My Famous Band C7 Famous

All Star - Smash Mouth

***

The words of Thomas were there, heavy with possibility. Enoch and Dave shared a look, excitement mixed with disbelief passing between them.

Dave, drawing on years of experience in the industry, leaned forward slightly. "A permanent arrangement?" he asked, his voice casual but his eyes sharp. "What exactly did you have in mind, Thomas?"

Enoch, not wanting to be left out but aware of his inexperience, chimed in. "We're definitely interested in hearing more," he added, trying to keep his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him.

Thomas smiled, a predatory glint in his eye. "How about a regular weekend slot? You boys pack the house like you did tonight, and we'll make it worth your while."

Jack, the producer, nodded approvingly. "It'd be a great way to build a local following. Get your name out there."

Dave stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Sounds promising. But we'd need to discuss the details. Pay, promotion, that sort of thing."

Enoch, eager to contribute, added, "And we'd want the freedom to perform our original material. That's important to us."

Marcus, the record executive, raised an eyebrow. "Original material, huh? Like what we heard tonight?"

Enoch nodded, his confidence growing. "We've got more where that came from."

The industry veterans exchanged looks, clearly intrigued. Thomas leaned back in his chair. "Well, boys, I think we have the makings of a deal here. Why don't we set up a proper meeting for tomorrow? We can hash out the details then."

Enoch and Dave exchanged a quick glance. They both reached out to shake Thomas's hand, mumbling thanks and goodbyes to the group before making their way through the crowded club.

As they watched the duo leave, Thomas couldn't help but smile. He turned back to his colleagues, a glint in his eye.

"Well, what do you think?" Marcus asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Looks like you've hit the jackpot, Tom," Jack added, raising his glass in a mock toast.

Thomas chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe. Dave, I know. The guy's got talent coming out of his ears. But that kid, Enoch..." He paused, considering his words. "He's young. Raw. His voice isn't quite there yet, but damn if he doesn't have potential."

The others nodded in agreement.

"What about you, Jack?" Thomas asked, turning to the producer. "You've got an ear for these things. What's your take?"

Jack took a sip of his drink, mulling it over. "I'm with you on this one, Tom. The kid's got something special. It's not polished yet, but that's what makes it exciting. With the right guidance..." He trailed off, the possibilities hanging in the air.

***

Enoch and Dave burst into their apartment, grins plastered across their faces. The adrenaline from their performance and the meeting with Thomas still coursed through their veins.

"Man, what a night!" Dave exclaimed, heading straight for the fridge. He pulled out two beers, then hesitated, eyeing Enoch. "Ah, shit. I forgot you're not legal yet."

Enoch, riding high on their success, reached out and snagged one of the bottles. "Come on, Dave. After tonight? I think I've earned this." Without waiting for a response, he popped the cap and took a long swig.

Dave shook his head, a mix of amusement and exasperation on his face. "You're crazy, kid. But I guess tonight's special."

As they settled onto the worn-out couch, Enoch's eyes lit up. "Hey, play something on the guitar. I wanna keep this vibe going."

Dave raised an eyebrow. "Bossy little shit, aren't you?" But there was no real bite to his words. He was in too good a mood to argue. With a dramatic sigh, he reached for his guitar. "Alright, alright. Any requests?"

As Dave started strumming, their voices and the guitar grew louder, fueled by excitement and beer. Suddenly, a pounding on the wall interrupted them.

"Yo, rock stars!" Marcus's voice carried through the thin walls. "Some of us are trying to sleep here!"

Dave and Enoch exchanged guilty looks before bursting into laughter.

"Sorry, man!" Enoch called back, trying to stifle his giggles.

"Yeah, yeah," Marcus grumbled, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. "Just keep it down, alright? Some of us have real jobs to get to in the morning."

As they settled back down, lowering their volume, Dave couldn't help but shake his head. "Kid, I think you're gonna be trouble. But the good kind."

Enoch grinned, raising his beer in a toast. "To trouble, then."

They clinked bottles, the sound echoing in the small apartment.

The next morning, a persistent knocking pierced through Dave's alcohol-induced slumber. He groaned, his head pounding as he stumbled to the door. Enoch remained dead to the world, sprawled on the couch.

Dave yanked the door open, squinting against the hallway light. There stood Melissa, his on-again-off-again girlfriend, looking fresh and vibrant in stark contrast to his disheveled state.

"Dave!" Melissa's face lit up, arms outstretched for a hug. Suddenly, her nose wrinkled, and she took a step back. "Ugh, you reek of booze. Rough night?"

