“My God is Rock'n' roll. It's an obscure power that can change your life. The most important part of my religion is to play guitar”

-Lou Reed

Prologue

Herb Bean took a deep breath, checked his analytics, and let his finger hover above the trackpad as he stared blankly at his computer screen. Dejected, he exhaled as he finally pressed the record button. The second that little red light flickered on, his droopy frown flipped into a stretched, well-rehearsed grin.

“Hey, Beanies! Welcome back to my channel! You're just in time for Music History Monday! Don't forget to subscribe and smash that like button, below! Today, we're going to be talking about a pretty controversial figure, with a pretty wild history, that I'm going to bet most of you haven't heard of! So, you know the drill, most of today’s spicy content is going to get…you guessed it, demonetized! So, if you guys can donate to my Patreon this month, it would be a huge help! You’ll get lots of cool perks, like extra videos of me eating a sock full of whip cream, and videos about why capitalism is super-duper bad, while I make rainbow cocktails for Pride month naked covered in glitter foam in my bathtub…No pressure though! But hey…ya boy’s gotta pay rent and eat too! Also, I know you freaks keep asking if I have an Only Fans. The links to all that are all in the description below. Anyway, back to the video. What the hell was I talking about?”

“Look, Beanies, I know Daddy’s been off for a while, and, no, I didn’t get Covid or Monkeypox. I'm fine, but all of your millions of messages were so sweet, even the ones from my stalker—love you, Stalker Pete. (Still have that restraining order against you but nice to know you're keeping busy during Pride month!) I just left to take some time off for my mental health. I went to some concerts, changed some lives, and now I'm back full time!”

“So, for this video, I know you guys voted in the poll on my community tab for a deep dive on underrated queer figures in punk history. And since it is Pride month, and I AM a man of my word, I thought I’d treat you guys! So, who is this unsung hero of punk, the Beyoncé of the American underground punk movement on everyone’s mind? Honeys, I hope you have your popcorn! So get yourself a White Claw, grab your bestie and get cozy, because, Baby, do I have a story for you!” He paused, checking the smeared makeup on his monitor, making sure he looked snatched as he braced himself to talk about such a serious topic. 

“We on my channel pride ourselves on spotlighting underrated Rock ‘n Roll icons, and today we're going to talk about one of my personal heroes, Lester Flatt. His story has everything, Beanies: orgies, outings, New York and New Jersey, identity theft, Church Punk, Black Power, gay infighting, and a Frankie Goes to Hollywood record that is still missing to this day. I mean, what more could you want?! It’s a goddamn crime, the world has been denied his story for forty years. I have spent the last two days of my very busy and interesting life doing research on this, all for you guys, because I love you, of course, and for no other reason…”

“Ahem! If you remember in our last video, we talked about CBGBs, Max’s, and the Mudd Club some of the most influential punk rock venues in New York City in the 1980s. Some of the bands that came out of there changed the shape of music history forever. Baby, oh, I would have given my last Louis Vuitton mini purse to be at one of those shows. You have no idea…

You know the names. Bands like the Ramones, Blondie, Television, The Stooges, the Velvet Underground, Talking Heads, the Misfits all grazed their greasy stages, at one time or another. But, Lester was the wildest of them all. Only difference is, you probably heard of all those guys before. Your folks probably loved them or maybe you even got into them because of my channel or other music history channels like mine. (Am I giving myself too much credit? Never.) But at risk of sounding like a broken vinyl here, the main difference between the subject of our video today and those CBGB punk rock alumni was that Lester, tragically, never ascended to household name status. But I'm gonna try to do him justice. Oh, I'm going to need a drink for this one. This gonna be a long video, Beanies!” Herb took another swig of White Claw.

“His career had many ups and downs. Lots of controversy always followed him. Similar to many other punk bands from that era—The Cro-mags, Suicide, and the Fleshtones also come to mind—Lester faded quickly into the ether around ‘89. That was soon after he and his band, Gross Indecency, and their big debut album Politics and Religion started to turn heads. He disappeared all at once in a swirl of rumors. After that, he was never to be heard from again. Out not with a bang, but with a fizzle. But, out of the forgotten punks who left a mark, Lester was by far the most outrageous, and if you know anything about that scene, Honey, that is saying a lot!” Herb pressed pause on his laptop recording. 

  But he did another take just to make sure, reading his perfectly-typed script in double-spaced Comic Sans, with a bit more pizzazz, just to get the point across that this was important content, so the algorithm wouldn't abandon this video in the sea of deep dives, leftist in-fighting, reviews of the Barbie movie, and other videos designed to get views and clicks and not much else. It was an uphill battle. Herb was used to fighting as a full time YouTuber, but this topic felt personal, a rare feeling. He had to get it right. He prepared for a third take but then stopped himself.

“Nah, I’ll fix it in the edit…” He muttered. 

“Herb! Time for dinner!” Herb’s dad called from downstairs.

“Coming, Daddy!” Herb grabbed his furry Bratz bucket hat, slid on his New Balance slides, and yanked his selfie stick and iPhone X off his dresser. He pressed record on his phone, without even looking up, shuffling down the tight stairs almost tripping over the dog toys littered along the stairwell.

“Ok, Beanies, the thing you need to understand about Lester Flatt is that no one knows anything about his real life because everything he’s ever said about himself has been disproven. He’s a liar, a true mystery of Rock ‘n Roll. He was the lead singer of this band in the punk 80s, Gross Indecency (the one I mentioned earlier), who opened almost a dozen times for Lou Reed and were actually super groundbreaking, for their outrageous lyrics, stage presence and shameless gay antics on- and offstage. From everything I read, Lester was barely even in the closest wad breaking all kinds of boundaries, even creating this new genre called ‘Church Punk.’ They were apparently more crazy than all the punk bands, and more openly queer, and got a lot of hate for it-”

“Son, no twitching at the table-” Herb’s gruff dad kicked his chair out for him, as Herb groaned, shutting his phone off.

“-Ok I'm going to edit that part out, Dad, shut up, ugh for the last time! I told you, it’s not called twitching, it’s livestreaming on Twitch!” 

“Son, it’s to early for this, I can’t listen to any words until I have my coffee”

“Ok Boomer” 

“You're such a Cliché, you know that. Put your phone down! and eat your eggs, your gonna make me late for work”

“These are actually really good…is this a runny yolk?”

