Friday, December 11, 2009, 6:55 PM, Central Time Zone, GMT
You must login to vote
VIP Section, On the floor of Credit Union Centre, formerly Sask Place
James Coontz, critic for the New York Times, winced as he caught a glimpse of a young band member peeking out excitedly at the audience. They were all young girls dressed in cat costumes- hence the band's moniker, Boom-Boom Kitty. He'd learned through an acquaintance that the band's name was not intended to be lewd, that it was, in fact, the name of a pet belonging to one of the band's members.
Boom-Boom Kitty! He shook his head and sighed. What the hell was he doing here? He'd been pulled off an assignment at the Met! For this! A group of rank amateurs whose knowledge of music probably extended no further than a handful of major chords, and even fewer keys! He turned . . . and frowned. An acquaintance, Brian Forsythe, was standing, staring intently at something.
'What the hell kind of drum kit is that?'
James followed the direction of his gaze and raised an eyebrow. 'One far beyond the pretensions of its player, I suspect,' he offered, acerbically. 'Based upon its general appearance, I doubt very much that it serves any genuinely musical function.'
'No, you're wrong,' his colleague said. 'And where the hell is the P.A.? And the lights?'
That got James' attention. Brian was right! There was no P.A., no lights! His colleague had been a classically-trained percussionist in his younger days, as well. It was doubtful he would be mistaken about the massive and peculiar-looking drum kit. Studying Brian's reaction carefully, James said, 'Well . . . what do you make of it?'
Brian Forsythe shook his head. 'I'm not sure, but we're about to find out.'
Both men leaned forward as the house lights dimmed, and a new set of lights, previously unnoticed, came alive, all around them.