Dave ran a hand through his tangled hair. "Mel? What are you doing here?"

The commotion finally stirred Enoch. He shuffled into view, eyes half-closed and hair sticking up at odd angles.

Melissa's eyes widened, darting between Dave and Enoch. Her voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. "Dave, is there something you need to tell me? Are you gay-"

"What? No!" Dave sputtered, realizing how this must look. "It's not... He's just..."

"I'm his new roommate," Enoch mumbled, stifling a yawn.

Dave nodded vigorously. "Yeah, roommate. And bandmate. Look, Mel, come in. I'll explain everything."

As Melissa stepped inside, her skepticism evident, Dave shot Enoch a look that clearly said, "Help me out here."

Enoch, still groggy, gave a half-hearted wave. "Nice to meet you. I'm gonna... go brush my teeth or something."

As Enoch retreated to the bathroom, Dave turned to Melissa, preparing to launch into the story of last night's performance and their potential big break. He just hoped she'd believe him.

Enoch shuffled back into the room, his hair still a mess but looking slightly more awake. He plopped down on the couch, catching the tail end of Dave and Melissa's conversation.

"...really sorry about the misunderstanding," Melissa was saying, her cheeks slightly flushed.

"Misunderstanding?" Enoch asked, curiosity piqued.

Melissa's blush deepened. "I, uh... I thought you and Dave might be... you know... gay?"

Realization dawned on Enoch's face, followed by a burst of uncontrollable laughter. He doubled over, clutching his stomach.

"Oh my god," he wheezed between guffaws. "That's hilarious!"

Melissa's embarrassment grew, while Dave reached over and lightly smacked the back of Enoch's head. "Alright, alright. It wasn't that funny, kid."

Enoch's laughter subsided to chuckles. "Sorry, sorry." He turned to Melissa, still grinning. "So, who are you exactly?"

"I'm Melissa," she said, extending her hand. "Dave's girlfriend."

Enoch's eyebrows shot up, and he turned to Dave with a mischievous smirk. "Girlfriend? You? I didn't think you had it in you, old man."

Dave snorted, rolling his eyes. "Watch it, kid. I've still got plenty of charm left. Besides, Melissa and I... we're keeping things casual."

Melissa's playful pout was immediate. "Oh, so I'm just 'casual' now, am I?"

"That's not what I meant-" Dave backpedaled.

"Smooth, Dave. Real smooth," Enoch chimed in, clearly enjoying the show.

As Dave fumbled for a response, Melissa's pout melted into a teasing grin. "Relax, I'm just messing with you. But you owe me dinner for that 'casual' comment."

The banter continued, with Enoch occasionally throwing in a quip, much to Dave's chagrin and Melissa's amusement.

***

The weekend rolled around, and Enoch and Dave found themselves back at The Viper Room, the neon sign buzzing overhead as they entered through the back door. The backstage area was cramped and dimly lit, filled with the nervous energy of performers waiting for their moment in the spotlight.

As they set down their gear, Enoch noticed a group of guys eyeing them suspiciously. Dave tensed up, recognizing them as the band that usually held the weekend slot.

The lead singer, a tall guy with a sleeve tattoo, sauntered over. "Well, well. If it isn't Dave Grohl and his little protégé."

Dave stepped forward, his voice low but firm. "Back off, Jake. We're just here to play our set."

Jake sneered, "Yeah, well, you better be worth it. Our buddy lost his spot because of you two."

"If he lost his spot," Dave retorted, "it's because he couldn't cut it. Simple as that."

Jake's eyes narrowed, then shifted to Enoch. "And what about you, kid? Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Enoch felt his blood boil, but before he could respond, Dave put a hand on his shoulder. "Easy, Enoch. They're not worth it."

But Enoch wasn't about to back down. He met Jake's gaze head-on. "Age doesn't matter when it comes to talent. We're here because we earned it. Maybe you should worry less about us and more about your own performance."

Jake took a step forward, fists clenching, but Dave moved between them. "That's enough. We've got a show to put on. Let's let the music do the talking, alright?"

The tension hung thick in the air as Jake and his bandmates retreated, throwing dirty looks over their shoulders.

Enoch was still fuming, but Dave gave him a proud pat on the back. "Nice comeback, kid. But next time, maybe dial it back a notch. We don't need any trouble."

Enoch nodded, taking a deep breath. As they heard the crowd cheering outside, he realized the real challenge was about to begin. It was time to prove they deserved that spot.

As Dave and Enoch made their way to the stage, they could hear the other band's muttered insults and scoffs behind them.

