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Groovy Tunes, Tuesday

It wasn't a quiet day at the Groovy Tunes today, no.

Jonothon had made good on his threats to his Stratocaster to go out and buy an acoustic guitar if the thing didn't behave himself over the weekend, and now, on top of his amplifiers and the offending once-again-inanimate Fender, Jono had gone to the trouble of hauling his new guitar along with him as well.

... It had taken a few trips.

At any rate, once he'd put up the Now Hiring sign in the window again, Jono was busying himself by playing music on the new acoustic, with his Strat propped up on its stand where it would have had a lovely view if only it had eyes and wasn't an inanimate object.

Sometimes, Jono was a vengeful bastard.

[Groovy Tunes is open, and OCD-free as usual!]

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Christian seemed cheerful as he wandered in, folder of scribbled lyrics in his hand. "Jono!" he greeted, as if in triumph. "I'm here! What are you playing?"

He meant what song. He recognized what the guitar was.

//Something that I wrote myself,// Jono replied, glancing up from his shiny new guitar and giving Christian a nod hello. //I haven't named it or anything like that just yet. It's still fairly new.//

Fairly. He'd been poking at the bloody thing since he'd had a face. Sometimes, music was as stubborn as the woman that you'd intended to play it for when you first took it into your mind to write about her.

The reason that it wasn't cooperating now probably had a fair bit to do with the simple fact that he was trying to make a Gayle song into a Didi song, and the notes on the page weren't having any of it.

"Oh," Christian nodded, leaning against the counter for proximity. He rather liked the pattern of notes Jono had been playing; they were tickling his brain with the song it could become. "Do you want my help, or is it meant to be your creation?"

There was a pause, there. A long, deliberate one that lasted as long as it took for Jono to look from Christian to his guitar, from his guitar to the paper that he was trying to write down his progress on nearly, and then back, again, to Christian.

//Well, I don't need help,// he said, and a moment of hesitation almost made him stop at that. But he didn't. //... I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious to see what you could do for it, though.//

This ought to be interesting.

"Of course you don't need help," Christian quickly agreed -- mostly to spare Jono's pride. "But it might be ... interesting, to try to collaborate? And it might make me feel a bit less like a hired hand."

He leaned over the paper, trying to see what Jono had written so far.

//Mm, yes. I can't imagine it would be very flattering, being just the vocals-on-loan, would it?//

Jono reached for the paper, eyed it for a moment, and then held it out for Christian to take. There were dark pen scratches, thick and thorough, where once there were lyrics. The rest was, essentially, just the melody.

Jono watched for a moment, and then idly started to play again.

//It isn't really a disaster,// he noted, //but it isn't exactly behaving as I'd like for it to, either.//

"Keep playing," Christian urged. He was starting to hum a melodic counterpoint to the notes. "No, not a disaster. Just a song without many words. We -- we can fix that!"

Alright, Jono really couldn't deny that Christian had a good ear for music. His eyebrows twitched upward a little at the counterpoint, and he even gave a bit of an appreciative nod.

//Well, how are you with lyric, then?//

Saying 'every bit as good as Owl City' didn't count.

"Lyric's just poetry set to a rhythm," Christian answered, as if taking a dare. "I can handle it. Do you have a subject, or -- a line, perhaps?"

He didn't have any lines, no. The lines that he did have, he'd scratched out again with ruthless efficiency. But, Jonothon did have a subject, easily enough.

And so he nodded, starting to play the song over again once it had ended. Keeping the mood.

//Women.//

"The eternal subject," Christian said, trying to sound wise. He started singing softly along with the notes Jono was playing. Mostly, it was a lot of "lalalala," with the occasional bit about "soft hair" and "fair skin."

It was not, in point of fact, especially good. Christian seemed to know that.

And, once the song had run through another time, Jono was just fixing Christian with a particularly bemused look.

//Perhaps we ought to write a song about how we can't write a song about women, instead.//

"I can write a song about women!" Christian protested indignantly. "It's just easier with a specific woman in mind. Otherwise you end up with ... nothing."

"Maybe," he added, with an earnest tilt to his chin, "it's because I've never been in love."

