one of my favorite earrings this morning. Words cannot begin to explain how vexed I am.
3. I can’t find my left sneaker. I think someone made off with it much in the vein of The Truth About Cats and Dogs
4. I discovered last night that ingesting large amounts of beer after having Dr Pepper makes you very, very wired. The solution to this is to listen to The Clash.
5. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
daraq not only do I have dS tapes, but I’ve seen Hard Core Logo. [insert reaction of choice here] Were you all going to tell me about Callum Keith Rennie or what? I mean, damn.
LOTRips/HCL or
Billy Boyd and Billy Tallent in
Rock ‘n’ Roll Star
Maybe I will never be
All the things that I wanna to be
Now is not the time to cry
Now's the time to find out why
I think you're the same as me
We see things they'll never see
Billy Boyd has a day job – he’s an actor. Acting is what he does to pay the rent and put tea and biscuits on the table. Acting is what Billy does so that he can travel and surf and live in a tiny bungalow with his best mate for a week and not wash the entire time. And fair play to him, he’s been fairly successful at what he does, but it’s not enough. Acting is Billy’s profession. It’s what he does. It’s not necessarily what he wants.
*
When Billy was wee he used to sing along to his nan’s records while she hoovered around the house. When other kids were jumping off of their beds with tea towels around the necks and playing superheroes, Billy was playing at being Keith and Mick and Ozzy and all sorts of people who strutted across the stage and had people screaming their names.
Billy used to sing to himself in the morning in the bath, and while he revised for his classes at night. Margaret would laugh when his voice broke on the high parts, but that never stopped him from practising as much as he could. Even after school was out and Billy went to the bookbinders, he would sing to himself to while away the time. The night before his Taggart audition Billy sang himself hoarse; he still doesn’t understand how the casting agent understood anything he said the following day.
*
In Los Angeles, everyone’s in a band -- Billy knows this like he knows his chords. A, G, D sharp, B, E flat. Something major. Something minor.
It doesn’t matter how successful people are at what they do, everyone: actors, waiters, valets, even people already in bands have other bands as their ‘side projects.’ Everyone wants to be a rock and roll star. No one is happy with what they have. It’s why people come to Hollywood in the first place. It’s why Dom came to L.A., and it’s why Billy eventually followed, because even though he’s supposed to be happy, he wants something more. He has everything he could want in Glasgow – his flat, his sister, Ali, stardom on his terms – and yet he’s still in L.A. playing tiny clubs and starring roles in cabaret acts. He wants his entire life to be more like that night at Dublin’s. He wants people screaming his name while he toys with the feedback on his Taylor Classic.
Billy wants to be a rock and roll star.
*
The lighting at the Dragonfly is non-existent, and the temperature is a crisp 10 degrees Celsius. Indoors. There aren’t that many people about for the opening acts, which suits Billy just fine, because he wants people to be there for him and not for Peregrin Took. Of course that’s why he chose the Dragonfly in the first place, you can’t get much more low key than a cement block with flaking paint several miles from the Whiskey-a-Go-Go and the glamourous Sunset Strip.
Billy sits off to the side of the stage, just next to the few unoccupied booths by the door, tuning his guitar. Under his distracted watch the bloke on stage sets himself on fire before jumping into the crowd and scaring the few bystanders away. Terry does this every week though, and he seems to enjoy it.
Billy fiddles with his A string and watches haphazardly as something called Jenifur’s Disease takes the stage. Billy’s never seen this band before, but of course it would only be one guy. One very, very tall guy who looks like he hasn’t gotten over the death of Joe Strummer yet. Billy can sympathise.
He crouches over his guitar a bit to check the tune on his new D string and is jarred by the raspy voice coming from the stage. Billy’s guitar bangs on his knee as shifts around to get a better look at the bloke on stage. Under the red spotlights Jenifur’s Disease looks slightly otherworldly and ethereal. He looks like a rock and roll star.
*
They pass each other coming to and from the stage where the steps only serve to exacerbate the difference in their height.
“Billy Boyd.”
“Billy Tallent.”
Billy pauses. “My mates call me Bills.”
Billy Tallent looks down as Billy Boyd looks up. He pulls a cigarette from someplace Billy can’t see and lights it before answering. “Good for them.”
