WEBVTT
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The crowd outside your hotel room starts singing your old hit,
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every voice on the exact same breath. The door locks,
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the phone rings, A whisper rides the dial tone. They're
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here for you. You cover the receiver, but the chorus
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keeps going.
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What's that You want to be scared?
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He come with me. You will experience tales over over
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ghosts and.
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It is not recommended for the weeded art listeners in
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the dark park. It's more funny that way.
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Wait.
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Wait, this is Weekly Spooky.
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Hello my Spookyes, it's Wednesday, and you know what that means.
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It's time for a little spooky in your weekly I'm
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your host and narrator, Enrique Kuto, and tonight's story is
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a little different and a lot of fun, and it's
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from a brand new author, so make sure you stick
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around and give it a listen. But before we get
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to that, I want to say thank you all so
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much for joining us as we head out of spooky
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season and into winter, which brings about its own spooky
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trials and tribulations. We have so much scare to share,
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so make sure you're subscribed on your favorite podcasting app. Also,
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a huge thank you to everybody who's taking advance of
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our new sponsors, especially Cozy Earth. Several of you Spookies
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have headed to cozyerth dot com and gotten yourself something
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really comfy to enjoy the winter months, whether it's bedding
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or loungewear or my favorite bathrobes, and you got forty
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one percent off your first order by using promo code Spooky.
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Not only do you get to save a bit of
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money and get something comfy, but every purchase directly supports
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the show. So if you haven't already, check out cozyerth
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dot com and if you find something you want, well,
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get forty one percent off with promo code Spooky. Thank
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you Cozy Earth for supporting the podcast. But now, as
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for tonight, Imagine a song you wrote when you were young,
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Louder than sleep, brighter than fame. Now picture it coming
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back on a cold night, not on the radio, but
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from a thousand open mouths beneath your window. What if
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the chorus wasn't a memory at all, but a kind
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of summoning. What if the encore didn't end until you did.
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Tonight we strike a match for a rock legend who
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learns that some hits don't fade. In fact, they feed
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withdrawal by John Stony Hannah. Some things never change, and
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even after every hot minute, the weight always seems to remain. Oh,
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the scene has been reset, that's for sure. His lone
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platinum single record, adorning a wall once covered with classic albums,
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now drenched in the images of pre pubescent teeny bopper
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divas that can barely sing their own songs staring back
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at him. But the weight, Even when Sammy was at
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the top of his game, Sid would make him stew
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So why would shit be any different? Decades later, his
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sarcastic thought, fading into an internal chuckle, just as Sammy
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heard the door open up behind him. Well be still
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my once teen hormones. If it isn't the one and
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only legendary Sammy Scar, you sure don't sound like Sid,
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responded Sammy, without a glance or a hint of interest,
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You ship him off to babysit, Vince, Neil or something.
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Last name's vain, said the middle aged woman as she
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sat on the desk and crossed her mostly bare legs.
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But I'm cool if you call me Sherry and Sid
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is off babysitting. Your newfound popularity seems that old single
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of yours has come back from the dead. No one
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really knows why, but since this past Friday, it's suddenly
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become the most streamed song of all time streamed, chuckled Sammy,
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still looking down. Didn't they piss on my music enough
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when they stopped buying my records in nineteen ninety. Well
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you know what they say, Sammy, Some scars never ever
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go away. Well, actually, miss Vain, they just become scabs
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on classic rock radio, to be picked at every once
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in a while. Well, actually missed scar, snarled Sherry as
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she leaned in dangerously close. The kind of attention you're
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suddenly getting again, Sid thinks might be a revival the
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likes of Tina Turner or Cher back in the eighties. Well,
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I don't think so, share, they both got way better
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gams than I do. Besides, I'm currently way more interested
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in a long overdue meal at one of my fave haunts.
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So for the next couple of hours, pretty sure Sid'll
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know where to find me. Spotting his driver through the
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lobby window, Sammy stepped out into the afternoon sun, just
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in time to find himself overtaken by an obnoxiously crazy
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mob it was all he could do to keep his
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new Randolph shades attached to his face. A sudden tug
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and he found himself bouncing around inside the car. What
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the Sammy hissed as he glared at the scratched sunglasses.