//Never?//

Look, Jono really only had two options. Either he could tease or he could boggle. Boggling won out.

//How th'hell do I have a gel, and you don't? Look at you.//

Christian arched an eyebrow at him. He'd never considered himself especially handsome.

"Are you going to start telling me I look like some fellow from outer space with a beard?" he queried. "Half the island feels the impulse to tell me that. I've never heard he was a lady's man."

//Wot? No, I've never seen anybody who looks like you,// Jono replied, arching an eyebrow right back. He liked to think that he could out-eyebrow almost anybody on the island, thank you. //Yer just...//

He waved a hand at him, so very expressively.

//I mean, for a bloke, yer not hard on the eyes, mate.//

"I'm not?" Christian echoed dubiously. He wasn't used to discussing his looks with other men -- or, really, anyone. "Well. Thank you, I suppose. You have -- very nice hair."

Well, Jono did have really nice hair. But he was going to somehow resist the urge to preen. Because that would be awkward, after a compliment from another guy, and all.

//... Right. Thank you, too, then.// Yessir. //Mostly I'm wondering how you haven't managed to find yerself a nice girl by now, mate.//

"The girls at home are all terribly proper," Christian answered. "You can't find true love with a chaperone watching you every second. And then here -- well, there was Leia, but I never seem to see her these days, and I don't know what's going on with Ariel. She's kind to me but she seems to be kind to everyone."

//I suppose she would feel as though she has to be kind to everyone,// Jono noted. //It'd be... difficult to be able to explain anything otherwise away, without a voice.//

Well, there was made-up sign language. That was always fun.

//Yer interested in them both, then?//

"I suppose so," Christian said slowly. "I like them both tremendously, but it's not -- I wouldn't give my life for them like some romantic hero. I want that kind of love."

Christian: Making Romeo look sane and rational.

"And the not having a voice thing makes a difference with Ariel," he added. "No offense, of course. Your thinking thing works quite well."

//Not well enough,// Jono pointed out. //Not if I need you to sing for me.//

And with any luck, that wouldn't be an issue by the end of the week, but he wasn't going to start babbling about that, either.

//Love like that doesn't exactly grow on trees,// he added. //And you can't expect it to fall into yer lap at a glance, either. An, 'I like her, but,' could very well turn into 'I love her, flaws and all,' if you just let yerself give it a chance.//

Jonothon Starsmore: Well rooted in realism, unless he wanted an excuse to mope about it.

"Maybe," Christian conceded. "I just can't give up on that ideal of love at first sight. We're young, anyhow; there's plenty of time."

He squinted, not sure he wanted to ask, but couldn't stop himself. "Is that what happened with your lady?" he asked ~~even though it kinda gives Elisabeth embarrassment squick~~. "You liked her with a but, and then it turned into love?"

//I... liked her, but was terrified to commit,// Jono confessed, shrugging his shoulders a little ~~while Shannon laughed and facepalmed~~. //And she had reasons of her own for not leaping headfirst into a relationship. It took us both a lot of work before we just said 'sod it,' and decided to make it work. And I don't regret a moment of it.//

Except for maybe all of the moments where he was being completely stupid, but he wasn't about to admit to those.

"Oh," Christian said. And if his shoulders sagged, it wasn't much: He was just ... let's call it a touch bored with being told love was something he'd have to work at, something that grew. He firmly believed that when he found someone ~~she would be a courtesan~~ it would be a thunderclap.

But stories about issues and commitment were all well and good, too, and Christian made a valiant effort to seem appropriately serious and thoughtful. "That's .. very good then. For both of you. Maybe that's what the song should be about, love growing like, like ... some kind of tree."

Jonothon's eyebrows were going to do an awful lot of lifting today, yes.

//Like a tree?//

That was an analogy that he really hadn't considered much.

"Well, quite," Christian said earnestly. "It starts as a seed, but with -- pruning and watering and fertilizing, it'll grow into something mighty. Or perhaps like a blossom rather than a tree. Like -"

He sang his next few words: "I say love, it is a flower, and you, its only seed" -- then dropped back to speaking. "Not you, you. But like that."