*
The spotlights are bright blue, and from his spot on stage all Billy can see are upturned faces peering at him with the Hollywood eye, full of jaded ennui. It’s all Billy can do not to flip them all the V. He works himself to the bone during the week so that he can come and do this for himself. He tells himself it doesn’t matter if they don’t like him, but he knows that’s not true. Rock and roll stars need to be loved too. So he readjusts the strap on his guitar and opens his mouth to sing. The words flow from his tongue like ink from a biro and when the dull roar of bar orders becomes a tiny buzz, Billy knows he’s done his job for the night. If acting is his day job then singing is his moonlighting gig, and he thinks it’s nice to be good at this too.
*
He’s waiting in the back alley after Billy’s set, cigarette dangling between his lips, and Billy thinks he should be used to people materializing from out of nowhere by now. At the very least he should notice people well over two metres high lurking by the backdoor.
Billy Tallent makes an impossibly lean figure against the dark purple/blue/never-quite-black Los Angeles night, and Billy shifts his case to his other hand and digs in his pocket for his keys.
“Not bad,” Billy Tallent says between drags of his fag.
“Same to you,” Billy says, finding his keys inside his coat pocket. He shakes them out noisily as though attempting to warn Billy Tallent from stepping any closer. People his height make Billy’s neck hurt.
“You ever been in a band before?” Billy Tallent asks. It’s strange for Billy to keep thinking about this person using both his names, but if he thinks about Billy as Billy, well, then he’ll get confused. It’s not as though the guy gave him a name. Maybe he’ll just call him Tallent.
“I have one now,” Billy says.
Billy Tallent’s grin is huge as he chucks one fag and lights another one. “I don’t see them here.”
“Your point being what?”
“Bands should stick together. It’s not good when people go off by themselves.”
Billy’s first thought is of Dom, but that’s not quite right either. “Are you talking from experience?” he asks.
“Musically or personally?”
“Both.”
Billy, the other Billy, shrugs and takes a long drag of his cigarette. “Lets just say that being a rock star isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Everybody wants to be a star, but nobody ever thinks about how much it’ll cost. It’s easy to say it’ll be great at the beginning and then suddenly there are grave robberies and fake amputees and child custody issues.”
“These things happen all the time,” Billy points out. “Well not so much so with the fake amputees, so.”
“Yeah, but being a rock star doesn’t prepare you to deal with them. All being a star does is show you it’s possible to drink a lot and still stand upright.”
It’s late and Billy’s not really into being lectured by some overgrown Man. “Thanks for that,” he says turning away to head for his car.
“Don’t throw anyway your life just for something you think might happen,” Billy Tallent says to Billy’s back. “Chances are, even if you get what you want, it’s still not going to be enough.”
Billy pauses. “Do you want to get a drink?” he asks the air in front of him.
“You buying?”
“I thought the rock star always paid.”
-end-
Beta byserialkarma. Title and lyrics from the Oasis LP ‘Definitely Maybe’. You remember that CD right, from back when they were *good*?
2. I broke one of my favorite earrings this morning. Words cannot begin to explain how vexed I am.
3. I can’t find my left sneaker. I think someone made off with it much in the vein of The Truth About Cats and Dogs
4. I discovered last night that ingesting large amounts of beer after having Dr Pepper makes you very, very wired. The solution to this is to listen to The Clash.
5. Thanks to
daraq not only do I have dS tapes, but I’ve seen Hard Core Logo. [insert reaction of choice here] Were you all going to tell me about Callum Keith Rennie or what? I mean, damn.LOTRips/HCL or
Billy Boyd and Billy Tallent in
Rock ‘n’ Roll Star
All the things that I wanna to be
Now is not the time to cry
Now's the time to find out why
I think you're the same as me
We see things they'll never see
Billy Boyd has a day job – he’s an actor. Acting is what he does to pay the rent and put tea and biscuits on the table. Acting is what Billy does so that he can travel and surf and live in a tiny bungalow with his best mate for a week and not wash the entire time. And fair play to him, he’s been fairly successful at what he does, but it’s not enough. Acting is Billy’s profession. It’s what he does. It’s not necessarily what he wants.
When Billy was wee he used to sing along to his nan’s records while she hoovered around the house. When other kids were jumping off of their beds with tea towels around the necks and playing superheroes, Billy was playing at being Keith and Mick and Ozzy and all sorts of people who strutted across the stage and had people screaming their names.