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These fuckers ain't cheap. They're here for you, said a
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voice next to him. Driver to d'antanna's. Now, it had
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been a good long while since Sammy had tasted the bracciola,
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each bite taking him back in time in the early eighties.
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Simply walking through the door was as good as any reservation.
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Same out of the way back table, a refuge from
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the screaming teenage girls clamoring to hear that one song,
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that one fucking song. And while it never fully disappeared
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from the airwaves over the years, for some crazy reason,
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withdrawal was all the rage once again. Who the fuck
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wants to hear that song? Now, mumbled Benny between bites
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their granddaughters nostalgia, my friend answered Sid as he sat down.
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Same chicks, just older and hanging on to the past
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for dear life. I guess woke up Friday and you
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were a friendly old radio staple, and by the end
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of the day you were the hottest thing in music
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all over again. Fuck if I know why this past Friday,
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mentioned Sammy the thirteenth. You noticed that too, Sammy, I'm
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way ahead of you, already spinning that one to new outlets.
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Just a mere mention of a possible tour actually knocked
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the ticket site offline for a while. I don't know, Sid,
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said Sammy before chewing another bite. It was fun ten
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years ago to play those five thousand seat outdoor spots,
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but these days royalties almost pay just enough for me
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to be able to just sit at home, squat my
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bare ass on the terrace and stare at the beach.
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Oh silly, Sammy, still the fucking wild man, small amphitheaters.
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Hugh kidding me. My phone's been ringing off the hook
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for you to play way bigger spots like the Bowl
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and the Garden. Maybe bigger, bigger, questioned Sammy. You're fucking nuts, Sid.
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A sudden commotion sliced through the conversation as the hostess
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nervously walked over include the two men of the growing
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congregation outside. See Sammy, this is what I'm talking about,
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Sid spit out, before barking into the phone. I need
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you to pull around back. Now, let's get mister Scar
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to the Sunset immediately. Come on, Sid, I'm not even
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done with my brock now, Sammy. Even the updated decor
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at the Sunset Marquee didn't keep Sammy from feeling at home,
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as if all the cigarette smoke and sexual tension that
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over the years seeped into the walls somehow remained the
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haunted voices of the past kiss stained into the fabric
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of each space, every single sweaty rock and roll orgy
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and manic coke binge. Being able to get a room
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overlooking the boulevard and the addition of a vintage radio
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during the stay only added to the notorious glorious vibe.
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Sammy always looked forward to soaking up the decadent aura
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and the chance to once again tune in to klos
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as station rocking the area since the early seventies, Southern
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California's rock and roll radio ninety five point five KLS
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and that was the heart of rock and roll. From
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Huey Lewis and the News, this is Geno Mitchellini feeding
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your withdrawal symptoms with a new track from Sammy Scar.
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New track, My ass grumbled, Sammy maybe a new life.
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Not even the best song I ever put out for
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fucking out loud. Sheesh weird though I thought Gino passed
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away last year. Sammy closed his eyes as the old
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tunes played on the radio, and he felt himself fade away,
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back into nineteen eighty four, just before the big bang
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of stardom, when he could walk the half a mile
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or so to the whiskey a go go without so
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much as a bother, a routine he picked back up
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that helped him deal with the bitterness of the glitter
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fading in the nineties, the end of his fifteen minutes
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of stardom, cushioned by the consolation prize of his returned privacy,
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a smile coming across his face as he slid on
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his kicks in preparation for the short, breezy track to
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the legendary venue. May I help you with anything, asked
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the hotel concierge as Sammy stepped out of the elevator.
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Restaurant reservations, Perhaps call for transportation anywhere? No thanks, replied Benny,
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just gonna walk down to the whiskey. I'm not sure
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if that's best, said the concierge, as a shriek filled
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the hotel lobby. There's a sizeable group of women trying
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to push their way past security out front. What did
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somebody tell them, Tommy Lee's cock is staying here or something.
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They're here for you, said the voice again. Well, fuck all,
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maybe I'll try to sneak out again a little bit later.
