‘Rock and Roll Son’

Jack Bordnick's sculptures and photography incorporate surrealistic, mythological and magical imagery often with whimsical overtones — aimed at provoking our experiences and self reflections. Aiming to unbalance our rational minds, the predominant imagery deals mostly with facial expressions of both living and “non-living” beings, and things that speak to us in their own languages. They are mixed media assemblages that have been assembled,
disassembled and reassembled, becoming abstractions unto themselves

Rock and Roll Son

Ted woke up from his dream, an illusion that was his life in a small beer garden in Germany where he had been playing with his rock band Music TX, meaning music tech or music technology. The band had four members with cherry red, orange, green and Ted with purple hair. It was the 1980s and everything they knew was from MTV from the images of Bon Jovi, Mötley Crüe, Platinum Blonde and Poison. They wore black shorts cut just above the knee, white shirts, narrow black ties, and black dinner jackets. It was a style of their own that wasn’t just some rip off they thought. 

The boys kept playing Men Without Hats Safety Dance, and took a style that was closer to disco, it was in their blood. They learned to play their instruments in high school and by watching MTV. They shared a few VHS tapes that were introductions to playing in a band. Most of the music they created could be played with just one hand on the keyboard.

Dora, Ted’s mother, listened to the front door open and close in the kitchen. "Allen is that you!" she called, expecting Ted’s brother, a worker at the local provincial park.  "If it is, you're late for lunch."

There was no reply. She dried her hands and walked to the next room to see who was there. She watched as Ted dropped his coat down and set his suitcase and guitar case down.

"Ted, what are you doing here?"

"I'm home, Germany wasn't that great."

"What do you mean, it wasn't that great?"

"Just that, mom."

"What has happened to your hair?"

"I dyed it, you should be used to that by now."

"It looks like your natural colour."

"I hope so, I don't want dark roots coming up. Most mothers would be happy when their sons decide to give up purple hair for their natural colour."

"But it is such a pain to bleach it and then to colour, why didn't you leave it alone?"

"It's too much trouble going through customs and airport security with purple hair. They suspect you of everything from drug smuggling to prostitution."

"You haven't told me why you're back a month early. Aren't you afraid of annoying the guys who are backing your band?"

"I can think of a lot of things to be afraid of, other than those losers. I finished all of the scheduled shows."

"They're the Mafia, they're going to be coming after you, you know."

"Mom, I keep telling you, that these guys are charlatans, back-stabbers, but they aren’t the Mafia. Where did you get that idea, anyway?"

"That's how things are, you have to be backed by the Mafia to make it in the music business." Ted felt his cheeks flush hot. They learned to lie very well. They knew that if you tell a truth and then a lie followed by a truth, everyone believes the lie. The band members wanted to be taken seriously, so they started to tell everyone they were backed by the Mafia. It was like the authority of Frank Sinatra.

"That's B.S."

"But your father said that the guy who was signing the contract with you to go to Germany was related to the families in the Mafia."

"He was sorry the minute he said it too. He knows that there is no connection."

"He's a cop, he should know."

"That is why he was sorry he said anything like that. He told you right away that there was no connection." 

It was a joke between his father and the boys in the band. It was from the time when some troublemakers in town were pushing their weight around. Community bullies who arrived and brought too many phone calls into the detachment. The new commers had roughed up the boys in the band after a performance one night at the local bar last winter. Jake and Adam yelled out that they would be in trouble with the Mafia, their friends. Ted remembered the mocking laughter of the drunks. “They’re coming for you,” said Jake as they walked away.

Ted looked at Tim and saw the deep furrows between his eyes.

“We have to do something,” said Tim.

“We’re musicians, not fighters,” said Jake.

“If we could just get someone to shoot at their place tonight,” said Tanner, his cheeks burning and furrows appearing across his forehead.

“I know,” said Jake, “I have Black Cat firecrackers at home. We can take the braid apart that holds them together. There must be a hundred of them. We can go over there and light the fuse for about six and through them near the house.”

“They’ll think our big guns are giving them a warning,” said Tim. 

“It’s not illegal, and that’s good,” said Ted.

The firecrackers were lit that night, and they were set to go at different times. The boys watched as the first interrupted the still dark night. The curtains opened and then the next four blew moments apart. They made more of a flash than the boy expected. The curtains closed and they herd “stop!” called from inside the house.

The next morning Ted stepped into the kitchen and saw his father at the table in his uniform. He looked at his son, his usual stern appearance with slight furrows marking his forehead was gone. He smiled.

“We got reports of a shooting last night from our newcomers,” Ted’s father said. He was a local Royal Canadian Police Force officer.

“I guess that’s not surprising,” said Ted.

“We got another report that your band was roughed up outside the bar.”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” said Ted.

His father now had a wide smile.

“So, who was shooting at our newcomers?”

“It must have been the Mafia boys,” said his father.

Ted felt his face burn. “Did any of the troublemakers get hit?”

“We investigated, and they are all safe,” said his father.

“That’s good,” said Ted. “What else did you find?”

