Sir Robert and the Blows
By Mike Stevens
He had tried to return to the boring predictability of opera music, but boo-ring! It seemed so mundane after the excitement of heavy metal. Sir Robert Timkins had just made a decision; he would form a new band out of the ashes oh his old band, Crushing Blow. The first thing he'd have to do was think up a new name. He wanted it to incorporate the old name, to signal that it was still heavy, but yet it had to reflect that it was his baby, that he was it's unquestioned leader. Timkin; Timkin's Thunder; no, they didn't sound right. how about Robert's Blaze? No; how about Sir Robert's Militia? No, that still wasn't quite right. Sir Robert and the Blows? Yeah, that would work!
Next, came contacting old members that he thought he would like to keep. 'Blood Ritual' Carton was one, so he telephone him.
"Yeah, Blood, this is Robert Timkins. I'm forming a new band, and I'd like to know if you're interested?"
"Yes, sir! Ha, ha, do you see what I did there? Your name is Sir Robert, and I answered 'yes, sir!Eh, ha, ha!"
Oh s**t; no one ever accused him of being the sharpest knife in the drawer! "Great; I just wanted to see where you stood."
"Well, I'm sitting down at the moment, but I'm planning on standing up later; eh, ha, ha!"
Please, keep your dumb-a** 'humor' to yourself! "Great, I'll round up some others, and get back to you."
After another round of several people with the musical ability or personalities and smarts the equivalent of a rotting stump, he had finished putting together Sir Robert and the Blows. Practices had gone well, in his opinion, and tonight they were scheduled to make their debut. The hall was packed with curious spectators. They had been lured here by want ads Sir Robert had placed in a local paper:
"Okay, you b******s, do you hate, hate, hate, anything and everything? Well, come see the one band that understands your hatred; Saturday night, The Women's Auxiliary Hall #36 will feature Sir Robert and the Blows; refreshments will be available, for a nominal fee. All proceeds will benefit The Club-Footed Wino's of America!"
Gone was the cello intro, as it had proved to be a terrible idea. Sir Robert wouldn't be making that mistake again; no, it was metal riffage right from the beginning. 'Blood Ritual' Carton, 'Death Wagon' Porter, 'Head-Slammer' Fitzer, 'Evisceration' Dobbs, and Sir Robert made up this incarnation of the experimental blending of death metal and opera. After the crunching and grinding electric guitar intro, Sir Robert stepped up to his microphone, and sang,
"Figero, figero, fricking figero!"
The song came to the end, and a wall of silence filled the air. Suddenly, a voice shouted from beyond where the lights illuminated,
"S**t, I should have known as soon as I saw that backdrop; it was you, Sir Robert! I thought that no one would try that dumb-a** idea again, but lo and behold!"
Five pairs of eyes whipped around to face the rear of the stage, where they'd strung a 'Sir Robert and the Blows!' banner. Only the middle had drooped, and was unreadable. What was left was a sign proudly reading,
'Sir Robert Blows!'
To the accompaniment of the air conditioner, the band packed up their stuff, and slunk away, but before they could get out of earshot, the silent, non-believing audience all started talking at once. Among the rude comment that was heard,
"Man, give me a break! The music was alright, but the singer? Sir Robert? Sir S**t is more like it!"