"Hope you don't choke, kid," one of them sneered.

"Break a leg... literally," another added with a harsh laugh.

Dave gave Enoch's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Ignore 'em. We've got this."

As they stepped onto the stage, a wave of excitement rippled through the crowd. Familiar faces from their previous performance cheered and whistled.

"It's those guys from last week!" someone shouted enthusiastically.

Dave settled behind his drum kit while Enoch took center stage, guitar in hand. They shared a quick nod before Dave kicked off with a punchy, upbeat drum intro. Enoch joined in with a catchy, bouncing guitar riff that immediately had the crowd bopping along.

The energy was infectious as Enoch launched into the lyrics:

"Somebody once told me the world is gonna roll me,
I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed,
She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb,
In the shape of an "L" on her forehead."

As Enoch's voice filled the room with the catchy opening lines of their original song, the crowd was immediately hooked.

Despite hearing it for the first time, people began bobbing their heads and swaying to the rhythm.

"Well, the years start coming and they don't stop coming,
Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running,
Didn't make sense not to live for fun,
Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb."

Dave's drumming drove the song forward, his rhythm perfectly complementing Enoch's guitar and vocals.

"Hey, now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play
Hey, now, you're a rock star, get the show on, get paid
And all that glitters is gold."

Dave joined in on the chorus, his voice blending perfectly with Enoch's:

"Only shooting stars break the mold."

The energy in the room was electric. Strangers were singing along to the chorus by the second time it came around, as if they'd known the song for years.

Jake and his bandmates watched from the sidelines, their faces a mix of confusion and grudging admiration.

They exchanged glances, unable to comprehend how this new, original song was getting such an enthusiastic response when their own originals usually fell flat.

As Enoch and Dave continued to perform, their infectious enthusiasm spread through The Viper Room.

As the final notes faded away, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. The host's voice boomed over the speakers, "Let's hear it for Enoch and Dave, folks! What a performance!"

The audience's response was deafening, but Dave couldn't help but notice that most of the cheers were directed at Enoch. The kid was a natural, working the crowd like a seasoned pro.

Enoch grinned, waving to the audience before following Dave backstage. As they entered the dimly lit area, they spotted Jake and his bandmates huddled in a corner, scowling.

Riding high on the performance's success, Enoch couldn't resist a little gloating. He sauntered over, a cocky smirk on his face. "So, think we proved our worth for that slot yet?"

Jake's face contorted with anger, but he said nothing, just snorted and stalked off with his band in tow.

Dave chuckled softly, shaking his head at Enoch's bravado. "Easy there, hotshot. No need to rub it in."

Enoch's grin widened. "What? They had it coming."

Dave clapped a hand on Enoch's shoulder. "True enough. But remember, kid, in this business, you never know who you might need down the line. Best not to burn bridges if you can help it."

Enoch nodded, sobering slightly. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

***

Days flew by, and Enoch and Dave's popularity at The Viper Room soared. They expanded their performances to weekdays, playing Monday through Friday. The steady gig allowed Enoch to send money home to his mother, easing some of his worries.

Between shows, Enoch and Dave discussed recording options, reaching out to producers Dave knew. However, most seemed more interested in profits than nurturing their unique sound, leaving them hesitant to commit to a label.

Early morning sunlight filtered through the windows of the record store where Enoch worked his day job. He was restocking the new releases section when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Excuse me," a voice said. "Aren't you Enoch Comly?"

Enoch turned, coming face to face with a lanky guy with long, disheveled blond hair. There was something familiar about him that Enoch couldn't quite place.

"Yeah, that's me," Enoch replied, curiosity piqued. "Do I know you?"

The man grinned, extending his hand. "I'm Kurt Cobain. I caught your show at The Viper Room last week. You guys were incredible."

Enoch's eyes widened, his hand frozen mid-shake. Kurt Cobain? The Kurt Cobain? But as Enoch studied him, he realized this Kurt wasn't the grunge icon he remembered from his past life. This Kurt looked... ordinary. A bit rough around the edges, sure, but just another struggling musician in a city full of them.

"Thanks, man," Enoch managed to say, recovering from his shock. "Always great to meet a fellow musician. Are you in a band?"

Kurt shook his head, a hint of frustration in his eyes. "Not at the moment. Been trying to get something together, but it's tough in this town, you know?"

Enoch nodded, his mind reeling with the implications. Here was Kurt Cobain, a potential rock legend, standing before him without a band.

"Well, hey," Enoch found himself saying, "if you're ever looking to jam or collaborate, let me know. We're always open to new ideas."