Billy used to sing to himself in the morning in the bath, and while he revised for his classes at night. Margaret would laugh when his voice broke on the high parts, but that never stopped him from practising as much as he could. Even after school was out and Billy went to the bookbinders, he would sing to himself to while away the time. The night before his Taggart audition Billy sang himself hoarse; he still doesn’t understand how the casting agent understood anything he said the following day.
In Los Angeles, everyone’s in a band -- Billy knows this like he knows his chords. A, G, D sharp, B, E flat. Something major. Something minor.
It doesn’t matter how successful people are at what they do, everyone: actors, waiters, valets, even people already in bands have other bands as their ‘side projects.’ Everyone wants to be a rock and roll star. No one is happy with what they have. It’s why people come to Hollywood in the first place. It’s why Dom came to L.A., and it’s why Billy eventually followed, because even though he’s supposed to be happy, he wants something more. He has everything he could want in Glasgow – his flat, his sister, Ali, stardom on his terms – and yet he’s still in L.A. playing tiny clubs and starring roles in cabaret acts. He wants his entire life to be more like that night at Dublin’s. He wants people screaming his name while he toys with the feedback on his Taylor Classic.
Billy wants to be a rock and roll star.
The lighting at the Dragonfly is non-existent, and the temperature is a crisp 10 degrees Celsius. Indoors. There aren’t that many people about for the opening acts, which suits Billy just fine, because he wants people to be there for him and not for Peregrin Took. Of course that’s why he chose the Dragonfly in the first place, you can’t get much more low key than a cement block with flaking paint several miles from the Whiskey-a-Go-Go and the glamourous Sunset Strip.
Billy sits off to the side of the stage, just next to the few unoccupied booths by the door, tuning his guitar. Under his distracted watch the bloke on stage sets himself on fire before jumping into the crowd and scaring the few bystanders away. Terry does this every week though, and he seems to enjoy it.
Billy fiddles with his A string and watches haphazardly as something called Jenifur’s Disease takes the stage. Billy’s never seen this band before, but of course it would only be one guy. One very, very tall guy who looks like he hasn’t gotten over the death of Joe Strummer yet. Billy can sympathise.
He crouches over his guitar a bit to check the tune on his new D string and is jarred by the raspy voice coming from the stage. Billy’s guitar bangs on his knee as shifts around to get a better look at the bloke on stage. Under the red spotlights Jenifur’s Disease looks slightly otherworldly and ethereal. He looks like a rock and roll star.
They pass each other coming to and from the stage where the steps only serve to exacerbate the difference in their height.
“Billy Boyd.”
“Billy Tallent.”
Billy pauses. “My mates call me Bills.”
Billy Tallent looks down as Billy Boyd looks up. He pulls a cigarette from someplace Billy can’t see and lights it before answering. “Good for them.”
The spotlights are bright blue, and from his spot on stage all Billy can see are upturned faces peering at him with the Hollywood eye, full of jaded ennui. It’s all Billy can do not to flip them all the V. He works himself to the bone during the week so that he can come and do this for himself. He tells himself it doesn’t matter if they don’t like him, but he knows that’s not true. Rock and roll stars need to be loved too. So he readjusts the strap on his guitar and opens his mouth to sing. The words flow from his tongue like ink from a biro and when the dull roar of bar orders becomes a tiny buzz, Billy knows he’s done his job for the night. If acting is his day job then singing is his moonlighting gig, and he thinks it’s nice to be good at this too.
He’s waiting in the back alley after Billy’s set, cigarette dangling between his lips, and Billy thinks he should be used to people materializing from out of nowhere by now. At the very least he should notice people well over two metres high lurking by the backdoor.
Billy Tallent makes an impossibly lean figure against the dark purple/blue/never-quite-black Los Angeles night, and Billy shifts his case to his other hand and digs in his pocket for his keys.
“Not bad,” Billy Tallent says between drags of his fag.
“Same to you,” Billy says, finding his keys inside his coat pocket. He shakes them out noisily as though attempting to warn Billy Tallent from stepping any closer. People his height make Billy’s neck hurt.
“You ever been in a band before?” Billy Tallent asks. It’s strange for Billy to keep thinking about this person using both his names, but if he thinks about Billy as Billy, well, then he’ll get confused. It’s not as though the guy gave him a name. Maybe he’ll just call him Tallent.
