In the Los Angeles heat of 1973, music is not just an art.
Itās a lifestyle. California Dreaming is a city rp set in Los Angeles, California in the year 1973. The plot revolves around an imagined music industry loosely inspired by real life musicians of the decade.
Much like reality, whether or not your muse makes it in the industry is one big game of chance. MOBILE NAVIGATION
So hereās the skinny: California Dreaming was something that Katie and I were super passionate about when we made it, and we still have a ton of love for it, but after some discussion weāve realized that there are other things that need to come first. In my case, itās a chronic illness and a new medication that Iāve been struggling with since June (those of you in the Discord know the details and have been so kind and patient); and for Katie, it is an incredible new opportunity fresh out of nursing school that takes precedence.
It would not be fair for us to leave you guys hanging any more than we already have, nor would we ever want to ghost you. We know that there are a few of you who are still so supportive of this game, and we canāt thank you enough for your passion.
Katie and I will be stepping down, but we would like to give others the opportunity to take over in our place if they so wish. If you think youāre up for taking the reins, please message us here on the main ASAP so we can make the arrangements. You will receive the login, the graphics, etc. We will only consider current and past members of the game for this position.
Thank you so much for your understanding, and we hope that we will write with you again in the future!
Did you guys know KyĀ was coming? They brought Vance deLery, The Ghost! And just on time! Grab a drink, find a spot, and make sure you finish everything on theĀ checklist. The band is just getting started ā you have 24 hours to send in your account! Weāre so glad youāre here!
Answer the following questions in your characterās voice:
If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?
āMake music. Thatās why Iām here, thatās - itās what Iāve been tryinā to do all my life. Since I was old enough to know a note, man.ā Not an exaggeration; his ma used to laugh, looking at all those polaroids sheād pinned up. Some beaming, black-eyed baby pawing at the keys of the piano in that schoolroom where she did her lessons. This kid perched on the bench, hand-me-down dress shirt tucked in nearly to his knees, crisp white cotton hanging off his skinny shoulders as he played his first something-like a recital. Keep going, sweetheart. Everybodyās gonna listen, youāll see. Vance sighed, brushed his hair back. āYeah, just - music. I want to make it, and share it with people. Thatās what itās for.ā
If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?
āItād be warm, Iāll tell you that. Canāt handle the cold. Bad for playing in.ā He flexed his hands, callused - by steel strings, sure, but busting out license plates, too, nowadays. āWarm. But, likeā¦ nice, you know?ā A kind of heat that wasnāt so brutally bright, so strong that itād crush the breath from your chest. Not that thick, sticky sort of warmth heād grown up in. āSomewhere with real beaches. Soft sand for milesā¦ I mean, Californiaās great and all, butā¦ gets crowded, man.ā
What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?
āAhā¦ shit, give me a minute, thereā¦ā Experience made him sound like an asshole, didnāt it? Everybody was out there experiencing, all the time. Just, maybe, when it came to the sort of experience people sang about - how many of them had lived all of that? Especially these young things, coming up. Young things. Christ almighty, when did he get old? āI, uh - Iāve done this before. All of it, Iāmā¦ Iām doing it again, my second go around.ā He nodded, took a deep, steadying sort of breath. āThatās the dream, at least, justā¦ this time, Iām gonna do it my way. Like Frankie said.ā Just like that.
Vance, he could charm the birds from their trees, the girls right out of their bedroom windows - some of the guys as well, even if it was just their eyes saying so. All it took was a few chords off that beat-up guitar, a couple songs, that crooked smile. He had a certain style, and a sound, butā¦ did he have what it took, to make it big? On his own, he might never have had the confidence to go chasing stars. But he had the boys, pulling him along in their twanging, roaring wake: fellow odd-one-outs around their little town, thick as thieves. There was the frontman, The Fortunate Son, howling himself hoarse out where he could strut his stuff and drink in the crowd. The drummer, The Peace Train - he hit things, hit āem at the right time, despite the metric shit-ton of weed he burned through. Their bassman, The Hard-core Troubadour, he didnāt have tricky fingers, but he had rhythm. Thatād do. At least, when you had Vance handling the fancy slides and such.
They called themselves the Diamondbacks. Sounded badass, and upscale. So the argument went. Vance, he didnāt see much need to be any of that. That frontman had a way of convincing people, though. Vance, especially. Those heady summer days, passing a joint around by the river, made it real easy to see the light. Their music was good, and it was something else, part of that swell of southern rock nā roll sound. Those songs they knocked around could be in. Just had to make sure the right people heard them.