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Can you send up a nice bottle of cabernet when
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you get a chance, Very good, sir, right away. Even
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over the sound of the radio, Sammy could hear the
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hum coming from the boulevard of what he figured to
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be the sunset at night. That energy he longed to
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snatch up again, and with every slow, nervous step towards
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the window, the hum grew louder and louder. As he
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inched his face closer to the window, he could see,
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one by one the faces looking up in his direction,
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suddenly singing in unison. As he slowly shifted the curtain aside,
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wading on the corner where the street lights fade, shadows
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drape like curtains on an empty stage. Your footsteps echo,
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but they never stay, just whispers in the wild, a
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ghost of yesterday. For a brief moment, Sammy could picture
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the crowd in their the younger skin and the energy
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left his body. Closing the curtains and his eyes. He
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stumbled back against the hotel room wall as that voice
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slid through his head. They're here for you, Here for you,
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They're here for you. Sammy, who's here? Sammy mumbled as
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he shook from his sleep. Looking up from his horizontal
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spot on the shaggy hotel room floor, Sammy could only
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see a pair of bare legs coming down from the
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front of the bed, confusing him even further. Brunch time
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is here, laughed Sherry, looking down. Sid is waiting down
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stairs in Cavatina. There's plotting and scheming to be had.
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Think you can get yourself together? Or do I need
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to tell Sid? I'll be down in thirty, Miss Vain.
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Sure you don't need help in the shower, Just thirty,
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grumbled Sammy as he opened the door. Order me a
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mimosa if you don't mind, just a glass, or asked Cherry,
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holding up the empty wine bottle, drawing no response from Sammy.
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One mimosa coming up, Rockstar. As he exited the elevator
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into the lobby, it was obvious to Sammy that even
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just another day later, something was different. Not only was
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there more hotel staff than usual, but after years of
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invisible peace, as he walked through crowds this morning, he
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found himself nodding endlessly to glances and greetings from everyone
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he passed. In his twenties, Sammy would have strutted like
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a peacock, but now, at almost sixty, he felt on
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the edge of uneasy, fucking, annoyed, actually strange. Even as
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he grabbed his seat, Sammy pointed back towards the restaurant entrance.
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It's like an episode of the Twilight Zone. Out there.
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Twilight Zone, replied Sid. I know it's early, but Sherry,
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how about we get this guy a cup of coffee? No, no,
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I'm good with this, Sammy mumbled, holding up the glass
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of mimosa. Guess I'm just not used to being out
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and about early enough for people to say good morning
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to me. They're here for you. What's that? Said a
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startled Sammy, almost knocking his glass over. Did you guys,
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did you hear that? The waitress asked what she could
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get for you, smirked Cherry, Yeah, yeah, sorry, stammered Sammy.
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Uh steak and eggs medium across the board. Thanks. See,
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some things never change. Sid chuckled as he looked at Cherry.
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This guy always with the medium steak and eggs. Well, Sid,
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I figured it must be a special occasion, you bringing
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a date and all funny you bring that up, mister
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Scar added Cherry a date. That is why miss Vane
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we just met. Look, Sammy, Sid spit out as he
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shook his head. For some unholy goddamn reason, you're hot
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shit again. Sherry and I are just here to make
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sure that you get a piece of this unexpected action
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before it turns back into popular culture fertilizer again. Well, Sydney,
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chuckled Sammy before taking a bite of steak. At least
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I can always count on you to shoot the shit
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straight with me. Sammy sat quietly eating his food as
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Sid and Sherry babbled on and on about the possibilities
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of the hot minute, a full mouthed smile and nod
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in response to suggestions like talk show appearances, concerts, even
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meetin greets, only nearly choking when the subject of new
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music came up. Na uugh, Sammy tried to spit out,
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Are you kidding me? New music? No one gives too
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shit about any new music for me, Well, not actually new,
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Sammy scar music per se, chuckled Sid as Sherry put
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her hand on Sammy's knee underneath the table. I was
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thinking maybe a new dance duet version of Withdrawal with
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Melaura Mahua, asked Sammy as he swatted Sherry's hand away.
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Ma Laura, teen pop singer that sings that hit song.
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Ya fussin' is bustin'. She totally slayed at the MVA's
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this year, added Sid. One of the hottest things going
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with the kids at the moment. Yeah no, Dice, snarled Sammy.
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My audience, at least what's fucking left of it. Haven't
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been kids in about four decades, but there's still kids