Whoa—what up muzak lovers? Up here in Alaska, we have a lot of famous things going on. For instance; we’re the biggest state of all the United States of America, the state that’s both the most northern and the most western state in the United States of America, the most sparsely populated state in the United States of America, and one day me and my band, Bobby and The Baked Alaskans, are going to be famous too. Not just here in the USA but all over the whole world too. Oh, BTW—I’m Bobby and I’m in a real band with The Baked Alaskans! Know what I’m saying?
We’re not just a sonic powerhouse that’s going to be really famous one day for being a band—we also write all of our own songs. Now the reason you probably haven’t heard about us yet, and by “us” I of course mean Bobby and The Baked Alaskans, is because we still haven’t figured out how to get some patents on our songs yet. And you don’t want the people in the business to hear your songs if they’re not protected by patent protection, do you? No, you don’t—and you can mock my words and write that down when you take it to the bank! The music business can get pretty down and dirty and it’s got these pirates out there that take your songs and then they get the patent and rip you off at the bank like that. I know because I read about that kind of stuff on the internet. But one day, when one of us figures out the way to patent everything then I know you’re going to know us because we’ll be like #1 on the SpotiFiverr charts or something. And that can be big in the show business!
Bobby and The Baked Alaskans were formed by me, Bobby (the band was my idea, so that’s why my name comes first!), and I play rhythm guitar in our group. Then I got together with the Wappinger brothers, who are not only twin brothers from the same mother but also among the very few African-American (is it still okay to call them that—idk?) people that live way up here in Nome, Alaska. The Wappingers brothers look exactly alike (I’m not just saying that because I’m a white dude who thinks all people who aren’t white look alike, it’s because the Wappinger brothers are identical twin brothers, so there’s that too) and if it wasn’t for the fact that Deshaun Wappinger played the bass and his brother Denzel Wappinger played lead guitar then no one in the band, the entire United States of America or anywhere else in the world for that matter, would ever be able to tell the two of them apart. I swear!
We rehearse at least once a week in Mr. Wappinger’s garage (that’s Denzel’s and Deshaun’s dad who has a really important job working in something really big called Borders without Doctors, or something), and when we do one of our friends, Kitchie, (he’s from Juneau so everyone calls him Kitchie from Juneau) comes to our rehearsals to bang along like he’s playing the drums on stuff he finds in Mr. Wappinger’s garage. So, I talked it over with the Wappinger brothers and we guess that Kitchie from Juneau is now in The Baked Alaskans too. And that’s okay with us because every band needs a drummer —even if he doesn’t own his own personal kick-ass set of headbanging drums yet.
Kitchie from Juneau says that one day when his dad comes back home that his dad will buy him his first set of drums. No one around here in Nome, Alaska, has seen Kitchie from Juneau’s dad in a really, really long time. I’ve even heard a lot of the grownups talk when they think we’re not listening about how Kitchie’s dad is probably never coming back cause he’s with his new family back in Juneau; the one that he left Kitchie and his mom to be with right after they’d moved here from Juneau, but we, of course, don’t say anything to Kitchie from Juneau about that. One thing I’ve learned already is even though people make jokes and say lots of things about drummers, is that drummers have feelings too. I may still be in high school but even us kids know that saying stuff that you know is going to hurt someone is cheugy to the max. Just ask any Millennial or Zoomer and they’d tell you —doing stuff like that is just so totally basic!
Hey, want to know a secret? Sometimes when we’re rehearsing in the garage and Mr. and Mrs. Wappinger’s not home, in between practicing songs, me and The Baked Alaskans will spark up a little Girdwood. We call pot Girdwood up here in the 49th because that’s where all the really, really wickedly good weed comes from in Alaska—Girdwood. I even got booted off my high school’s ice hockey team because once during a surprise locker search, they nabbed me with a bag of Girdwood. But that’s OK, I loved to skate and all but always had a really, really hard time stopping when I did. Know what I mean?
Do you know what the hardest thing about being in a band is? Even harder than trying to schedule rehearsals around everyone else’s busy schedules, I mean with homework, after-school activities, and all our family junk? It’s the creative differences! Every band has them. Here’s a for instance for you; the Wappinger brothers want us to do a rap song. I get it: some of that rap stuff can be even kind of good, I think, but I just think that everybody else is already doing too much rap and spitting bars and grinding the game and everything already—and I don’t want Bobby and The Baked Alaskans just doing what everyone else is already doing just to be doing it, do I? So, I told Deshaun and Denzel I was down with it, but on one condition (in case you don’t know it: A condition is one of the things you’re supposed to negotiate when a big label company wants you to sign one of their terms and agreements contract for a recording deal—always read all of the tall and the small print). Do you want to know what that condition was? Well, I’d agree we could do some rap songs. But that all of our hip-hop hits would have no words in them—only the music! Now is that brilliant, or what?