“No…their eggs? Now shut up and eat.” Herb’s dad smiled, removing his bucket hat briefly to ruffle his hair, they both smiled and chuckled as Herb's dad adjusted the wedding ring on his chapped thumb, as if to secure himself. Herb gulped, and swallowed the yolk in his Sunnyside up mess, before looking at the collection of picture’s of his dad in high school framed behind him. Herb smiled at the photos of his dad in his old rock band, him and his mom as kids, both mop haired hippie freaks, unrecognizable to the grizzled hard working bear bear he turned into. Herb never looks at those frame pictures on the kitchen counter, they just kind of fade into the background, he’s so wrapped up in his YouTube career and being an music history icon to even look around his own home sometimes which made him sad but humbled which he could use. And this brief memory gave him an idea.

“Hey daddy...”

“Yeah, kiddo”

“I'm making a new video…”

“Oh, that's awesome kiddo, back to making money then? Maybe even enough to buy your own eggs…and even pay some rent?” Herb thought to himself, hopefully soon, for now, if his gold tier patron’s come through at least, he should be alright in the money but he acted rich and famous and that's all that really mattered. But his next few video’s need to be really algorithm friendly, videos about kid friendly, easy topics like how Bro Country stimulates for the charts and the radio in Nashville even though the music is all largely lyrically misogynist, ‘small town’ trash and how touring company’s scam musicians and fans and should be regulated…or something, uncontroversial, and boring. Herb looked up as his dad, smiled and laughed nervously.

“Of course, daddy! Loads of money, wads, trust funds, just like the good old days. But not in the pro capitalism sort of way…of course, just enough to pay you rent! This one’s just another deep dive.”

“What are we diving deep into this week, kiddo?”

“Lester Flatt.”

“...” Herb’s dad spit out his drink, eyes widened as if the name knocked him back to a different time.

“Holy Shit…isn't that a blast from the past! Lester Flatt, how the hell do you know him, no one, and I mean no one who wasn't there at CBs, the Limelight, or King Tuts Wah Wah hut remember him? Holy fuck, Kid!” Herb's dad weezed, almost choking on his nostalgia, and hash browns.

“Yeah…It’s for my video, my fan’s requested a deep dive into underrated, queer icons of punk rock history, isn’t that amazing? I had no idea you remembered him so well you should have told me you could have helped me with research!”

“Well fuck me…I wish you told me, though I never understoond your whole youtube thing. But underrated is a bit of an understatement, son. Lester was hardly even “Rated” back in his hay day, which just so happen to be mine. Grossy D was a very hip band only to those in the know, I never thought I’d hear his name again Holy shit, hey eat your eggs…he was never even famous enough for a record deal man, though my Kid is still making videos about him, is that Legacy?”

“Are you asking me?” Herb asking with a mouth full of eggs

“I mean what is fame anymore? now with the internet people are getting famous selling their farts, OnlyFans anyone can be famous taking pics of their ass and feet and selling that to 40 year old perverts in Staten Island, any old smock can become famous by accident just by being a normal average joe who films themselves taking a shit twice a day and the algorithm in china picks it up and people relate to it at the right angle. You don't even have to be good at nothing no more, like so what’s the fucking point? Back in my day to be famous you had to be the best of the best at something- oh but now people are making suckers famous who back in the day who were never famous to begin with, by talking about them on podcasts like you and your girlfriends out in LA. Some Victorian prince was “underrated” and a “gay” icon and just like that you kids can make him famous all over again!?. People can also just undo, or re correct fame from the past and if someone now is too famous you can just cancel them, take them down a peg, or take their whole life away for nothing?? They fuck up once in 1971 then babda boom their not famous anymore?! Like Louis C.K, or Woody Alan, I liked those guys I grew up with but all of sudden everyone decided they don't like their marriage, and now…oh! Not famous anymore? Maybe…now this is just my opinion, that is TOO much power for a bunch of iPad babies with no college education, to play god and decide who gets to be famous to have, from their parents couch…I’m just saying!”

“Dad…we are not having this conversation again! Ugh! But wait, back to Lester though? Was he really not famous when you were a kid? I thought his band was a big deal only in the late 80’s?”

“He was never famous kiddo, not how you Zoomers think of it anyway, but he was always notorious… infamous even, which I did not think was possible for a guy…like him if you know what I mean. He was a sort of chameleon, in that way, one minute he was the most charismatic, sexy guy you’d ever seen despite how ugly he was he could command a room full of celebrities, and legends and our whole band, and make people more powerful then him who everyone feared just wrap around his finger, and then next he was just the most pathetic, submissive, annoying, leach, fawning at a new lover, and idol each night I mean…it was like Jekyll and Hyde you just never knew what you were gonna get…but by god could he sing, like you just had to be there, his band, with the leather and that whole scene, oh my god it was like sodom and Gomorrah, being at the center of hell when Satan fell from paradise, you just…there was nothing else like it, that’s why so many people looke past his flaw’s and, he was a fucking master at what he did, he also set us ablaze and reminded us what rock n roll was really all about, why do you think Lou Reed was so keen on him, Mr. Rock n roll, all the boy’s loved him they did not care he was fat and ugly because was electrifying and inane, he was kind of magic, but oh boy but that, that does not even scratch the surface” Herb’s eyes widen, he whipped his phone seconds too late.

“Hey Dad, can you just say that again, for the camera…” 

“Oh god, son, what did I tell ya about putting me on your dang YouTube channel-I didn't sign no consent waiver or nothing first, your always the one talking about consent this and consent that-”

“Oh my god you're so right, It’s fine I’ll just quote you anonymously. I just had no idea you knew him so well?”

“Well I didn't, not personally anyway, I don't think anyone really knew him to be honest, I was just in the punk scene when he was the name on everyone’s lips for better or worse. Hey, your dad was cool too ya know, but boy, I had some good times back in the day.” Herb’s Apple watch alarm went off, blasting the chorus from Bennie and The Jets. Herb swiftly knocked back the rest of his orange juice, getting up and grabbing his backpack off the back of his chair.

“Ok dad, as juicy and eye opening as this is, I got to bounce.” He kissed his dad on his stubbly cheek.

“Ok, Good, talk son”

“And by the way daddy, you're still cool…mostly.”

“Well, Thanks Herby at least someone thinks so.” he grabbed his sleeve.

“Hey, I love you.”

“Love you more, gotta run- hey you still got a lil egg…” Herb pointed, motioning for his dad to pick out a piece of egg out of his salt and pepper beard. 

