The Bad: Part I

Prologue

“My son calls me Daddy, my wife calls me Sweetie.  You can feel free to call me anything you like.”

Mr. and Mrs. The Bad

An older brother recently indicated a need to disclose his feelings publicly.  I encourage him to take the initiative of setting up his own free blog site and venting his hatred there.  Here, I now intend to tell the story of how my entire existence was redefined by music, and again by love.

The Bad, Part 1

Understand from the start that this story would read significantly differently if another were to tell it.  I am fortunate enough to have the written word of others involved, and I hope that they will read this piece and know how much they meant to me at the time, as well as how much they mean to me now.

Bad Boys

Suffice it to say that I was never the popular kid in school.  Typically, when someone is known yet not popular, the definition of “notorious” or “infamous” is assigned.  I’m not entirely convinced that I was either of those, but I was most certainly known and usually avoided.  I was the unstable one.  I had been institutionalized.  After that, people were less inclined to shit all over me.

When I went away to my first year of college, I realized that I had no notoriety on campus.  I had finally shed twelve years of reputation and could literally be anyone I wanted to be.  I did so, and for the first time in my life I felt as though I was in control of my own image and destiny.  I explored my love for writing in ways I never dared to attempt before.  I responded to critics without reserve, and feared no reprisals.  In a nutshell, I came out of my nutshell.

Being new to standing up for myself, I alienated as many as I befriended, and found myself again on an island of sorts.  For the sake of change, I left the university for one much smaller and in a different region of the country.  In retrospect, leaving a state university for a small, private and religious university was probably not the best idea in the world.  Regardless, I ventured on to campus more grizzled than one year before and more confident in myself to be by myself.

Then, I met a girl.

I went into my second year of college at a new school with a new way of presenting myself in another blank-canvass setting.  The Thoughtful Loner would slowly walk the grounds of the small Midwestern campus, and usually could be spotted sitting beneath a tree in the Common Area jotting down oddities in his notebook.  At this point, I had figured that I was best suited to keep to myself if I was to accomplish anything.  Then, a shadow fell upon me below the big oak tree.

Robyn, a girl I had noticed on campus, had decided to favor me with her attention.  She was curious about what I was writing and I was curious why such a pretty girl would even notice me sitting there.  Romance ensued.  With the confidence gained from my new-found love interest, I began writing an editorial column for the school newspaper.  I also was allowed to host a program on the school’s radio station, regardless of the fact that I was not attending any broadcasting courses.  I called it “Floyd’s Groovydom Palace”, and would haul my collection of compact discs to the broadcast booth so I could play the music that moved me most.  This is why I publish under the copyright of “F.G.P. Entertainment”.

In High School, inspired by the “None Of The Above” concept from the movie “Brewster’s Millions”, I attempted a similar campaign for student council.  It didn't work.  In my second year of college, I tried it again.  The residence hall in which I lived had an election for Hall President.  This was a position for the Popularist Elitistata.  I ran an unfunded and unendorsed campaign for the position from my dorm room.  Few knew me directly, but everyone knew my words from the school paper and the radio show, as well as the campaign flyers I made sure were everywhere you looked when you were on campus.  I never expected to win the campaign, so I was a bit taken back when I found out I would be the new Hall President.  This was my first popularity contest I had ever won, and I had done so without actually being popular.

With an “etcetera, etcetera”, I will dispense with the nuts and bolts of why I only remained on campus for one semester.  Put simply, I was more interested in my passionate love interest, my political position, my radio show, and my editorial column than I was in my course load.  As such, I left my college career at one-point-five years.

Robyn and I kept the flame burning, so while I began working menial sales jobs back home, she completed the second semester of the school year.  She then transferred to a well-known university in Milwaukee, Wisconsin and I moved there to be with her.  When I left home, I literally had nothing more than my car, wardrobe and bed.  I rented a room with the only money I had, and dived into the job market.

More “etcetera, etcetera”.  I had been making decent money in a job as a professional fundraiser for a little over a year when shit fell apart.  Robyn chose to leave me, and moved out while I was at work.  I ceased to function for a couple weeks after that.  I made a try at school again, and did a pretty decent job at a Milwaukee area technical college.  Just the same, I was drowning in loneliness and regret from Robyn’s sudden, yet understandable departure from my life.

I upended.  I swallowed all of my pride and asked my parents if I could come home.  Of course, they accommodated without question.  Before I knew it, I was back in my hometown and seeing old friends with whom I had only contacted in a tertiary sense of my daily life.  Homecoming felt surprisingly good, and I was enrolled in a new technical school that presented more options to my evolving sales sensibilities.

Then, I met a girl.

After the collapse of my life and love in Wisconsin, I sought and found refuge with friends and acquaintances of old.  In truth, the use of the plural in the word “friends” is an overstatement.  My one tried and true friend, Jim, opened his door and his heart to my sorrows and offered his support and solace as only a true friend can.  I was welcomed at Jim’s place any time I needed, and I needed it frequently.

