Don't You Know I'm in a Band?

Tagline: Five musicians from different backgrounds are thrown together in a band after an audition goes spectacularly wrong.

Basic concept

The band is thrown together during the audition when Harvey, the auditioning executive, dies in the middle of trying them out. From there the group goes on to hoodwink the head office executives into contracting them as “the next big thing”. They have to keep dodging the executives throughout the series while actually playing music to justify their existence. There is scope for a wide range of scenarios from block shooting to road trips, depending on the direction of the series as it progresses.

The humour is a little dark, but not veering into black comedy. It hinges on interplay between the characters with situational aspects deriving from the live music industry, including playing in seedy clubs, accidentally being billed at high roller events, etc.

Critical tension is present through their antagonistic relationship with their employers and their need to maintain a cover. There is also potential through the characters’ relationships with each other as well as scope to explore broader themes through each character’s back-stories.

Characters:

SAMANTHA: Rhythm guitar. An early twenties, slightly hippy girl with a wide streak of kindness.

ADRIAN: Drums. A mid-twenties punk/metal drummer. Ideally from northern England, otherwise ex New York.

BELLE: (Short for Anabelle). Synthesizer and Keyboards. A mid-twenties afro-goth with a no BS attitude. She wishes she were taller.

TOM: Vocals. Straight out rock and roll a la Michael Hutchins. Early to mid-twenties. Good looking, good voice – a great front man. But dumb as bricks.

CHRIS/MERCURY: Bass guitar. Early to mid thirties. Divorced father who’s lost access to his kid. Always seems in control of the situation. Likes people to use his “stage” name, Mercury, but really this is to help him cope with being a bit damaged. Chris is a straight up guy, but Mercury is a lot more morally flexible.

RACHEL: Admin girl turned manager by accident. Late twenties, smart and tough.

HARVEY: Harvey Maxwell. Music executive from Artlis Records and all-round vile human being. The audience is not upset when he dies.

Opening Scene.

[Late morning. Atrium to an audition hall/auditorium. Various musicians sprawled around waiting, some with instruments, some without, all up about 40 or 50 people waiting. Rachael pops her head out of the auditorium. The five future band members are among them. Show them as vulnerable and in a position of weakness.]

RACHEL: Tickets one through five, we’re ready to begin. Tickets one through five! [She calls out their names].

[The five protagonists extricate themselves and approach with varying degrees of trepidation.]

HARVEY [From inside] : ‘Urry up you lot. I ain’t got all day!

[They file in. Note that HARVEY is showing signs of discomfit from his impending heart attack. He looks them over with very frank appraisal as they enter. He makes some disparaging comments about ADRIAN'S appearance (piercings or tattoos). He looks SAMANTHA up and down with grudging approval but comments that she could have worn a shorter skirt. The he sees BELLE.]

HARVEY [sneering]: What the ‘ell are you supposed to be?

BELLE [dead stares him]: I’m a keyboard player. I also do synthies.

HARVEY: Not in any band I’m runnin’ you’re not, unless you do something about your hair.

CHRIS/MERCURY [Cutting in smoothly]: Shall we just get on with playing?

HARVEY: What!? You gotta be kidding me. First the S and M girl and now granddad. Not a chance, yer too old. Get out and send someone else in.

CHRIS/MERCURY: Don’t be ridiculous, I’m the bass player. Nobody even notices the bass player.

[TOM walks in at that point and HARVEY loses all interest in Chris.]

HARVEY: Now this is what I’m talking about! This will have the little girlies wettin’ their pants, and no mistake. Tell me son, what do you play?

TOM [A little baffled]: Rugby?

HARVEY [Snorts a laugh]: And ‘es a wit too. But what instrument do you play?

TOM: I just do vocals.

HARVEY: Perfect, perfect. What’s yer name?

TOM: Tom.

HARVEY: Yeah, we might ‘ave to do something about that. Well, what are you all standin’ around for. Go and play yer music.

[THE BAND scurry to various instruments or bring with them as appropriate.]

ADRIAN: What do you want us to play?

HARVEY: [In pain] Anything. Just get on with it.

[They all start playing something different. Sounds terrible.]

HARVEY: Fer Christ’s sake. Play the same bloody thing. Musicians! They’ll be the death of me.

ADRIAN: Alright, how about this? [Launches into brief drum solo]

HARVEY: [Clearly increasingly uncomfortable as the heart attack starts]. Nah, nah, nah. Something that girls will like. Like that Paul whats-it song, about bridges and water and that.

[CHRIS/MERCURY suggests a song. The band shrug agreement with him. Two minute light rock song – maybe a section of Wicked Game by Chris Isaac. HARVEY sits with his head down apparently listening. THE BAND finishes their song and wait for a response. After a few seconds of anxious waiting:]

CHRIS/MERCURY: So… what do you think… Mr Maxwell? Mr Maxwell?

[BELLE walks down and gently shakes his shoulder. HARVEY slumps off the chair and falls on the floor. BELLE checks pulse.]