First, the Diamondbacks had to get the hell out of Pine Bluff. As soon as possible. None of those boys had any real reason to stick around, no roots they werenāt ready to sever. Vance, he was still missing his mother, her car t-boned by a drunk the spring after she got him that third-hand Fender he lugged over to every practice. His father, he kept a closer eye on the beers in his fridge than he did on his son. But Mr. deLery made sure his boy knew how to take a punch. Did he ever. When the band finally rode off into the sunset, Vance was nursing a broken nose in the backseat - God, though, heād never laughed so hard. Fuck the whole state. They were going to California.
Beyond there, the plan got a bit hazy. The financing, especially. None of them had much more than a crumpled pocketful of savings. That and a few bucks here and there from gigs was enough to squeak by on, but they hadnāt come all that way to squeak. They wanted to shine. That took cash, though; for new shirts, new drumsticks, the occasional haircut. And the drinking. And the dope, which flowed pretty freely in the big city. The Diamondbacks needed cash on their way to the top. As usual, that singer figured out the answer. Heād met a guy who could use some people. A real cool guy, into real cool things. Like acid, pills, heroin. Just needed a hand moving a little something, now and then, here and there. Vance didnāt like it, but. The Fortunate Son, the tightest friend heād ever had, was telling him how they were going to save their band. So, Vance listened. Itād be okay, he got promised. Itād be better than okay.
And soon, it was. That cool guy had cool friends, as it turned out, and those cool friends had cool parties. After showing up at a few of those, the Diamondbacks were reading over a record deal, signing on the dotted line. The rest, as they say, is history. There was a promising first album, then, quickly, a record-smashing second, and a third that the radio just loved. Then, trouble. That fourth record spun apart as the band got lost in being bigshots. Vance, never as comfortable being the centre of attention as The Fortunate Son, never as incredibly high as The Peace Train, never as cool and collected as The Hardcore Troubadour, could feel himself burning away in the limelight. He drank to sleep, snorted to wake up. Started to find other things to do, in between. The pressure made him jittery, on and off the stage, and it didnāt help any that that cool friend kept calling. The guy didnāt like to hear no. Said he had strings to pull, if he had to. Going on tour was just such a swell method of distribution, and the money didnāt hurt the band any, did it? The Fortunate Son wasnāt worried. So, Vance tried not to be. He really did.
It all went to hell so fast. One day, they were on top of the fuckinā world. Next, everybody was going down for possession, intent to distribute. Everybody, or somebody. So said the lawyer The Fortunate Sonās panicked parents had called in. They wanted to make an example, here. One would do. A sacrifice, for the rest of the band, but. With good behaviour, out in no time. Vance would do it. Right? Vance could give the judge those big doe eyes, get off easy. A nice cushy stint in county. Itād be nothing, and the rest of them, theyād fix up that album and keep going, for his sake. Then heād be back, soon, andā¦ The Fortunate Son, he was half-hysterical. All Vance could say was yes. For his best friend, for the band. Itād be nothing.
Only, that lawyer wasnāt so good as he figured he was. Vance was thrown a dime and a half in San Quentin, a week shy of his twenty-second birthday. Example made.
The band visited, for a while. Prison wasnāt kind, but Vance, heād grown up keeping his head down. Withdrawal didnāt make it easier. Neither did the visits, honestly. Watching the band break down, from the outside - that stung. That was his life, what he took this long, long fall for. Gone. The days blurred together, a smear of grey concrete, grey food, grey sheets, and the odd, red burst of blood. He watched his hands, playing his way through old songs every night, tapping his fingers on nothing. Listened to the radio, when they allowed - catching the chords, guessing at the picking patterns. All he had to do was stick it out, survive. Thereād be music on the other side.
Turns out that all his good, good behaviour would count for something - a few reductions, then, parole. After he hitch-hiked his way to Los Angeles, Vance started strumming along the boardwalks and street corners to make ends meet. Heād lost a decade, of playing, of living; rusty, roughed up, and altogether alone in the world, he had nowhere to go and nobody to see there. Didnāt even have that old Fender. But he could clean himself up and slip into bars and music stores, pick up a guitar, and earn a few coins. Just a week shy of his last pointless parole meeting, he was pulled aside for a proposal. A band, not just some crew of up and comers but a big deal, needed a guitarist, a singer. A replacement. Maybe they werenāt his style, but - could he do it? For the money to keep himself clean, sure. They didnāt seem to have caught on to that criminal record, but that was years ago; the Diamondbacks, and the scandal that snapped them apart, were just about forgotten. All the better for Vance.