“Here?”

“Yeah…there you got it.” 

“Hey hot shot! Where ya off to in such a rush anyway?”

“Gotta film the rest of my video!! Duh, got a load of sexy interviews lined up with people all over the city, from all generations, including ones as old as yours!”

“Oh gee thanks!”

  “Yeah! I’m booked and busy bitch! I got ones lined up with queer elder’s, fellow veterans of punk, and alternative scene, aids activists, to old flames, lovers, enemies, to his modern followers and new fans who are discovering him and his music for the first time. So my viewers can see what the people on the street think of Lester Flatt. It’s just like those street interviews on Tik Tok I showed you, except some of them are pre-planned, unlike those fakers who pay those hot girls at Washington Square park to tell them their hot and call it ‘an interview’”

“Ok, thanks son…but that all sounds very, high blood pressure, I think i'm gonna stay at home, doctors orders-”

“Well that works out perfect dad because you literally weren't invited”

“But have fun, and stay safe! Be home by Eleven! And Happy pride! ”

“Ok bye!” Herb slammed the door. 

 

Later at Washington Square park, the gonzo interview capital of New york city in the year of our lord, 2023, Herb and his small camera crew he met up was immediately met with pride floats, gay people cloaked in flags, beads, beards, daddy’s queens the whole deal as hot sunny and played out as ever with anti gay protesters feeling just as proud and more visible they had been in recent years. The streets were packed and EVERYONE was either in or on their way to the parade, or having gay picnics in the park where the parade would inevitably end up which is where Herb currently found himself, booty shorts, camera crew and all. 

Never one to overlook a juicy perspective however, before forgetting it, Herb quickly wrote down everything his dad said on the back of his friend's unused George Michael Mousepad, to use later in the edit, now prepared to get the best interviews for his star video of the summer. By doing what a voice of a generation like him does best, running around New York City next to naked, a bucket hat and in a full face of makeup with a hot hello kitty microphone, a camera crew, and a massive internet following, for five straight hours. He barly had to go far,  you’d be surprised how easily most people are‌ willing to open up: 

His first interview was with a guy who looked like he lived through the punk years, and in the park itself. He reeked of cheep beer and bookings, looking like he just crawled his way out the last few financial crashes, cocaine orgies and bitter divorces with blonde russians idenity thieves. 

Herb spotted the trashbag saige, and notioned for his crew to approach their first target. Getting on the level of this moldy elder elder selling weed to teenagers on a park bench in order to relate to him first, for professionalism sake. Herb let his camra guy approach fist for first contact, he quickly stumbled back when he caught a wiff, causing his possy to look up in suspicion. 

He was a white guy with dreadlocks surrounded by pigeons and a bizarre, multi flavored stench, he had many tattoos and an incredible story to tell for sure. His friends had caught wise and started to back away, but when he looked up from the pile of weed, trinkets and containers in his hand he smiled with green and brown but happy teeth when he saw the camera crue and Herb’s bubbly, bright and shiny dimenor didnt hurt either. The guy looked real happy to see them and told his homies to chill off and so they defused as directed, as he confined to grin and jeer at Herbs cute, scantily clad, conventionally attractive body as he approached him and shoved a mic in his scruffy, filthy, heavily tattooed face.

“So, sir, I'm doing a YouTube documentary deep dive into Lester Flatt and his legacy as an unsung icon of punk rock, do you know him?”

“Lester Flatt? HOlY SHIT! I haven't heard that name in forever man !” He spit out the blunt onto the freaked out homeless chick sitting next to him. Before lots of pepole gathered around, as he prepared to dump some deep lore.  

“Oh my god! Fuck, FUCK, Bro That’s Mack Lasher’s real name aint it? Dude yeah we used to get so freaking spun at his show’s, I can't even tell you the kind of shit that went on backstage man, Some chick named darcy I used to babysit for apparently got Knocked up in the CBGB's bathroom during one of his infamous guitar solos, word on the street is that baby grew up to become best friends with Alice Cooper’s baby mama. His show’s were crazier then all the rest, gave sex drugs and rock n roll a whole new meaning ya feel me? Plus bro, he was totally gay as hell! He was like…the only guy back then who went out of his way not to hide it I mean, really fucking bold, too bro, even now, most of my homies still on the down low. But those macho guys with more patches on their lungs then leather jackets, who wish they were in the Clash, N’ the Pistoles, even the artsy fools with the sunglasses who be fucking with Andy n shit. Yeah, out of them poser freaks, Lester the only one I can remember who had the balls to say he was gay. Now don't get it twisted either, I know at least half of those guys swung both ways, but they wouldn't dare risk their careers by singing about it, not like Lessie? But for real, come here man, between us, I know EVERYONE thinks people used to be all anti gay shit but none of us cared that he was sucking great cock man great, because-he was also making great music you hear? He had the best hair, the best drugs, the best parties and the best after parties! For real! Like it’s a damn shame, yes it is, he don’t get talked about in the same breath as like Lou Reed, David Bowie, Robert Marpthrope, Television, The Misfits, Joey Ramone, David Johansen, Patti Smith, Iggy Pop or any of those same guy’s from that scene man, people seriously need to put some respect on his name. Any idea where he is now?”

“Lester Flatt? Pfft, yeah, I have No idea man, I heard the name for sure back when these used to be my stomping ground’s but now im just passing through, but hey man I last I heard in the late 90’s he quit the industry and has been pretty private so I would not go snooping, but everyone I used to snort cat nip with in the Mermaid Den said he was a wild card, I heard I different story about him every night, he was a rock star, but then he got screwed over by the establishment, and the aids activists cut him down, he’s from the future, his brother became the shaman of a tribe in Africa and married their queen, he got kidnapped by aliens, he’s like 20 different people, he started a cult that’s still active somewhere as we speak, he was like a freaking religion man, but it’s anyone’s guess man, what the fuck happened to him now. Hey can I bum a cigarette?”

“I heard Lester Flatt was a maniac, my dad said he used to play covers of his own songs and have sex with just about anyone or anything in the park, that guy was an animal he said they don't make em like that anymore.”

“I used steal his “prized guitar pics'' to get him all hot and bothered one summer when I’d come here to sell wax figure of myself, to make some extra cash for my Sister in law’s sex change, yeah…well it’s pride month so, I love what I do, what can I say say. Why? does he still have my address?”