Well, the Wappinger brothers didn’t agree and said that’s stupid because all rap tracks have at least some words. Then Denzel tried to explain, “Rap music, it’s a form of accentuated rhythmic poetry. Know what I mean?” Whatever! I just think it’d be easier for us to break into the business by doing songs like that speed metal anthem I wrote about my mom and dad called “You’re the Cancer in My Brain”. A killer track not only likely to get used in a video game so we’d make tons of Benjamins but I’d bet it’s what lands Bobby and The Baked Alaskans in that old Rock & Roll Ball of Fame place down south from us here. Then there’s something I hope none of our parents hear I said, but I’m just going to come out and say it; me and the boys will be scoring more wussy than a veterinarian when that happens. If only the paler sex weren’t sometimes such a royal and relentless pain in the butt.
So, it’s not creative differences in just my band; it’s also from external feminine forces from outside. You see, Kirima Quinn, this Inuit girl (we’re not supposed to call them Eskimos anymore) who goes to my school and thinks she’s my girlfriend (idk—maybe she is…) says she’d be an excellent singer for The Baked Alaskans. Oh, and Kirima also said she wants to be known as Magna Girl for her stage name when she performs with us and that she’d have to have her own dressing room since she’s a girl and we’re all guys so we couldn’t change and get ready for shows in the same rooms because that’s not what Lady Gaga would do with her band anyway. Her band??? Now that’s some hit and a miss; what makes Magna Girl even think for a second that Bobby and The Baked Alaskans are her band? Women—can’t live without them—can’t live within them! I hope it’s not being such a small person in saying this but presumptuousness like that cuts you right off at the knees and absolutely stumps me.
Don’t get me wrong, I like Kirima okay as a girl, it’s just that this one time when Magna Girl came to one of the Bobby and The Baked Alaskans rehearsals, she just took over my singing mic from me and started singing without even asking anyone there if that was alright to do. And while the Wappinger brothers and Kitchie from Juneau didn’t have a problem with that, well, I did. Those guys liked her because of the way she was twerking her booty all around Mr. Wappinger’s garage getting all winky with her almond-shaped dark eyes, sticking her tongue way out, spiked hair, and HELLO KITTY vinyl backpack while she was trying to sing like she was Miley Cyrus or something, and not because she could sing good or anything. I mean, to be honest, I didn’t say anything about it then but I thought Magna Girl sounded just like Minnie Mouse on helium when she sang. I bet if that reviewer who writes for the Juneau Journal heard her, they’ll write some headline like: MAGNA GIRL SOUNDS LIKE TURD BOMBS SPLASHING DOWN ON DEEP TOILET TERRITORY!
Well, hey, I’m supposed to be the one and only lead singer in the Bobby and The Baked Alaskans band anyway, ain’t I? Because we’re not named Magna Girl and The Baked Alaskans with Bobby, are we? And as long as we’re an independent band not signed to any terms and agreements record contracts then we do things in my band my way or no way at all. That Kirima! I admit she can look pretty sometimes and I’ve heard guys in grades above us cracking jokes all about how her sweaters have been looking tighter lately. One guy who had to repeat a year or two of school but with some luck may graduate this year nicknamed her “The Meaty Quinn!” That got me so angry I would’ve slugged him if he wasn’t so much bigger than me and I wasn’t late for homeroom.
We can be very independent up here above the southern US here in the 49th state. I mean, did you read in all the newspapers about an Alaskan state senator, Senator Lora Reinbold (she’s not as big as maybe someone as big as Ruth Allen Ginsberg—I think that was her name, but she’s dead now—that judge who wore a crown like just Biggie Smalls), and her fight with the airline companies not respecting her right not to have to wear a facemask as a freedom-loving American citizen, as well as a freedom-loving American politician, while flying with a lot of other people on airplanes? As some who have the God-given American right to freedoms may say: live free and mask-less or die. While other’s who also have the God-given American right may conclude: live mask-less and you’re free to die. Why? Because in these United States of America, we all have the right not to remain silent when we want to say things.
Well, we have a Bobby and The Baked Alaskans rehearsal scheduled for today over at the Wappinger garage, so I better get over there to help Kitchie from Juneau find something to drum on while Denzel and Deshaun are getting tuned up. Also, I want to get there early so I can hide my lead vocals microphone somewhere hard to find in case Kirima, I mean Magna Girl, shows up again and tries to take it from me. Maybe Kitchie from Juneau and the Wappinger brothers like to watch her big bubble butt twerking when she sings—but for me—music is my life, so I take it seriously. Wait a minute; is that her getting out of her mom’s car—going into my rehearsal—to rehearse with my band? Seriously???
Anyhow, I really, really, really got to get inside ASAP, so we’ll just have to talk more later if you want. Peace out and long live rock & roll, dudes and dudesses. Bobby and The Baked Alaskans—we’re the masters of supersonic awesomeness—4EVA !