Rhythm Section Want Ad

A TMBG Musical! (Not so much.) I'm planning on turning this into a radio play. To play on the radio. Yeah, that'll be my cache as a DJ. My stand-by, as it were.

 

Rhythm Section Want Ad

            By Sara Heistand

 

            Characters

Keith Dust, 23 year old unemployed drummer in Apt. 2

The Landlady, batty old Fundamentalist

Desi Raupe, 25 year old professional drummer in Apt. 4

 

            Scene

            (A flash and crash of thunder light up the scene, a nearly bare apartment. A young man sits on his futon ready at his drum set, one drumstick raised over the cymbals. Another flash, another crash of thunder—and the man, KEITH, brings his drumstick down on the drums and does a quick drum sequence. Rain beats on the window behind him. Another flash, more crashing and KEITH begins a beat, hiding it behind the storm. Excited, he misses a flash and loses himself, playing wildly and with abandon. A beat of silence, as he realizes his mistake; there is a loud thundering at the door, stage right. KEITH stands and presses his head against the door, unsure. Another beat of silence. The loud hammering at the door from the other side resumes and KEITH jumps.)

 

KEITH: (hesitant): Yes?

LANDLADY: (voice over): What sort of people are you? Playing drums this time of night! Do you have a watch? Do you have a clock? Good Lord! Didn’t your mother tell you about playing them drums? Probably didn’t let you have one, did she? No, I would think not!

 

            (KEITH readies himself and opens the door to)

 

LANDYLADY: (continued): Drums! Always drums! (enters apartment) If it’s not the new tenant it’s the next door neighbor down! I’d like to put my foot right through the, through the?

KEITH: Bass drum?

LANDYLADY: You bet your buns, Kevin!

KEITH: It’s Keith, actually.

LANDLADY: Like it matters, boy! Your lease is nearly up! And a mighty waste that was! I could’ve given this room to a nice boy with an accordion who could’ve used it! Two months, you said! Two months and I allowed it! I must be crazy but I’m not going to deny that I won’t enjoy your tail end. Good riddance!

KEITH: Understood, it won’t happen again, ma’am.

LANDLADY: Yeah it won’t! (takes snare drum) Can’t play much without this, I think, eh?

KEITH: Is this legal? Ma’am, really, I’ll stop.

LANDLADY: (wags finger): Drums are the devil’s instrument—

 

(Another flash, another crash of thunder and—darkness. A low light lays across the set, gradually, as if eyes are becoming used to the dark)

 

LANDLADY: You see? (pause) Got to go fix the circuit.

 

            (LANDLADY runs out the door with the snare drum. KEITH looks around and finds a flashlight (spot light) and turns it on himself. He addresses the audience)

 

KEITH: One night, three years ago, I had thought that I left that woman forever, moving out of the house, toward college, away from college. It’s what would piss mom off the most. It’s like she keeps following me. Dad wasn’t there much, are those types ever there anymore? He wasn’t there at least on the touchy-feely part, but he never said anything. I could tell that he didn’t get the sensation I do from the drums and of course went along with mom. Mostly, he didn’t want an argument.

 

            (The lights flicker on again, but just as soon there is another calamity of thunder and the lights go out once more. There is a screech offstage. KEITH goes on)

 

KEITH: (passionately): There’s just something about it and I wonder if I’m crazy when people like her, my dad, my landlord—er, landlady don’t feel that rhythm. That beat, my god, that beat! How could you not feel that? It’s primal. It’s right here (grabs at his chest). I want to share that with someone—anyone. Not that I’m desperate or anything. And they’d got to understand that I make no money this way. This way I live. (offhandedly) I need a job. Not that I’m desperate or anything.

 

            (It thunders again, as it fades, someone is obviously going crazy with the drums offstage.)

 

KEITH: No…

 

            (KEITH searches around the room for a good place to listen. He decides to place his ear to the floor and gets into the beat that someone is playing. KEITH gets behind the bass drum and starts to lay a back beat. The mysterious drummer stops, KEITH does too. A few moments of silence and there’s a knock on the door. KEITH walks tentatively to the door and)

 

KEITH: (whispers): Landlady…?

 

            (KEITH opens door and a young woman, DESI carrying her own snare drum, holds out her hand to him)

 

DESI: Good morning! How are you, Apartment Two?

 

(DESI shakes KEITH’s hand, looking around and puts down snare drum.)

 

DESI: Where do you want this thing?

KEITH: (confused): I’m good. There’s good, who are you?

DESI: (waves off): Desi, from apartment four. I was actually thinking of bringing up my entire set, but I could tell you have a pretty cool one. Very deep, robust sound.

KEITH: Thanks. You, you like drums then?

DESI: Of course! I mean, I’m learning.

 

            (KEITH gives the audience a meaningful look and)

 

KEITH: (leads DESI further into the apartment): Here, I’ll teach you.

DESI: I was hoping you would.

