Chapter 2 #2
The core reason for starting this band isn’t for forming a future job prospect or making money—it’s to play music. Some damn good music too, as their first few jam sessions as a trio sounded better than Gene could’ve ever imagined. If they make money on top of it all, that’s just an added bonus.
Presently, Mick is spending the day with one of his other friends, leaving Gene alone with Ray.
As a routine they’ve formed, they sit on the shag-carpeted floor of Gene’s bedroom, ceiling fan blowing the sweat off their foreheads.
Lately Gene’s been letting his hair grow out a little more, almost touching his shoulders.
Sure, it’s much warmer like this, especially with the early summer heat, but he thinks he looks better this way.
Besides, Ray told him the other day he thinks he looks rather hip.
Why cut it off after a great compliment like that?
“There ain’t no way I can deny her,” Ray sings. “Yeah, that rhymes. What do you think?”
Gene repeats the words without a tune, like a poem, “She flies me up like a plane, higher and higher. There ain’t no way I can deny her. Hell yeah! That’s great.”
While their jams with Mick have been wonderful, they merely played covers of existing songs.
It was more of a test to see if they all could work together as a team, following each other’s leads and keeping rhythm.
During their sessions alone, Gene and Ray have been putting blues records under the surgical knife.
Gene’s intense focus on studying has made him appreciate the structure of a song, analysing it, playing it back himself, and relaying his thoughts to Ray, who’s been just as enthusiastic as him.
Ray is his songwriting partner; Gene wouldn’t have it any other way.
Today they’re doing just that—composing their first true original song, together.
“With that, I think we’ve got a good foundation for the chorus,” Gene says with a nod.
“For sure. The riff you’ve got sounds great too.” Ray smiles and tilts his head, his curly, dusty blond hair brushing against his cheeks. “Let’s keep it up with the happy theme for the verses too. Upbeat, fast paced. Something you can dance to.”
“Definitely. So, the chorus goes like this…” He strums the chord progression. “Then I can switch it up for the verses… Maybe like this?” Another strum, another chord. “Wait, no, like this.” He strums again, a different chord progression this time.
“Yeah! That sounds great. Keep repeating that.” Ray bobs his head to the rhythm of Gene’s strumming.
They keep on like that, strumming chords and humming tunes they think would sound good.
Ray turns the humming into words, writing them into a little notebook, forming the lyrics of a love song—to a hypothetical girl who raises their spirits.
Neither of them have girlfriends at the moment, but that’s not to say they both don’t dream of falling in love.
Gene’s always been on the shy side, especially around girls.
He’s attracted to girls, absolutely, but that’s what makes approaching them all the more intimidating.
He’s never been the sort of guy to put the make on a chick, never had a girlfriend before, and even more embarrassing—he hasn’t lost his virginity yet.
Ray has already told him how he lost his at age sixteen.
But Ray also said he hadn’t tried pursuing any long-term relationships because, well, he simply lost interest to continue seeing them, added on top of just not having time.
But at least Ray has had the charisma to talk to girls.
However, Gene never feels shy around Ray.
Hell, Gene’s the one who struck up conversation at the bus stop in the first place.
As a little kid it was different, but now—he’s never afraid to be open with Ray, talking about everything and nothing, sharing interests and singing their hearts out.
If only he could find a girl like that, someone who excites him and inspires him with music…
“You know what, Gene?”
“Hmm?” Gene looks up, stopping his strumming.
“Our band doesn’t have a name yet! I think now that we’ve got three members, we need to call ourselves something.”
“Oh, for sure. Do you have any ideas?”
Ray pouts for a moment. “Uh… not really. But I just mean—I don’t think we should stay nameless.”
“That’s true.”
“Do you have any ideas?”
“Uh… nope!” Gene laughs. “We could just pick something random that sounds good.”
“Well then, let’s look for some inspiration.” Ray shuffles over on the floor to sit in front of Gene’s wooden record rack. “What are other bands calling themselves, y’know?”
“I mean, I know the names of tons of bands,” Gene says with a chuckle, setting his guitar down to rest against his bed and scooching over to sit closer. “The Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the MC5, the Stooges…”
“I guess a similar theme with those is that they all start with the word ‘the’,” Ray comments, flipping through the records.
“But not every band. Pink Floyd doesn’t have a ‘the’, and neither does Grand Funk.”
“I guess so.” Ray stops for a second to ponder. “I think I like the ‘the’ names more. Like, you can say you’re ‘one of the Beatles’ or ‘one of the Stones’. But you can’t say you’re ‘one of the… the Pink Floyds’?” He chuckles.
“Yeah, I get that.” Gene smiles. “So then, we could be the… the…”
“The Tom Cats?”
Gene tilts his head. “I guess that’s alright. But it sounds a little boring… I think we could think up something better. I like that theme though, like it sounds like a blues band name. And we’ve been playing mostly blues covers or blues-rock.”
“For sure. What about…” Ray skims over the records again, pulling out one sheathed in a plain sleeve.
It’s actually one Ray owns, though he’d lent it to Gene a while back.
Since most of the time they hang out at Gene’s place anyway, he hasn’t collected it back.
“Dust My Broom… Ah, I got it! What about ‘The Dusty Brooms’?”
“Dusty? Like someone’s gonna sweep us up?” He laughs.
“No, man. We’re the brooms, and we sweep up the competition. In fact, we already have, if we’re already dusty.”
“Ha! That does sound good.” And then, something hits him. “Wait a minute, that record! Dust My Broom, you’d bought that one when I met you at the bus stop.”
“You’re right, I did.” Ray’s eyes widen, his smile brightens. “Maybe that’s a sign? That we should go with this name?”
“I think so.” Gene nods. “The Dusty Brooms. You think Mick will like that name, too?”
“He’ll probably be fine with whatever we decide to call ourselves. I don’t think he’ll mind.”
“Groovy. Yeah, I love it!”
Gene’s chest roars with excitement. Now with a name for the band, things are truly starting to come to fruition. It seems more legitimate—more real. A real, named rock band, and not just a couple of guys playing music in their bedrooms.
The Dusty Brooms.