“Lester Flatt, lead singer of Gross Indecency? You’re so young, how the hell do you remember that band? The twink’s are getting younger every year I swear to god…”

“Lester Flatt? Yes Is that not that guy who’s been trending on Tik Tok? Oh my god, that clip of some of his show’s from the 80s have been totally going viral, especially the ones where he’s dressed in full S&M gear? Yeah…He ate.”

“He has three different songs about gay orgies in space and two of them are on my Spotify wedding playlist.”

“Yeah, The bloak went bloody missing he did, just like Richey Edwards!”

      “God knows why his Wasp boyfriend stayed by his side as long as he did, the cock must have been retrograde or something, to make someone stay in a relationship completely devoid of trust or sanity. I love your nails by the way.”

      “Lester Flatt! Oh! Talk about a missed boat! I saw my cousin a wedding last week, he used to be his manger back in 89, he lamented to me how now Tik Tok control’s the music industry now, and Lester is blowing up on their again and everyone is rediscovering his band and the kids today are obsessed the world has finally caught up to him, he said. But back then, when he was forced out himself by those Act Up radicals, it was over and that was his first big show as a signed artist, he shot himself in the foot before he even got off the ground, Anyway, good luck on your school project, or whatever this is.”

    “He talked more openly about politics and raged against facsim then I think anyone else was still doing even in the 90’s, but he also was yelling about like Queer theory, and avenge Harvey Milk, and Avenge Marsha P. Johnson, and abolition now and Fuck the Pigs and all these radical shit, especially the gay issues it’s Pride you see all these people coming out for pride now, when I was a kid it meant something to be punk, now everyone thinks their punk but don't get it twisted, if your not down with queer libration, your not really punk, that's the truth man. His music was also sexy, and joyful but he never got his roses, I hope if I ever see him again it's on his 40th anniversary tour. ”

 

“Who the hell is Lester Flatt and why are you recording me?”

 

“Mack Lasher’s real name? You know I did my thesis on this  whole conspiracy, still a mystery to this day how did the greatest rock star in the world, up there with Mick Jagger, and Bruce Springsten after being accosted in a parking lot by one of his biggest fans, during the final leg of his comeback tour of 1996, could just disappear without a trace?  Lester Flatt and Mack were two different people you see, it's a huge misconception. If I have the timeline right, Lester used Mack as a stage name for years from the late 80’s to the early 90’s when he disappeared, only to pop up half a decade later in 96’ on CCTV cameras, on the last legs of Mack Lasher’s big come back Tour in a furious blow up with one of Mack’s Prized groupies. Only then for Mack to disappear off the face of the earth, as if no trace of him or his long illustrious career ever took place, not his star on the walk of fame the evidence of his many many tours, grammy’s, album sales pictures he took with Madonna and her mother, in her home, all gone. It has to be evidence of an alternate timeline in witch Mack Lasher was never born, or Lester Flatt is a time traveler, who went back in time and prevented Mack Lasher’s brith all in an elaborate scheme to truly replace him-just one of my theories anyway I have more, you can read them at my blog, it’s www.Macklasherisnotdead.net-”

 

“Lester Flatt…slept with my brother on our wedding day”

 

“Oh…yeah I used to be a roadie with him, for the Red hot Chilli Peppers first tour back in 87, god he was obsessed with that band, I wonder if they ever got a restraining order against him, especially Flea.”

 

“Lester Flatt? That’s not his real name is it… don't you mean Morrie Nickles, my lawyer, he was a terrible lawyer, but an incredible lay.”

 

“Maxwell Neats…Lester Flatt was his cover name, come closer…worst Drug dealer I ever had”

 

“My therapist.”

 

“He’s dead isn’t he?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Lester Flatt? We went to high school together, found out years later the bastard was planning on blackmailing me, fucking faggot.”

 

“Any idea where is he now?”

 

“Where is he now?”

 

“Where is he now?”

 

“Where is he now?”

 

Where was he now? This was the question on everyone's mind it seemed, especially Herbs after spending what seemed like a few days in the editor’s chair. He was extremely tempted to find out where he was now? That’s where most video’s this nature tended to end up. Everyone had a different theory about what happened to this guy, in fact it everyone had a different story about this guy, period, so different in fact, it was almost impossible to paint a cohesive picture about who he was at all, it was like the deeper he dove into his life, the more confused and lost he became. Often how these things tended to go, but this one was really stumping him.

This was really getting to Herb, more then most Music History monday’s tended too, for some reason he really wanted to know, like it had become more then video for him. He kept going over the footage over and over. Because it sounds like after a bizarre concert in the mind 90’s he fell off the map, almost early, and it sounds like he's a bad person an abusive boyfriend and horrible queer role model who got in the way of aids activists and hated not being the center of attention, had fake names, faked his own death, it sounds like he was never even who he said he was like…at all. 

      But with all these conspiracies about identity theft swirling around him and the Mack Lasher case. Where was he now? Who was he? Herb was a sucker for true crime, mysteries, deep dives, Icebergs, he used to make Conspiracy content himself before he switched to music so, he needed to know! But Herb also respected celebrities' right to privacy so, he wouldn't dig any deeper than that if Lester wanted to be left alone, for 20 years with his partner off the grid, that sends a message in itself. if he wanted to be known he would have come forward by now. He wouldn't go out bugging him for a quote, but…just one email, to respond to this video wouldn't hurt, he couldn't help himself. So Herb gave in to his base urges, he just had to know the answer, and what Lester thought of all this, where was he all this time, who was he? 

Herb wasn’t proud he could be canceled on Twitter for this but he just couldn't resist the temptation for the subject of the video to comment on his own segment!? That’s just like, that time he did that video on Actor Elliot page and he actually gave a brief interview at the end, Herb considered that the highlight of his career. Besides, everyone seemed to jump at the chance to want to give their two cents about Lester today, it’s about time Lester got to tell his own story, in his own words. What’s the harm in one little email? Besides, there’s literally no chance in hell, he’s gonna ever see it right? 

Right…?

So Herb emailed Lester Flatt in an obscure email he found online he was sure was dead by now anuyway asking to be intebiwed, Herb clicked send, and almost emeilitly regretted it then forgot. He put in the last of his edits, Premiere Pro was acting laggy so it was taking longer than normal, but since the video was now almost done, and he honestly felt satisfied with how he put everything together, from his starting introduction, reading out his research, to adding in his Dad’s anonymous past experience with Lester from his youth. Which was read by Herb's friend and Fellow youtuber, LizzyLemon in her signature perky E-girl quote reading voice. As well as editing all the best interview footage and B roll footage and surviving clips of Lester himself performing live from versions stages of his career.

