Kotzenburg Ch.5

When Headbangers Get Haircuts

By Chris Wunderlich

                Sid and Henry had grown up together in the big city, attending the same school, living in the same poor neighborhood. They shared a love for eardrum-piercing, sonically offensive music and dreamed of one day starting a band, but neither Sid nor Henry could afford instruments—or a place to practice, or much of anything, really. When the Hesse Factory moved into Kotzenburg, both decided to ride the rails and get themselves proper jobs. Goodbye poverty—hello power-chords.

                The two were likeminded, but their physical shapes were complete opposites. Sid was tall and muscular—with a face like leather, even before puberty. Henry was short and round, able to grow facial hair before any of the other boys, and he hid his babyface well. They resembled an old-timey comedy act—and made quite a funny looking heavy-metal duo.

                Both earned themselves an average job on the line in the microwave factory, grossing average wages, living in average homes. But Henry was wise with his money. He saved and soon purchased himself an acoustic guitar, learning quickly enough to teach others the instrument. Sid spent his money on alcohol and pre-torn clothing. Still, they remained the best of friends.

                Eventually, Henry was able to quit his job at the factory—he detested the long hours and overbearing management. But teaching guitar alone couldn’t pay the bills—Henry had to get by sweeping floors at the local theatre. He’d rise in the ranks, becoming supervisor, then working the house lights, and as time flew by, he found himself a middle-aged man in charge of the entire operation. And that suited Henry just fine.

                Sid, on the other hand, found his way out of the factory in a less fortunate manner. One day, just before the union had formed, Sid stumbled into his shift drunk and tired. In a microwave-door-slamming accident too gruesome to describe, Sid lost both his legs from the knees down, and was fired from his position without compensation. Perhaps only out of pity was he hired by the local school, teaching an after-school music program, which he was nowhere near qualified to do. Without knowing the first thing about theory or technique, he instead taught the children about his musical heroes, encouraging them to adopt his anarchist-punk lifestyle. Sid didn’t want pity, though he was permanently wheelchair-bound. Instead, he embraced it—getting ever closer to the grit and grime he so admired.

                Though Henry had given up his rock ’n’ roll ambitions, he never gave up on music. His tastes had changed as he grew older, and his love of the heaviest, dirtiest sides of music dwindled. With the theatre’s stage at his disposal, he decided to make the space available for his students during off-hours. Like Sid, Henry had welcomed the opportunity to shape young minds. Unlike Sid, Henry was determined to become a positive influence. He saw the growing hardships in Kotzenburg—kids had little ambition beyond factory life—and he considered it his duty to keep the arts alive. He treated his students fairly, provided instruments to those that couldn’t afford them, and dedicated himself to becoming an admirable role model.

                But Sid didn’t care for Henry’s approach to music. To him, it was sterile, without character. While Sid had never bothered an instrument himself, he saw the chance to leave his mark. He’d turn Kotzenburg into the next New York, London, or Seattle. He’d teach the kids to turn their backs to authority, to write songs of rebellion, to spit in the face of good taste and bang their heads to the loudest, meanest sounds they could make. He hid his grand design from Henry, though, and instead appealed for charitable donations. Henry was proud to help and thought it serendipitous that they’d both found their calling in music, after all. The two gathered what funds they could from the few citizens of Kotzenburg who bothered to support the arts. Sid armed his children with electric guitars and amplifiers the size of refrigerators. Henry purchased adorable ukeleles, for those that couldn’t yet hold a guitar.

                The friends seemed destined for success together. But by the time Sid’s true intentions came to light, it was too late. Henry generously offered Sid’s class the chance to play at his theatre, but upon hearing their rehearsal, realized the children had virtually no skills. They were, however, well-versed in the art of vandalism. Some nights, Henry would find his theatre’s stage completely destroyed. It seemed Sid’s kids would find their way into the theatre, only to spend the night drinking, smoking, destroying and (one would assume) swearing!

                Sid not only enabled his students—he invigorated them. Though never charged with the crime, it was widely known that the wheelchair-bound after-school teacher would supply alcohol, cigarettes, and ripped clothing to any teenager that asked. Sid scoffed at Henry’s uptight theatre scene and encouraged his bands to play in vacant buildings (of which there many in Kotzenburg, at this time). These “gigs” produced very little music, instead becoming parties where drugs, violence and fires spread with reckless abandon. The local authorities had their hands full, at every hour, responding to calls of mischief, hooliganism, and the spraying-painting of trains without a shred of artistic talent. Sid celebrated the madness, thinking he’d turned Kotzenburg into the underground, counter-culture playground of filth he’d always dreamed of.

                Henry tried to convince his friend, many times, to keep his kids on the straight and narrow—but upon losing his legs, it seemed Sid had also lost his basic sense of decency. If Henry came upon one of Sid’s students in the streets, perhaps urinating on the library, or setting fire to a trash can, he’d attempt to convert them. Henry promised a safe environment, unbroken instruments, and a real chance to learn music. The kids usually re-directed their urinating, or arson, towards Henry instead.

                The youth of Kotzenburg had become divided. Some appreciated Henry’s teachings, honing their craft, and dreaming of a life outside factory work. Others gave into Sid’s brainwashing and took to the streets in the name of chaos. It could have resulted in an all-out war, a battle of ideals, best-friends head-to-head for the future of the town and its children—but alas, fate stepped in. One day, Mr. Skinner arrived at the theatre, unannounced, and delivered his devastating speech. Without warning, Henry’s dream had been cut short. His job, his money, his purpose—all lost in an instant.

                From afar, Sid laughed at the fate of poor Henry. In his mind, he’d won a war before it had even begun. Sid had shaped the youth, and thereby shaped the aesthetic of the town. It was a “cool” place, covered in graffiti, with drugs readily available (at fair prices, too!). The kids were punks, more violent and mean than Sid and Henry had ever been in their big city slum. Kotzenburg had become a nihilist’s paradise, Sid thought, and it was all thanks to him. Damned be the factory, the wealthy, the talented—all hail the rebellious.

                To preserve his sanity, Henry refused to return to the factory. He maintained what little income he could by teaching the students that stuck around. This afforded him a small, dirty apartment (with its bathtub in the kitchen), his trusty acoustic guitar, and little else. But Henry did not give in. Taking a page from Sid’s book, he led his students to one of Kotzenburg’s many abandoned buildings. There, they swept away needles and broken glass, and invited friends and family to join them, turning what was once Kotzenburg’s premiere ice cream shop into a respectable makeshift concert venue. The students played with great joy, despite many needing repairs to their instruments. Henry beamed with pride and opened the doors, letting the music spill out into the street. Should the authorities, or Mr. Skinner arrive to kick them out, there would always be another vacant shop to take over.

                Sid heard the great commotion and saw crowds gather near the former ice cream parlor. He wanted to hear the pathetic, broken stringed strumming of Henry’s defeated students. He wanted to see them wallowing in the grime, just as his class had. He wanted to see Henry give into the filth and admit that the underground ruled Kotzenburg, not some fancy-pants theatre scene.

                But the ice-cream parlor had been shut down for quite some time, and many destructive, teenage parties had been held there. The wooden wheelchair ramp had long burned away. And instead of laughing in the face of his fallen friend, Sid had to sit far away, swatting away a child who’d mistaken him for a urinal.