For the past two years heās been doing what Indigo Dusk pays him to do, and not much more. This isnāt his band. Itās not his music. He bears them no ill will - heās grateful, of course, for the chance - but he doesnāt feel at home with them, doesnāt get too personal. Vance is well aware heās just filling a space onstage, and if heās honest with himself, heās not playing his best for them. But, very, very quietly, over the last few months or so, heās started to slip out to open mic nights around Los Angeles. Nothing too big. Doesnāt want to trouble that contract, obviouslyā¦ but he can feel it, the quaking in the foundation of this band heās hitched himself to. Theyāre going the same way The Diamondbacks did, or something like it, anyway. And that asides, he misses making music that felt like his. Maybe The Diamondbacks werenāt that, either. But heās out looking for his own sound, now, and if the audiences are any indication, heās starting to find itā¦
Letās start with a PINTEREST! https://www.pinterest.ca/jraphicpark/vance/
HEADCANON time!
Vance got his musical talent, and then some, from his mother - a music teacher. She realized early that her boy had spectacular pitch, listening to him plink along with radio tunes on her piano. He can do more than that now, but hasnāt let the rest of Indigo Dusk in on the fact. Theyāve got somebody on the keys, donāt need him. And it hurts to play, in some ways. Piano was his momās music, her sound, and it brings back a hell of a lot of memories.Ā
He can also pick something pretty out on the banjo, and knows his way around a classic diatonic harmonica. Picked that one up in prison; being able to keep folks entertained has always served Vance well, even in his worst days.Ā
At this point, heās mostly playing covers for the cafe and bar crowds; but Vance is slowly, surely, starting to throw in a tune or two of his own. Itās not just his sound thatās drawing people in, either. When he warms up, past a certain natural shyness, Vance has this unpretentious, genuine way about him, a self-deprecating kind of humour that sneaks in between songs. It keeps them listening, even if his music isnāt perhaps the kind of thing thatās hitting it big on the airwaves these days.
Though nobody was throwing those words around in 1973, Vance is what weād call dyslexic and dysgraphic - meaning, very broadly, that he struggles to read and write. Itās not something he has an explanation for, and the ones given to him by teachers and schoolmates werenāt kind. Heās been treated like heās not terribly smart, or like heās lazy, or both, since he was a kid. Neitherās true, but heās still sensitive about it, and tries to hide this fact as much as possible. People already tend to judge him quickly thanks to the backwoodsy accent. Itās not fair, but Vance knows the world isnāt like that. So he just gets on by, as best he can.
And then, obviously, a PLAYLIST! Iāll just list the songs, because I donāt have a proper Spotify set up (shocking, I know). Hope itās okay that some of these are modern. Vance typically played electric with the Diamondbacks, in their more rock nā roll style (think CCR, Lynyrd Skynyrd); left to his own devices, he prefers an acoustic sound heavy on the finger-picking. Heās got a genuine gift for that kind of playing, very much a van Zandt kind of talent. His voice, usually background to The Fortunate Sonās in the Diamondback days, actually has a decent range - soft highs to a bit of old country growl.
Highway Kind - Townes van Zandt
Little Boy - Barns Courtney
Feel Alright - Steve Earle
Built to Roam - Shakey Graves
Leaving On A Jet Plane - John Denver
Deep Dark Wells - Joe Pug
Folsom Prison Blues - Johnny Cash
My Poor Heart - The Glorious Sons
Satan and St. Paul - John Fullbright
Iām Not a Saint - Billy Raffoul
Wasteland - X Ambassadors
Tearing At the Seams - Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats
And I Love You So - Don McLean
Everything Is Alright - The Glorious Sons
Unknown Legend - Shakey Graves
Bright Beginnings - Joe Pug
Lungs - Townes van Zandt
Donāt Take Your Guns to Town - Johnny Cash
History - X Ambassadors
Take Me Home, Country Roads - John Denver
Unlucky Skin - Shakey Graves
Meet Me in the Alleyway - Steve Earle
Panic Attack - The Glorious Sons
American Pie - Don McLean
Still Trying - Nathaniel Rateliff
And for a few more things, hereās some tidbits about the (ex)band, so far as wanted connections might go! Names and Titles are flexible. Faceclaims would be totally up to player, probably in the 32-37 age range. Ā
THE FORTUNATE SON
The oddest one out, back in Pine Bluff and the band, this character grew up as the spoiled and rebellious child of the biggest bigwigs that little town had to offer. Maybe heās a Somebody, a country crooner or a real rockstar. Maybe heās become a Power, staring down the kind of up and comer he used to be across a nice, expensive desk. Is he happy, now? Was it worth it? Whoās to say.