Edited 2010-07-28 16:59 (UTC)

//That song is about a rose, mate.//

Give Jono a moment, he had to take this opportunity to pinch the bridge of his nose. In all fairness, the concept of a grunge cover of Bette Midler was possibly the most unique inspiration that he'd managed to come across in regards to this song all day.

//But please, do, go on.//

"A rose would work, wouldn't it?" Christian agreed eagerly, misunderstanding what Jono had meant. He started singing again, slowly, as he put words together: "In the winter, far beneath the bitter snow, lies the seed" -- he frowned a bit here, clearly not quite happy with the words that came to his head -- "That with the sun's love, in the spring, becomes the rose."

Contemplatively, he added, "I'm not so fond of the bit about the sun's love. That sounds girlish."

Jonothon was developing a headache as he attempted to make sense of what, exactly, was going on, here. As far as he could tell, Christian was legitimately coming up with his material from the top of his head.

//Hold this for a moment, would you, mate?// He held out his guitar toward him. It had been much cheaper than his Fender, and it really had just been a bit of a spiteful purchase in the long run, so he wasn't nearly as precious about it as his electric would have been. //There's a song that I really think you might like to hear.//

Edited 2010-07-28 18:25 (UTC)

"Of course," Christian said, mystified. He idly strummed a few notes as he waited for Jono to do whatever he was going to do, dee dee dum, dum dum dee. "Is it one you want us to learn?"

//Not particularly,// Jono replied, standing and making his way into the shop to poke at the CDs. Bette. Bette...

Aha.

//I just thought you might be interested in hearing this one, actually.//

Aaand back to the stereo he went, peeling the wrapper off of the CD cover as he went.

"I'm all ears," Christian said. He was still picking out notes on the guitar.

//Jolly good.//

And in went the CD. And on went the stereo, and, my, did those lyrics sound at all familiar?

Jono crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the counter, watching Christian's expression carefully.

It was a bit like watching Christian seeing a puppy get kicked to death, really. His face slowly crumpled and his lower lip wibbled, and he gripped the guitar so hard his knuckles were going white. "But -- I came up with that," he said. "The last bit, anyhow. And that woman doesn't sound a thing like me."

//You just came up with that,// Jono agreed. //So did a writer named Amanda McBroom, who sold it to this woman, who made it famous back in...// He squinted while he thought. //Around 1980, I'd say. And th'day you sound like Bette Midler is th'day I'm looking for a new vocalist.//

He tapped his fingers against the desk idly, and then reached to turn the stereo off again.

//I'm not accusin' you of theft, mate. That's not why I played it for you. I know this place does some bloody cruel things sometimes.//

"Bloody cruel," Christian echoed, still looking sad. "Let's do songs of your choice for now. I -- don't think I'm quite in the mood to try to write."

Oh, wonderful. Jono had just kicked a puppy, here. Which wasn't all that bad, but now he was feeling guilty about it.

//You know...// He pulled out the CD and held it out to Christian. //Maybe there's something to it all. Yer from 1895, you said?//

"What? Yes," Christian said, refocusing. "Maybe I grow up and become so famous people steal my work decades later?"

He sounded hopeful, but disbelieving.

//You never know,// Jono replied, shrugging. //You wrote it first, mate. Whatever you come up with, you'll take back home with you to over a bloody century ago, and it'll all be yours, before it ever belonged to this lot. This all just comes to you. It's a gift, innit?//

Jono could not believe that he was being so bloody nice right now.

"I suppose," Christian allowed. It didn't just come to him; it was bloody hard work sometimes, with lots of scribbling and scrawling and crossing out, but Jono was being nice so he wouldn't argue. "Are you trying to make me feel better?"

//... Yes.//

Jono projected a sigh, and then gave his shoulders a little shrug.

//It's a different worlds thing, mate. I think some songs are just... iconic enough, perhaps, that they're universal. A song can... It can take on a life of its own, once it's been created. The same way it gets into yer head, you know, and you can't stop humming the bloody thing for a week after? I'm just wondering... maybe you did it first, and th'rest of the universe at large couldn't get it out of its head.//

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Groovy Tunes, Tuesday

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