But now, looking at the whole video together, sitting back in his gamer chair so long his butt aches. Herb took a sip of white claw from his Flash Gordon mug, and felt like Freddy Mercury must have felt after finishing his live aid performance, truly proud of a truly incredible creation that millions will undeniably enjoy. Regardless of what was to be his fate afterwards. Herb was confident his mostly young, LGBT, music fans were gonna love this one. So, after a long day of slaying, he turned off his Rolling Stones lips nightlight, lay his head on his “The Fame” Lady Gaga album cover pillow, sleeping soundly that night. Knowing everything in life is perfect and absolutely everything in his life was under his control and nothing could go wrong.

        The next morning, before Herb could have a chance to even stretch or open his sleepy eyes, he was woken up with a start by his Elton John Alarm Clock, blasting “Im still stadining” at top voluimg to remind Herb how far he’s come in life. Herb stretched, frazzled haired and crusty eyed, prepared to go back to bed, but instead, his eyes darted to his bedside table to the sound of his phone blowing up, like your mind’s are no doubt about too. What the hell, Herb thought to himself, 1,000 missed calls, Instagram dms, snaps, and emails from his friends, agents, and other people who he had literally never met. Herb’s eyes widened instantly as he jolted out of bed and threw on his Ziggy Stardust Print robe and started Doom Scrolling with fighting speed. All of these people were blowing up his phone about…Lester Flatt? Holy shit, his video has gone viral, overnight!? 

Suddenly before Herb had time to do his morning Raki, take his morning Weed Gummies sponsored by Better Help, and go for the first half of his morning Jog, on his peloton, also sponsored by Better Help, the second half sponsored by Noom, he was thrust, into an abrupt, unplanned, and non consensual phone call with none other than his youtuber friend LizzyLemon who’d helped him record lines for the video last night (if you recall it was like three days ago in Youtuber years). Who was the second herb picked up the phone, squealing, and dump trucking boatloads of emotional labor on the already highly in flabbergasted Herb, who wasnt even techhely awake yet by this point because he hadnt even had his Starbucks Frapinchino Yet, so this was...Alot for Herb to say the least, and he was a Three year in a row Streamy winner, champion Milti Tasker, professional Infunecer, Genimai, Hot Dog Eating Conttest Watcher, Power Napper, Yelp’s Bottom of the Year, so he’s no stranger to taking ALOT at once. Like…can this generation ever catch a break?

“Herb!? Oh my gosh have you heard the news!??? YOUR VEDIO LAST NIGHT ON LESTER FLATT, THAT FATT WHATEVER ROCK N ROLL DUDE THAT MY DADS WEIRD COSUIN MATT WAS OBSED WITH IN COLLEGE FOR FIVE MUNITES, IS FUCKING VIRAL, IT ALREADY HAS 6MILION VEIWS, BITCH!?? OVERNIGHT?? VEDIOS DON'T GO OVERNIGHT VIRAL LIKE THAT ANYMORE? BUT YOU MADE IT HAPPEN GIRL, I'M JUST WATCHING YOUR SUBSCRIBER COUNT GROW RIGHT NOW IT’S GROWING BY THE THOUSANDS AS WE SPEAK!!” 

“Girl, this is not real right now…” Herb muttered as he opened his sticker studded laptop to look at his subscriber count, growing rapidly in real time, from 8 million, to 18 million, all he could see was dollar signs.

“Oh it’s real babe”

“Daddy, don't you worry about money ever again, I’ll send you that rent money alright…straight from my high rise in the hills” Herb muttered under his breath as he stared, dumb struck at just how fast his count was growing he never dreamed he would get this big.

“Herb you beautiful slutty useless Himbo! Yeah, this is huge, you got this Lester guy trending everywhere, I can’t go five minutes on gay twitter, or Instagram without someone talking about him or this fucking video, now everyone’s starting a duologue about homophobia and fat phobia in the music industry and how it snubbed so many great stars in the 80’s and how so many of them never got the recognition they deserved, everyone is looking into this Mack Lasher conspiracy, everyone wants to bring back his band for a viral reunion concert , and they want to dig him up, to see who can get an interview with him frist, you my friend have started a movement, and you know what that means?”

“What?”

“Big bucks…witch we deserve more then our parents because our parents screwed us out of getting to ever own property, and they caused climate change, and my mom killed my fish and ate all my Rice crispy treats, so, I'm right and we should milk this for all it’s worth, like I always told you once you find your niche, and get your big break, take that shit and run. Away I love you babe, drinks tonight, Max Brenners, are on me, see you then!”

“Ok babe, I’m so there-” 

“-But wait, this Lester guy, wasn't he kind of problematic though? I mean if you really look into all that shit he did with those Aids people and how he treated his boyfriend…and that guy from the the Chili Peppers Band, what’s his name, Bug?” Herb tuned out Lizzy’s rambling, as he scrolled on his endless emails from all these promote producers and agents that seemed to pop up in his inbox, until suddenly one email caught his eye. The subject line read: 

Re: You don't know shit about me, kid. 

Sender unknown.

“Hey, babe, I’m gonna have to call you back”

“Ok by-”

“What the fuck is this?” Herb mumbled, dumbfounded. As he opened the email right away, his hands trembling, with fear and excitement coursing through his skinny, limp bracelet covered wrist. To his shock, the email was a response to the email Herb himself had sent last night, sent from none other than Lester Flatt himself. Herb gasped, and jumped up, almost dropping his computer. He could not believe his eyes, Lester actually responded to him, and overnight no less…!? Herb read the email with bated breath clutching his guitar pick choker. 

