Kill Your Friends Page #7

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the f***ing dance routine for this video.

Yeah. Choreographer's simplifying it already.

Simplify it much more and they're just

gonna be standing there f***ing wanking.

Right, girls...

- For f***'s sake, Danny.

- I'll go sort the talent out.

The talent, no less.

Are you talented? Get f***ed.

Go work in a guitar shop

with all the other talented losers.

Bono, Madonna, the Spice Girls.

Do you really think any of that lot are talented?

Don't make me laugh.

What they are is ambitious.

I guarantee you that in return

for her 15 minutes of fame,

someone like Geri Halliwell would have

risen at the crack of dawn every morning

and swum naked through a river

of HIV positive shark-infested semen

just to do a 30-second

regional radio interview.

This is what you want,

you've got a shot with that kind of attitude.

- F*** me. What have you come as?

- F*** off.

- What's the occasion?

- Lazies launch.

- What, tonight?

- I told you.

Cab's booked for eight.

He's playing a guitar.

He's jamming with the band.

Hey, boss.

You might wanna come and look at this.

Rage, the self-styled drum and bass superstar,

was rushed to hospital

after a violent altercation...

What a mess.

They're saying he might have brain damage.

Wow. How can they tell?

You seen this?

Well, the good news is this might be

our opportunity to rip up his contract.

Look, I'm...

I'm not one to dance on anyone's grave,

but... I was never a fan.

James, we're gonna need you upstairs.

- Steven.

- Yeah.

Can I just have a quick word?

Sure. What's up?

I've just had Jimmy and Marcy over.

- Yeah, I heard.

- Yeah.

It's the launch night,

it's a big thing for the band,

and... no offence, mate,

I think it'd be best if you don't come.

Look, I don't know what happened...

...but Marcy says she gets a bad vibe off you.

I can't come anyway.

Got a gig to go to.

Right.

Well, take it easy, yeah?

- Early flight tomorrow.

- Yep.

Outflanked, outmanoeuvred, outplayed.

At the end of the day,

you're either outside or you're inside.

You do not want to be on the outside.

F*** off.

Jesus Christ.

Hey, you.

- Hello.

- I'm in the cab. We're pulling up.

Are you ready?

Yeah. I'll be down in two minutes.

Gotta go to New York.

I know.

I booked your hotel and flight.

F***.

Steven...

You killed Roger, didn't you?

I wasn't expecting you to put

in an appearance last night.

I thought I made myself pretty clear.

Look, I've got this Lazies meeting

with Ashley Werner tonight,

so you're gonna have to go

and see this band.

They're meant to be good.

Where is it?

It's out of town a bit,

I think, in Brooklyn.

And then don't forget

we've got that dinner later.

All the top brass from the American label.

It's at that new place downtown.

- Champagne, sir.

- Thank you.

There.

Thanks.

Listen, this is important, right?

We've gotta get the Yanks

behind the bands, so...

just do us a favour and

f***ing behave yourself, yeah?

I have a sense of unravelling,

of things coming apart, spinning out of control.

And for the first time I begin to wonder,

what's it like out there,

on the other side, in the real world?

Steven, it's Danny.

I've got a problem with this video shoot.

The girls aren't happy with the director.

It's all...

Hi. It's Rebecca. One other thing.

I know what you're like,

so I'm gonna put a time limit on this.

If nothing happens in the next month,

I'm going to start introduc...

- What?

- You killed Roger, didn't you?

I don't care about that.

He was an idiot.

Even worse at his job than you,

which takes some doing.

Here's a tip.

If you're going to kill someone,

don't have a company cab take

you both back to his flat

and then call another company cab from

there to take you home a few hours later.

These people keep records, you know.

What do you want, Rebecca?

Advancement, Steven. Same as you.

If I have to book one more flight,

one more restaurant table, one more hotel,

so that someone who knows less about music

than me can go tooling round the world,

getting off their tits,

pissing money up the wall...

- You're insane.

- You've got no f***ing idea.

I want an entry-level A&R position.

And I want it pretty f***ing quick.

Parker Hall's been talking

about hiring a new scout.

You can put my name forward.

Or you could fire Darren and give me his job.

You decide.

You know I'd be good.

The Lazies.

There's plenty more where that came from.

You're blackmailing me for a job?

Correctos.

As you all say in your stupid boys' club.

So I'd get on it if I were you,

before I start introducing policemen

to cab controllers.

OK?

Mr Stelfox, DC Woodham.

Look, it's been weeks and you still haven't

got back to me about this publishing deal.

It's in your interest to call me back about this.

- Hello?

- Alan. Sorry to call so late.

- It's Steven.

- Mr Stelfox.

Listen, about the publishing deal.

I think that...

Can you tell me why one

of your neighbours claims

he saw you entering your flat at 5:30am

on the morning of Roger Waters' murder?

You told me you'd arrived home at midnight.

I... I got up early to go and get a paper.

Paper?

Where did you buy this newspaper?

It was the corner of Westbourne Grove.

Alan, is everything all right?

I don't know.

Is it?

I'm sorry it's taking

so long with the demos,

the publishing deal,

but we will get there, promise.

Whatever you can do.

And please let me know in advance

if you're thinking about leaving the country again.

Yeah, of course. Sorry, I was...

So, on top of a girl band

who can't sing or dance,

a policeman who's extorting

a publishing deal out of me

and a secretary

who is blackmailing me for a job,

I now have to go to the arse end of

nowhere to see some poxy band.

F*** that.

No, thanks.

Hey.

- Hi.

- What was your name again?

- Emma.

- Emma.

Emma, you wanna... You wanna do a bump?

A what?

A bump. You want some bugle?

- I don't know what you mean.

- Chang?

Beak? Bag?

You want a sniff? Nose-up?

- Oh, coke.

- Yes.

No.

Thank you.

F***ing Shermans.

The situation at radio is inherently sexist.

You go in with a record

with an older female artist,

like Joni Mitchell or

Marianne Faithfull or Kate Bush,

and it's uphill battle from the get-go.

But if it's Clapton or Rod Stewart or whoever,

it's a different story.

Yeah, it does get harder

for women as they get older.

I beg your pardon?

Well, it's like you don't

mind seeing Bowie or Jagger,

you know, fruiting around at 50 odd.

There's still a certain charm there.

Clapton, he's just a muso.

No one gives a sh*t what he looks like.

- But Debbie Harry at 60?

- Steven...

Cher? Cher at f***ing 70 playing

keepy-uppies with her jugs.

- Face like a melted bucket of concrete, F*** that.

- Steven.

No, no c*nt needs to be seeing that.

What?

What about women who are still producing

important artistically valid work?

Like... Nanci Griffith or Emmylou Harris

or... Chrissie Hynde?

No, I wouldn't f*** any of those cows.

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