Real Things We Learned as a Fake Band
by James Beamon
A five minutes break is not enough break.
Sets run from twenty to twenty-three minutes, depending on the combination of unintelligible howlings playing. We only have one working animatronic man, who we call Rusty, left to provide relief for me, Kelly, Rog, and Ryan. Although we're down two band members, and we have more time individually with Rusty, we still have to forage food and attempt to sleep through this infernal racket. Point being, it's extremely difficult to escape when we're only able to plan in five-minute bursts.
Everyone's not cut out for showbiz.
It's easy enough for me because I remember Showbiz, the kid-centric pizza place my parents used to take me to. I tap into my childhood, happier times, and see the animatronic animals jamming on stage. Loved it so much I remember the band name. Rock-afire Explosion. So for twenty minutes at a time, I am Rock-afire, I am the Showbiz bear singing lead. I pretend to jam away on a completely foreign instrument with a long handle and a dozen foot-long strings all housed at the bottom, an instrument I tell myself is not a broom. My eyes do the occasional long, deliberate blink. My mouth moves. My head turns. I survive.