“I have one now,” Billy says.
Billy Tallent’s grin is huge as he chucks one fag and lights another one. “I don’t see them here.”
“Your point being what?”
“Bands should stick together. It’s not good when people go off by themselves.”
Billy’s first thought is of Dom, but that’s not quite right either. “Are you talking from experience?” he asks.
“Musically or personally?”
“Both.”
Billy, the other Billy, shrugs and takes a long drag of his cigarette. “Lets just say that being a rock star isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Everybody wants to be a star, but nobody ever thinks about how much it’ll cost. It’s easy to say it’ll be great at the beginning and then suddenly there are grave robberies and fake amputees and child custody issues.”
“These things happen all the time,” Billy points out. “Well not so much so with the fake amputees, so.”
“Yeah, but being a rock star doesn’t prepare you to deal with them. All being a star does is show you it’s possible to drink a lot and still stand upright.”
It’s late and Billy’s not really into being lectured by some overgrown Man. “Thanks for that,” he says turning away to head for his car.
“Don’t throw anyway your life just for something you think might happen,” Billy Tallent says to Billy’s back. “Chances are, even if you get what you want, it’s still not going to be enough.”
Billy pauses. “Do you want to get a drink?” he asks the air in front of him.
“You buying?”
“I thought the rock star always paid.”
-end-
Beta by
serialkarma. Title and lyrics from the Oasis LP ‘Definitely Maybe’. You remember that CD right, from back when they were *good*?
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:22 pm (UTC)Anyway.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! Billy. And Billy!
*LUFFS*
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:24 pm (UTC)Heh, excuse me while I just fucking grin myself to death.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 01:06 pm (UTC)I can only imagine the amount of damage it'll cause when I finally see those 3rd season eps of dS. Hello, overload. *g*
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:41 pm (UTC)but.
DO NOT SMACK ON OASIS!!!
*brandishes whip*
(Okay, and who is Billy Tallent?)
(And should I see Hard Core Logo?)
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:49 pm (UTC)He's the one on the left.
(And should I see Hard Core Logo?)
mockumentary following a Canadian punk band on a reunion "tour" across Western Canada, with a seriously dysfunctional super-slashy relationship between the lead singer and the lead guitarist, includes copious amounts of substance abuse, cigarette smoking, seedy clubs and touring insanity.
also, Callum Keith Rennie is ridiculously fucking hot.
Hi Z!
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:52 pm (UTC)It sounds good! And I know there's a crazy huge fandom for it. I will have to examine this more closely.
However, that dude? With the spiky hair? Not so much with the hot. Y'all are on craaaaack.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 01:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 02:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 02:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 02:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 04:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 02:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 04:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-10 03:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-23 06:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 02:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 04:52 pm (UTC)I do not find Rusty attractive in the slightest. Like, ever.
Hugh Jackman, on the other hand, with or without the Wolverine leather, would never be kicked out of my bed for eating a steak.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:44 pm (UTC)This is oddly cool and appealing, man.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:44 pm (UTC)Ahahhahahahhaaa... well, no, we weren't going to mention it. We were going to keep him all to ourselves. Really.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 12:48 pm (UTC)Bweeee!
You remember that CD right, from back when they were *good*?
Dude.
Shoulders is my musical crack of choice right now. Don't be dissing the later years! (Well, that Heathen Chemistry bullshit sucked. But, still! "Gas Panic!")
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 02:42 pm (UTC)Billy as a rock star!! YEA!
Sorry about the earring, that sucks.
And if the sneaker is a red one, I haven't seen it!
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 03:35 pm (UTC)...he just doesn't know it yet.
*see icon above* Sex. On. Legs.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-09 04:06 pm (UTC)Billy? and Billy? WOOT!!!! I love Billy...AND Cal....Oh, you made my day!!!!
no subject
Date: 2004-04-10 09:59 pm (UTC)LOTR/Hard Core Logo. Dude.
You. Kick. Ass.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-12 06:10 am (UTC)And you tell the bastards that made off with your sneaker that it is a mortal sin to fuck with a sister's shoes, yo.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-12 08:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-14 01:29 pm (UTC)Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2004-05-04 03:55 am (UTC)Love the story, BTW