KEITH: You seemed to have a very great sound from—from my floor, but there was some things that I noticed—

DESI: Oh?

KEITH: —that could be sharpened.

DESI: Are you a professional drummer then?

KEITH: Sometimes.

DESI: They don’t seem to be very high in demand.

KEITH: I’ve realized.

DESI: Maybe, but I could do it.

KEITH: Laugh hard, it’s a long ways to the bank.

DESI: I’ve realized. Are you all talk, what did you say your name was?

KEITH: Keith.

DESI: Keith, or are you going to show me your skins?

KEITH: What?

DESI: Your drums.

KEITH: Oh, yeah.

 

            (KEITH sits on his futon and starts to lay wild beats on his drum. Suddenly, he stops.)

 

KEITH: Hey, think I can use your snare?

DESI: Sure.

 

            (DESI picks up her snare and sets it where it needs to be.)

 

KEITH: Thanks! (dives deeply into playing the drums again; stops, looking satisfied) Just like that, Desi!

DESI: Can I try?

KEITH: Sure.

 

            (KEITH steps aside, allowing DESI to get behind the drum set. KEITH sits close to her on the futon. DESI gives the audience a meaningful look and goes on to lay a good, if not better drum beat that is not only wild, but classy. Done, she puts the sticks down and)

 

DESI: Like that, Keith?

KEITH: Yeah, I do.

 

            (The apartment lights flicker again; another shriek from offstage)

 

DESI: I guess we should be more careful.

KEITH: Do you have any pressing appointments this week?

DESI: Only disappointment.

 

            (Suddenly, LANDLADY barrels right through the door, wielding KEITH’s snare drum stand. DESI and KEITH jump up from the futon.)

 

LANDLADY: Drummers!

KEITH: (to DESI): Don’t worry; I keep the front unlocked, just in case I can’t hear the doorbell.

DESI: Ah, right.

LANDLADY: What sort of people are you? Crashing cymbals and making a ruckus of the place! I’m no hopped-up, jamming rock club! This is living space! I can’t have drums going off seven o’clock at night! It’s damn near unholy! (to DESI) And I thought when I told you the first time five years ago—!

KEITH: (to DESI): You’ve been living here for five years? You’ve been learning drums for five years?

DESI: It’s a very difficult instrument to master. (off KEITH’s look) What? I thought you were cute. I thought it’d be fun. I’m drummer for the Disappointers, okay? So I wasn’t lying about that.

KEITH: How is that not lying?

DESI: It’s damn near disappointing.

KEITH: Are you kidding me? Do you know how big the—how you are?

DESI: (pointedly): You didn’t know me.

LANDLADY: And who would? You’re a drummer! Get a real job, you two! Become a writer even, I don’t care! As long as it’s quiet! (to KEITH) Your lease is nearly up, boy! Remember that! (to no one) Stupid cold front, stupid drummers, stupid circuit…

 

(LANDLADY waves the snare drum stand around her head and exits.)

 

DESI: Your lease? You’re leaving? I though you only just got here!

KEITH: (heavily): Right now (sits down) I have just about Kibbles and Bits in my bank account. There’s no way I could afford this place. I’m—I’m going back to my parents’ house.

DESI: (gasps dramatically): You can’t do that!

KEITH: I’ll get by. I mean, mom won’t like the drums, of course, but what can I do?

DESI: You can get a roommate.

KEITH: I wouldn’t even know where to begin to look.

DESI: Me. I’ll live with you.

KEITH: What?

DESI: Sure, you’re not too difficult. And, sonny, you could sharpen some of your moves too.

KEITH: Oh, if you mean the whole “appointment” thing—

DESI: No, no not that. Your drum loops seem a little (pause) loopy.

KEITH: Ah, right.

DESI: Was that the stand to your snare drum?

KEITH: (smiling): I guess I won’t be needing it.

 

            (The lights in the apartment come back on finally, but KEITH and DESI don’t notice. They’re staring at one another meaningfully.)

 

CURTAIN

 

 

Author's Note

This one-act, one-scene play is heavily influenced by music and within it, the beat. Every word of dialogue must have a certain pacing in synch with the heart, everyone�s favorite drum. As Keith and Desi are both pitted against the landlady in wanting to play their drums, the want of freedom and expression is strong. In a society where money and earning money is tops, the two them are finding it very difficult to do what they like and be successful. The set and lighting is very gritty as is the lifestyle of a starving musician.

Reviews

[Colleen C Dunphy]

thank you for sharing this, it kept my interest and made me laugh.

[Roger Ferguson II]

well done! =)

[Ezira Kardtman]

I really liked this! I loved the format; you obviously are very familiar with scripts. I especially enjoyed the lighting cues (I'm a Techie.). The Landlady was my favorite character (it's harder to write a hateable "villain" than an endearing "hero"). The only thing I can think of that could be improved upon is the frequent use of the word "meaningful". It leaves a wide range of interpretation open to the actors.