The email read:

Dear Herb Bean

First of all, Fuck you. Second of all, No, this is not your wildest groupie fantasy come true, or a fake internet prank. I am, indeed, the man, the myth, the legend, the real rock n roll icon himself, Mack Lasher, otherwise known as Lester Flatt. I saw your little video on YouTube, along with the rest of human civilization and boy oh boy, did you outdo yourself with this one. Me and my partner were scrolling last night in bed after a passionate round of lovemaking (yes love gets better with age) and your video came across our timeline, in fact it was basically inescapable, on the interweb we watched it in horror having lived a private life for years knowing our time off the grid was up. After decades of being a rock n roll sage and having my reputation dragged through the mud, we decided enough is enough man, enough is enough and…enough, is enough you little shrimp! And that’s why I'm writing to you now to get ahead of this, you little, shit, you think you're the first little man to use my name in headlines to get some free money, booze and legs up the biz, huh? You're not even the one billith to drag the Lester Flatt estate through the mud in the last 1000 years, well you know what your little video stunt was the last straw man, because guess what the bitch is back! But it inspired me to tell my own story, unlike all the millions of times I have on letterman or Carson, this one will be on my own terms and also…I will finally get a chance to show off my mad book writing skills, no ghost writers here bitch this is not a haunted house. But if you really want to talk you’ll promote my book on your channel when it comes out again, free press and getting paid in exposure is a scam! Attention isn't everything. Something your generation can’t seem to understand. So I made up my mind, you forced my hand but this has been a long time coming so don't give your grody ass all the credit. Last night I recontacted my manager, my agent, and you can let all your follower minions know that I will be coming out with my own tell all, bombshell autobiography soon, titled “Lester Flatt, lying on his ass taking bullets for rock n roll-” It’s a working title, anyway it’s gonna be  even dirtier than The Dirt, more filthy then your little gen Z Tik Tok obsessed mind can even wrap itself around! Yep, you can spread the word to all your little flowers, I'm Finally telling the whole truth, what really happened, my way, and no one can stop me. I know all you young freaks are just dying to know every sordid detail, of the true life of a rock god, one fucked over by this bitch we call history as you well put it. So let it be known, this is the last you’ll hear from me, until this fall when my bombshell memoir comes out you can all finally know the truth. And if anyone, and I mean says I'm lying about any of it, you can tell them that I'm 40 years sober. 

Chapter One

Getting Had, Getting Took.

 

Ok, you all want to finally hear my story and do it justice, well that’s great man, it really is. But for decades I let you drag my name through the dirt but no more!  You freaks got it all wrong, you called me a liar, an identity thief, a, a fake rocker, and everything else under the sun! But I’m none of those things man, I'm not dead, I've been here all along man, I never changed for no one, and it’s time to set the record straight! You talk about letting me finally get to tell my own story, well…here it is man. Take it or leave it.

It all started at the origin of all bullshit: New Jersey. Ewing Township, 1973. I was born in the eye of the bullshit storm. Nothing crazy, I wasn't raised by wolves, I just had the classic soul-crushing New Jersey upbringing. But I get it, you came here for the guts and grime, the Green room sleaze, you probably don't wanna hear about my totally lame childhood, where I grew up, my siblings, crushed dreams, the rents, all that Freudian crapola. Well too bad, it’s my life story, my rules, if you don't like it, get lost! Well, anyway, where was I…oh yes! 

The rents.

For starters my parents were both overly Catholic, mindless TV-dinner mavens, libertarian taxpayers with two chips weighing down on their shoulders, trust me dude, I'm just as bored as you are, but it gets worse. They were both remnants of the ever fading middle class, left in the current ever resentful, working class, working ever hard, for totally microscopic pay as both housewife and autoshop slave respectively. Burt and Florence Flatt were two grody freaks straight out of a all American test tube, nothing but two squares with sticks so far up their asses that i'm shocked they weren’t made better puppet’s of the state, and as the proud rock’n’roll sage you see before you, i'm still deeply ashamed and shocked to be descended from such a bloodline, dude it haunts me to this day, even now I get visited by the ghost of Bono in my sex dreams just to prove to me that i'm adopted and I’m actually his biological son! Anyway they were both raised Mennonite in Pennsylvania's famously racist and cheese friendly Amish country, I believe Burt’s father was Amish but still let him arry my mother, a Mennonite, which was very controversial at the time, somehow. 

They married in their late teens, in 64’, but unlike most young people at that time, they were absolutely afraid, and whole heartily determined to convert every last hippie on the face of the earth. They hated them, they wanted Hippies, Black people, Jane Fonda, cars, modern medicine, technology, and just about anything at all outside of their own little sheep farm to either join them in pois boredom for all time or burn in hell. But naturally since being religious zealots is a lot of work and doesn't make much bank if you're starting out broke and all, especially if in the swinging sixties. It was even harder for them growing up in Amish country when most people in Yee old Hershey PA didn't wanna join their cult, I mean Church especially the hippies or even the normies and townsfolk. So, my Rents, god fuck their souls, as the middle children of two massive families, both with 15, 16 children each, felt compelled by the lord above to do the next best thing to make up for their lack of hippie converts and disappointed families,  have a fuck ton of kids. And so they did go forth and multiply, just like their parents (or at least they tried.) Because that sure turned out…great for them, the first time around. My  “WONDERFUL” parents and brothers are clear evidence of that. for the record i'm never having children , 8 billion of us is more than enough, besides being a father of rock is already so much responsibility there's only so much one guy can take. 

 But, even though my folks tried to have children, life doesn’t always go as God plans. So afters after years for trying to conceive, my mother,must have been desperate for kids to brainwash, she really was pushing 25 now and still hasn't popped out a little Rugrat, what was going on in Womb Vile, trouble in paradise one might say? Well… at this point, you might be wondering why my folks were so gung ho about making babies and why they didn't attempt to pop some offspring earlier in their lives? hy didn't they adopt, or have any other purpose in life besides procreating, other than the whole replacing their failed hippie concerts thing. Having kids was always gonna happen but it was always gonna be for the wrong reasons. To this day I wonder, did they have some kind of scheduling conflict, Burt’s blockage or was Florence maybe out of bullets or vice versa? You know, the truth is attempts were made, my mother was never the warm, nurturing type, I like to think the holy ghost of Jans Joplin cursed them for wanting kids solely to be Hippie Haters, but either way dude, shit was getting outrageous because now they were both starting to sweat and turn to some weird shit.  

Their baby making attempts were getting so wild. In fact God must have started feeling bad for them, which is a scary thing when you're starting to feel bad for the worst two squares on the geometry board. Even though I still wouldn’t be born for another three years by this point, some days I wish they had kept it that way and gone off, convert poor suckers in south amercia or somthing. 