Tammy was an unexpected circumstance.  She was friends with both Jim and his older brother for quite some time.  She was also friends with Steve and Dylan, two musicians who had been recording music during and since High School, and whom I had occasion to acquaint.  Over the course of years, the paths of our lives had intersected, culminating in a, “holy cow, you know all the people I know” sort of meeting the woman I would first marry.

This new relationship with Tammy brought about wider exposure to Steve and Dylan, and the wonderful music they already knew how to make.  We were already friendly and I had a burning desire to be part of making music.  It didn't take too long before I was working myself on a daily basis to play the guitar.  I had already found musical accolade from the new media of the time known as Karaoke.  I knew that if I could pair playing an instrument with my ability and desire to sing, I could find myself performing as I always had fantasized.

Yes, Dylan's holding a golf club

Steve:

“When I was getting out of college in 1998, I was working a good job and the internet bubble was growing like Mt. St. Helens.  My job as a web page designer put me right at the forefront of a new and huge business, and I even had my own web portal, “Cartooniverse”.  Things were going great professionally and my side music project was just about to be taken to the next level.

 During the last couple of years I had been jamming on and off with my buddy Tim. He lived in a tiny little apartment, which was referred to as “The Perch”. We’d been jamming on and off for the past couple years and had written a handful of songs. Although I had given up on recording music for a living years earlier, having Tim’s fresh enthusiasm for playing reignited the fire in my heart. In the past I've had a musical relationship with my buddy Dylan, who before he joined the dark side, was actually an up and coming music producer. One night while we were talking/drinking we started discussing the possibility of him producing an album for Tim and I, based on the music that we were writing. Dylan and Tim were old friends, so we called up Tim (who had moved all the way up north to Wonder Lake) and pitched the idea of putting together a real rock album. Tim was sold and we agreed to record an album that night. We also agreed to not party while recording, so that things wouldn't get too messy. However, we all learned that production is always messy.

The first few songs were finished in pretty straight order. “Don’t Take a chance, Sometimes You Win, People will Say…”, but we finally hit a road block when we recorded a piano ballad that Dylan wrote called “If Only I Could”. A great song and idea, but it wasn't the same type of song that Tim and I had wrote for the album, so it was our biggest challenge because it had to be produced differently than the rest of our songs.

Bad Brothers

The session for our last recording, “New Day” was at hand and I showed up at Dylan’s with Tim and there was no Dylan. So we waited until he came speeding up the road like a pickled psycho. His shirt was torn off and our music was blasting out of his car speakers. We hit the basement and we broke our rule. Drinking like pigs like only the three of us could.

We ARE the party, honey!

Anyways, with the songs nearly finished, I still needed to record my guitar solo. I’ve been informed that the limo is waiting upstairs and we need this one finished so we can go out and celebrate our album being completed. With standards and practices being thrown out the window, I winged a blues solo together. Although I can’t remember what happened that night, I’ll always remember the great joy we had at completing this huge project. Too bad the worst wasn't over yet.

Getting an album recorded is an insane endeavor, but getting an album into CD format wasn’t something you could just click a mouse and have done. There are rounds of mastering, CD jacket design, UPC codes and an enormous amount of goblin shit that musicians today have built into a template wizard on their PC.

Either way, as the executive producer of this project I was going to have to find a way to pay for it all and when I sent the project out with Dylan he informed me that the costs were going to be about twice what we he quoted me. This was a straw that snapped between us and it crippled the project because I knew I didn't have the resources. I called Tim freaking out and decided to abandon doing the CD.”

So here I was: we had completed all recording sessions.  We had completed all mixing.  We had completed all of the album art.  All of our work had been completed, and all that needed to be done was to produce the physical product.  That’s when Steve called me freaking out.  I insisted that all production material be sent to me and I would find a means of publication.  This was my fucking dream, and I wasn't about to let it die on the vine.

Steve:

“Fortunately, Tim responded by getting the chips aligned in the production to get the project brought in on budget. If it hadn't have been for this, I don’t know if we would have actually released the record.  In a way it was fitting that we all had such an important role to play because it really was a labor of love. With the conflict behind us we finished up the deal. Dylan and I fight like tigers, but we are also quick to forgive and when the records got delivered we truly knew we had something special. This was our contribution to the musical universe of Rock & Roll and the results were joyous.”

Still got it

The self-titled album, “The Bad” made no money.  None of the artists were discovered for their talents.  To this day, people tell me that they enjoy a specific song from this album, and the song is always different.  My dear friends and I recorded an album of music that spoke to everyone.  Even now, when I listen to it, I can hardly believe it was really me.

This was no accident.  The music had heart because we were more than friends.  We were brothers.  I have lots of brothers: some related by family, others related by blood, but none could ever come close to the brotherhood I feel for my Brothers In Arms:

Photo from the only live performance of The Bad