“There were tracks from four different people wearing gym shoes, and this,” said his father. He pulled out an evidence bag with the end stubs of Black Cat crackers. “I didn’t tell our new residence about these. I mentioned this was an ongoing investigation, and there is some need for caution as there is organized crime in the region. It’s a small community and news will travel fast.” Ted’s father got up from the table and took the evidence bash to the kitchen trash and emptied it. “Your band will be safe from now on.”

“Yes,” said Ted.

It was supposed to be the Mafia that had the agent in Europe and arrangement for the band to go to Germany for a tour. 

“It was the Godfather who arranged the tour in Germany,” said Ted to his mother. It was in fact his godfather, Uncle George, with a successful pig production operation in Tisdale. He asked his friend he had in Saskatoon, who found an ad for bands and entertainers to tour Germany for a fee.

“The Godfather got you a recording deal, didn't he?"

"Yes, it was produced a small studio in Saskatoon.” They produced a cassette tape with the band.

 “The reason why I’m home is that all we did in Germany was the bar scene, just like we did here. We did have enough sense to see that the money was flowing one way, and that wasn't into our pockets."

"You lost all your money?"

"What a surprise. We watched until we had just enough money to make it to Munich and home, at that point we disappeared. It was what we were told what it was: a promotional tour. We had copies of just one cassette tape to sell. The tour was over and the other band members were on vacation.”

"You didn't go telling everyone in town that we had gone to Germany to make it big, did you?" asked Ted’s mother.

"Everyone knew already. I can see you telling everyone that the Mafia called us up them self, after hearing our tape. Music TX was offered a tour and recording contract," said Ted.

"I only said what I knew," said his mother.

"You did, what am I going to do?"

"You could go back to Germany, before anyone knows you're in town."

"I don't think so, morn."

"You're going to stay in town and tell everyone that you couldn't make it?"

"Something like that."

"You can't," said his mother.

"I don't know what else I could do."

"You could go back to University."

"Maybe, if they would take me back," said Ted.

"I can't see why they wouldn't ..."

"Well, look at who we have here," said Allen, Ted’s brother, as he stepped in the door.

"Allen, what are you doing home?" asked his mother.

"We finished all the mowing work we had to do today, so we called it a day. We have to get started on phase two of the East Side Park tomorrow."

"Ted finished a little early too."

"Looks like it, nice hair," said Allen.

"Thank you," said Ted.

"But it was more fun when you were the town freak, but I guess being the town Mafia, will do too," said Allen.

"Mother, you did tell everyone that, didn't you?" said Ted.

"Enough about that," said his mother.

"Now, it all makes sense to me, you're the town Mafia, and Dad is the town RCMP officer. The whole things unfold so nicely."

"Oh, man," said Tad.

"I'm the working skiff, so I guess that makes me the family thug."

"If the shoe fits ..." said Ted.

Everyone knew everything in town, thought Ted. He wouldn’t tell anyone why he was back. They played dance music they had written for themselves and performed at times with wide eyes crossed to get a laugh. They would jump like rag dolls with pastel colored hair. Ted felt sick when he remembered that they compared themselves to the Beetles who were on tour in Germany in the early 1960 and the bars erupted in riots. There was nothing challenging about their dance music. But every performance was to audiences that danced or sat at long tables stamping their feet to the rhythm.

There were only two more dates for the band when Ted was called over to a table in the beer garden by an attractive blond woman. She beamed from having too many beers. 

“Your band is so funny,” she said with a think German accent.

“We try to be,” said Ted.

“We usually get Oom-Pah Pa Music. That’s what we like for a good time. We drink, dance and sing along,” she said as she swayed her head to imaginary music.

“What does Lustige mean,” said Ted remembering the German words written across the band’s posters.

“Yes,” said the pretty woman. “It is written on the posters; it is Lustige Clowns, that means funny clowns.”

Teds’ cheeks burned, as he felt tightness in his chest. 

The edges of the young woman’s mouth dropped at the sides, and she appeared concerned. “This is not what your band is about?”

“What does Dumme Jungs mean?” asked Ted. Another phrase scrawled across their posters.

She shook her head and looked at Ted. 

“It is meant in fun, like an endearing term,” she said as furrows began to appear on her forehead.

“What does it mean?”

“Silly Boys.”

Peter Conrad’s work was a runner up in the My Dream Writing Contest 2024 and appeared in Wingless Dreamer's 2024 anthology Summer Fireflies 2. His writing appears in LOFT Books, Issue VI, Gnashing Teeth Publishing, The Cost of Our Baggage anthology. His stories appear in over thirty literary journals including The Taborian, WayWords Literary Journal, Umbrella Factory Magazine, CafeLit, Bare Hill Review, Impulse, The Paradox Literary Magazine, In Parentheses, The Hemlock, Livina Press Golden Issue, Folklore, Novus, Half and One, Superpresent Magazine, Poor Yorick, and the Datura. His work will be published in Wingless Dreamer’s 2025 anthology, Unfolding Colours. His work appears in over thirty literary journals worldwide.