But by now my poor, awful mother was so stuffy and bitter even her eggs turned to dust. She would never give birth to the perfect baby boy to impress her neighbors, pastor and judgey parents back in the backwoods of Amish country. But both of them being too dirt poor to adopt however and too young to retire put a wrench in things for sure. Not to mention my father being too drunk, useless and pushy to remarry. So after all that, as a last resort, my narcs of origin decided the only option left on the table was to return to their second home; church. So they prayed to Jesus. Oh lord they prayed for days and nights by the altar like, they were chained to it. They wept, slept and had revelations of the rapture at that altar. All for the lord to bless them with a son, because they didn't think a daughter would work for their overarching evil plan. After a lot of hard work on their knees; Jesus, finally granted their wish. Nine months later, my parents returned to that same corporate baptist church on the side of the interstate to baptize Kent their first son. The next year, they returned again to baptize Kevin and I was baptized there only a year later, 1973 the same year my parents tried to ban us from listening to the radio because Crocodile Rock by Elton John came out that year and they were convinced it was promoting beastility with actual crocodiles only church radio for us from then on. They weren’t shy about raising us from birth in their image, they had a burning hatred for what America had become they wanted us to replace the “indefels” they saw walking the streets wearing slutty clothes, kissing in public and listening to “the devils music.”So to uphold the last remaining tenants of the American dream, they needed children to carry on their legacy. What legacy, you may ask? Just one of the boring Christian minority, living unlived lives in Newark, dying virgins and loving Nixon and consisting mostly of yelling at hippies to get off their lawns. Either way, that was their plan. To raise their three “perfect boys” in their holy image. Boys who hate change, love America, and most of all, grow up to make a ton of money that they can use to retire to an overpriced tacky Miami condo and never have to see us ever again. Oh, and how could I forget? Never question them in any way or you'll suffer at the mercy of the belt and years of unrelenting Catholic guilt not to mention guilt, dude how do you think I helped invent the new genre of music “Church-Punk” but I'm getting ahead of myself. Suffice it to say, they didn't really raise me, they more just brought me into the world hoping I’d be the “third miracle” instead I was their third mistake, they could never quite erase. If they knew how I would turn out at birth, I'm convinced they would have killed me right then and there, changed their views on abortion and everything.  not shy about it, they talk about it all the time, Because they hate hippies but i'm worse than hips, at least hippies have the decency to sing about peace and love, and be happy in the face of injustice, instead of angry about it, being in the hard core, punk rock, stantioc loving, rock n roll crowd I run with. The rents really do think I'm the devil, whenever I refused to go to church or do what they say, they burned my clothes, even all my shirts, they would go so far as burn my neutral Guns and Roses print pajamas for being “idol worshiping” cult uniforms, forcing me to have to go to the mailbox in Kent’s boring plaid all week, witch is a fashion crime. Or that time they stole my DIO shrine, or many many photo FLEA stash or old, porn collection, or even didn't give me a bandaid when Noodle aka the bully from ninth grade gym (we called him noodle because he’d stretch your arms into noodles if you come on his turf, but everyone’s more afraid of his two little sisters everyone calls “Draw and Quarter” their the real demons)Noodle pulled out my piercing after he tried to steal my bike. Or all those posers who work at Camelot records who refuse to give me a job because I'm “not for real” and can't hold down a job. Or my folks saying it was my punishment from god when I started getting my stainins ``metal stains.” I have every reason to believe they think I am the reincarnation of the devil himself, in a totally non-joke, somehow serious way. But they just told me I was a baby and to walk it off. Even though rock n roll was in my blood, no matter how much they tried to spill it.)

It was around this fatuul Era, the summer of 84’my parents realized I was the odd kid out. They just couldn’t handle my raw animal magnetism. Legend has it, when I was a newborn, the doctor dropped me on a pile of Black Sabbath CDs and it cracked my little skull right open. There was blood everywhere. My parents screamed and almost blew a vein or two. But after the surgery, a piece of my brain had been replaced, the one that controls impulse control, of course. So I was reborn, like a rock ‘n roll Frankenstein, the rock gods blessed me to survive and as I emerged from the operating table like Jesus Christ Superstar from the cross, the heavenly light flooded me as I sat up, and cried tears of destiny. It was that moment I knew I was destined to be a rock star. But I didn't choose rock ‘n roll, rock ‘n roll chose me. That’s also how I got this gnarly scar on the back of my head. 

 

Aside from thinking I'm the devil himself, my parents bought into the widespread panic around all things rock ‘n roll at the time. They believed that satanic panic was running rampant and metal heads were sacrificing little girls to Satan. Who is also being summoned by Dungeons and Dragons and playing Led Zeppelin backwards. So naturally, as the signs of my emerging rock ‘n roll ethos became undeniable, my parents started to sweat, and wonder if the lord of darkness was somehow involved. I mean, just look at my track record so far (these are just the highlights:) When I was 10 months old, my first words were “Lets get it on” (Marvin Gaye had the number 4. Song of the summer) When I was two, I sharpened my teeth into fangs on my mom’s nail file so I could bite the hand that feeds me more successfully.When I was four, I stole my mom's eyeliner and never gave it back. and When I was five, I formed my first band with some first graders who couldn’t play for shit. dude they were babies, they couldn't keep up with my clear path to rock n roll mega stardom.

 

When I was six, I refused to get a haircut so I could grow out my full hair metal shag (as god intended). When I was eight, I broke a kid's leg in the schoolyard while pulling my hair. But there was a silver lining, that year Mötley Crüe was formed, so I realized I was gay. But even when I was in middle school, my parents had already made it extremely well known to every family in the neighborhood they “did not approve of my lifestyle” They tried so many times to take me to church with them, bible school, Boyscouts with my brothers, Football camp, put me in a suit, brush my hair, introduce me to neighborhood girls, burn my rock s, they were just fascists dude you have no idea!? From day one of parenthood, they did everything in their power squeeze me into their oppressive, All American mold, that Kevin and Kent slid so neatly into. Well, I’ll give it to them, their brainwashing worked on my brothers for fifteen years, but it never worked on me, and they hated me for it. I was living proof America was a dying empire and they wanted to hide the fat, rock n roll, proof at all costs, in case I made too much sense to the neighborhood rejects.

My parents by this point were desperate. They did what they always did in times of great desperation. They returned to the church’s doorstep to give me the appropriate number of exorcisms. And as you know, the church was known for its totally not traumatic treatment of children.