BELLE: Holy shit… he’s dead!

ADRIAN: Well that’s a relief; I thought he would make us play Bridge Over Troubled Waters.

SAMANTHA: What’s wrong with Paul Simon?

ADRIAN: Nothing. Except the lyrics… and the melody.

TOM: But like, isn’t it bad that he’s died?

SAMANTHA: True, no Harvey, no band.

BELLE: Huh! Like any of us had a chance anyway! Except you pretty boy, he love-loved you.

SAMANTHA: Hey! I could have made it too!

BELLE: Yeah? On your knees maybe.

SAMANTHA: What? No! You can’t play rhythm guitar on your knees, not properly.

[ADRIAN and BELLE both snort-laugh]

CHRIS/MERCURY: Hang on, hang on. Just chill crew, let’s think about this. Why’s he out here in the middle of no-where? I mean Artlis Records, they’re huge… they’ve got branches in London and New York that just do nothing but source talent right?

TOM: He like, wants to find the next big thing.

CHRIS/MERCURY: Out here? Nah bro, they don’t go finding the acts, the acts come to them.

SAMANTHA: So… why is he out here?

CHRIS/MERCURY: Well, maybe he’s been kicked out, you know, exiled – maybe doesn’t get on with the team in the big office, or pissed off someone important.

BELLE: True, he is a dick, even by music exec standards. But so what?

CHRIS/MERCURY: So who’s keeping tabs on him, who’s going to check? What if we just… faked it?

ADRIAN: We just decide, we’re the band? I like it.

SAMANTHA: But what if we get caught?

BELLE: So what. What are they gonna do, keep not hiring us?

CHRIS/MERCURY: The only thing is, the ethics of it. Are we really ok with this?

BELLE: I get to stick it to The Man and I get paid? Yeah, I’m cool with it.

CHRIS/MERCURY: What about you Tom? Are you comfortable with playing on the credentials of the recently deceased?

TOM: Man I said, I don’t play anything, I just do vocals.

[ADRIAN, BELLE, CHRIS/MERCURY, SAMANTHA all stop in disbelief]

CHRIS/MERCURY: I’ll take that as a yes. Now the tricky part will be getting the admin girl on –

SAMANTHA: Rachel, her name’s Rachel. She’s really nice. We’ll have to break it to her gently, it will be a really big shock.

[Cut to RACHEL doing a happy dance while the band stands around slightly bewildered.]

RACHEL: Hey dick-wad, is that coffee too hot for you again? Or maybe you want all the blue m&ms picked out, well screw you! Cos you’re dead, dead, diddly-ed. Woohoo. Yeah, no more pinching me on the arse when I walk by…

CHRIS/MERCURY: Rachel…

RACHEL: No more three a.m. calls cos the hooker’s kicked you out for being the world’s biggest dick!

CHRIS/MERCURY: Rachel…

RACHEL: But only metaphorically cos really you have the world’s smallest –

CHRIS/MERCURY: Rachel!

RACHEL: What!? Sorry, what?

CHRIS/MERCURY: So, I take it you’re not overly upset by Harvey’s, er, situation.

ADRIAN: I really hope not, otherwise…

CHRIS/MERCURY: I mean, now that he’s, er –

RACHEL: Cactus? Kicked the bucket? Pushing up daisies? Deeee-funct?

CHRIS/MERCURY: Er, yes.

RACHEL: Ha, ha, haaaa. He never was funked to start with, no funk, no soul, no jam, no rhythm, and sure as hell no blues.

CHRIS/MERCURY: Rachel, please. We need your help.

RACHEL: What do you mean? I’m done, I don’t work for this prick no more. I’m done with Artlis, no more managing his paperwork, no more managing all the crap he wants…

BELLE: [Cutting in] Well how would you like to manage a band?

RACHEL: What?

THE BAND: What?

BELLE: Well, we need someone in Artlis, and you need a job. And if Harvey can’t be jacked sorting his own m&ms, then I’m pretty sure all the paperwork went to you too… like expense claims. And hiring approvals.

RACHEL: Yeah, I do all that.

CHRIS/MERCURY: So, you’re interested? You’ll be the manager?

RACHEL: Yeah ok. Why not.

CHRIS/MERCURY: Cool. Welcome aboard. Unfortunately the first thing we need you to do is cut off the other applicants.

RACHEL: No problem.

[RACHEL sticks her head out the door. Cut to various musicians still waiting.]

RACHEL: Hey, sorry everyone. Mr Maxwell can’t see you today because he’s a bit dead. We’ll reschedule when he’s better.

[Various musicians grumble, a couple of protests along the lines of “I gave up a shift for this”]

RACHEL: Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Sorry guys, but that’s how Mr Maxwell is today – and it’s actually an improvement.

[Very confused musicians wander out. RACHEL returns to the auditorium and the band gathers together.]

RACHEL: So now what?

CHRIS/MERCURY: I guess, we’re an Artlis band. Let’s play some music.