 

But when that didn't work, and the demons had refused to leave my body (probably because they were having such a great time in there) our local pedophile priest, Joseph Angles, decided I needed “professional help.” So after the electric shock therapy, hypnotizing, homeopathy, crystal healing, and helping to get a radio psychic’s ratings up, everyone declared that I was absolutely, totally, undeniably beyond help. But if anything, their futile attempts at “setting me straight” only gave me more ideas for rock songs. Songs about how suburbia sucks butt, forming my own rock n roll alter ego, a perfect alternate self that I was disdained to become the rock n roll Jesus Christ he didn't have name yet, but my rock n roll alter ego that I was in my head, and my dreams and on stage in my future, was the subject of many a triumphant ballad, such as a bold, knight would be of many a bard’s the of conquest in medieval battle. Also demons are hot and cool actually, funky red naked red dudes who wanna take over your body and make you horny and evil, but in a cool way and give The big J a hard time I don't know, man sign me up. 

Yeah, the church had a way of making sin seem totally gnarly each time they wanted us to fear it, like a way to backfire hard, keep at guys, see where that gets you!

I was only thirteen years old,…what’s the rush?! They had loads of time to try to shove me into that conformist mold. If they could have, they would've sent me off to war, but I was too young. Plus the Vietnam War was over and their patron Saint Nixon was old news. So for now they were stuck with me and all that came with it. But on the “bright side,” they just elected this movie star guy named Ronald Reagan to the White House, so we’ll see how that goes for them.

Meanwhile, my two older brothers were the most perfect little angels. They were as smart, obedient, Catholic, heterosexual, sexist, and boring as my folks could have ever hoped for. Then there was me, always cast aside, ignored, and put in a cage like a feral pit bull. By the time we hit middle school, my parents had totally given up on me, and man, they were not shy about it either. They constantly shoved their favoritism down my throat. They ran our household like a horse race, I swear to god. They would pit us against each other to compete for every little sliver of their approval, and you know just who the judges favored. They were so blunt, they even cut me out of family photos, and burned my birth certificate on the back porch. My mom lied to her ladies at the hair salon that she only had two sons, and my dad constantly denied that I was his flesh and blood. As a cover, he started claiming I was an orphan from Las Vegas they took in briefly, out of the kindness of their hearts. My brothers themselves were absolutely pampered. My folks made sure they had the best tutors, the best schools, the best school equipment, even when they could barley afford either. Not to mention getting them both the prettiest girlfriends (mostly daughters of their church ilk, trying to marry off their eldest daughters before they developed a personality.)

My oldest brother Kent was, expectedly, a royal cunt. He inherited the douchebag gene from both our parents. Kent really was just an extension of our parents’ reign, getting straight As and being a straight-A asshole from 1st grade to 8th. So of course, as soon as we hit high school, Kent was at the top of the food chain. He did all the classic bullcrap popular nitwits like him got up to in 1985 like bullying the nerds, being star quarterback, and banging and claiming every pretty virgin from here to the city limits. So, naturally, every teacher, parent, student, and McDonald's worker in town expected him to go to Harvard, even when their grades and coaches were all pointing them towards a football scholarship, our folks always had to push extra hard. They wanted my brothers to become big shot corporate lawyers and bring the township a bunch of money, or something. Which gives them a get out of “jail-free card” for just about any crime you could think of. Never gonna happen if you ask me their heads are in the clouds, and either way all that shit grosses me the fuck out, sell outs like my folks and my brother, are the enemy of a rock god like myself, well I had to learn early.

But then there was Kevin. He was a rare gold nugget in an ocean of mediocrity. I held off talking about him until now, because he was the only fond memory of my childhood, so I had to save the best for last. He was absolutely crushed by our parents’ ungodly pressure to be perfect and get perfect grades and pull the family out of poverty. Kevin and Kent were in constant competition, our folks constantly pitting them against each other, because no matter how perfect Kevin was, Kent was always better, and Kent was anything but good, douchebag of the year award went to him every time, future layer for corporate buttfaces no doubt, I hates his guts almost as much as he hated it when I blasted ACDC at 3am.

But Kevin was actually a good guy and after a while he grew up and quit being such a kiss ass. I mean, he still had to be perfect or else, but he managed to do it without being a raging dickweed in the process. He was the only person who didn't participate in the constant dog piling, and hostile climate against me that everyone seemed to be totally wrapped up in. He actually enjoyed spending time with me without being paid, in fact he often fought to do so despite the pressure. And lucky me, he had good taste in rock music to boot! He wasn't satisfied with listening to Bruce Springsteen in the corner and sucking his thumb like the rest of them. He even stood up against bullies and our parents when they were bringing down the hammer on me. He was a popular kid too, so he could get away with that, but unlike most he used his powers for good. Including playing with me in all my rock bands even when it cost him big time. Kevin gave up alot for me, this is just as much his story as it is mine.

Chapter Two

Playing in a Rock n Roll Band.

 

September, 1985 

I was still a freshman in high school yet, I had already been in and out of more short-lived ands than Robin Hood. I’d been starting, forming, and rocking in band’s since I was in the 1st grade. Probably younger, but you know how stupid memoires, can be, besides the rent trashing all Kevin’s photo albums once I turned out this way. Most of these musical operations were short-lived, just grody, unsuccessful shots in the dark with more shuffling in and out Fleetwood Mac laying a game of Musical Chairs. 

But I had two stand out member’s who were in almost all my band’s since the beginning of time. Dude, l'm talking about my long-time drummer Beans, real name “Ulysses, H. Frankfurt. III youngest of ten children, or some fancy crap, he’s the son of some erman lord. He’s old money lives and lives in Newark but the Chili's are here most of the time and Bean’s stays with his best friend and our Keybaordsit Lenny when his family is away, which is most always. And lucky for us, his  don't seem to notice, nor do his parents. 

Beans was a skinny, pale, sort of dark, shy, and introverted type, always wearing dark purple and black lots of skulls and tight satin and silk, with a black Pixie cut covering half his face. And then there’s my other man: Lenny, and Keyboardist , a wild, dopey, incredibly stupid kid wannabee California surfer type, has family out in California including this Uncle out there who works at Capital records he’s always talking about. The ladies think he’s a joke, he thinks he’s the great thing since sliced wonder bread or gnarly waves, that he hasn't caught since summer of 82’ but he likes to act like he surfs in the Olympics and gets his tan in San Diego and not at Long Beach over spring break, and that his buns don't burn. 

Beans and Lenny are attached at the hip, my best friends I can always count on to be in my band. It’s getting the rest of the lineup in this town that’s always a challenge. Sometimes my brother will fill in as lead guitarist, I’m lucky that was one of those times.