THE PEACE TRAIN
The roving spirit of the bunch, the real hippie, off in la-la land, ready to fire up a fat one the moment they left the stage. You could say that for this character - he loved the music, and couldnāt stand to see it compromised. He was a cheerleader, always ready to shove the rest of the band back on their feet and get the show on the road, eternally the sunny, can-do optimist. The weed probably helped with that, but still. Vance wound up moving plenty of product for him alone, back in the day. Now? Who knows heās up to.
THE HARD-CORE TROUBADOUR
Once the bassist of The Diamondbacks, this character was always a hard-headed, take-no-shit sonofabitch. But he got shit done. While The Fortunate Son dreamed big and tried to smile and schmooze his way to what he wanted, The Hard-core Troubadour put in the thinking and paperwork that made stuff happen. He spent much of the friendship - and the band - frustrated. Vance was often the one who had to try and gentle things out between people, usually this stubborn bastard and their bombastic, self-righteous frontman. He might have moved on to another band, but itās just as likely that he left music behind for managing or mixing at one of the labels.
can The Joker be female? sort of a joan jett type?
Hello hello! We actually imagined Violent Vale as kind of the classic rock and roll boy group, a la Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, or Pink Floyd.Ā
If you want a Joan Jett type, though, the members of Indigo Dusk are still open, you can twist around The Tin Man or Free Bird skeletons, or you can craft a dreamer OC!Ā
As always, feel free to message us if you have any other questions. Weād love to help you figure something out thatāll work just right.Ā
NAME: Nicky Slick
FACE CLAIM: Nico Tortorella
AGE: 28
TITLE: The Pretty Vacant
OCCUPATION: Guitarist for Violent Vale
INTERVIEW
If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?
āYou mean other than this or can I just say this? Because Iām already livinā the dream, mate. Who wouldnāt want my life? Sex, drugs, rockānāroll, literal piles of money, thousands of adoring fans. Iāve got it made and wouldnāt change it for the world. Thereās nothing like being on that stage with the crowd going wild ācause Iām killing a solo. Other than this? Hell, never really thought about it.ā Nicky took a puff from his cigarette and leaned his head back, contemplating as he exhaled slowly. āNope, nothinā. Got no answer for you, sorry. This was always what I wanted to do.ā Ā
If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?
āWell, weāve been a lot of places already. Hard to go anywhere without being recognized but then, why wouldnāt I want to be recognized? Iāve heard Las Vegas is fun, would be nice to check that out. Whatās that fancy place in China with all the casinos?ā He paused for a moment, frowning slightly as he thought before shrugging. āWhatever itās called, there. New York was a bloody good time so Iād go back there, too. Itās a party wherever we are with me and the boys.ā
What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?
āYouāve seen and heard me play guitar, right? Thereās a million wankers out there who play but none of āem do it as well as I can. I know how that sounds, but itās true. Come to a show and youāll see. I do things with a guitar most people only dream of. But honestly, do come to a show, mind. Iāll set you up right, backstage passes, the whole bit. Maybe Iāll even take you to the after party, ācause thereās always an after party, and trust me you havenāt partied until youāve done it with Violent Vale.ā He flashed a grin with an almost dangerous edge to it. āWeāll show you a proper good time.ā
BACKSTAGE
Nicholas Hardy was never supposed to be a rock star, at least not according to his mom. Nicky always had other ideas, however. She did her best, raising him on her own in Bristol, but he was always a little wild. Some blamed the fact that there was no father to speak of in the picture and Florence Hardy was never forthcoming with details about who he might have been. Most outside the family assumed heād died in WWII, given that Nicky was born roughly a year before it ended, but Nicky knew that couldnāt be. If his father had died honorably, as a soldier, surely his mom would have been willing to talk about him, tell stories, or even have pictures in the house. But Florence wouldnāt even talk to Nicky about his father so he came to the conclusion that the man must have abandoned them, must not have wanted him. His mother did the best she could and heād always felt loved at home but the idea that his father hadnāt wanted him planted a bitter seed in his heart that grew as he did.
One thing that eased that bitterness was music. Nicky loved music from a young age and displayed talent early on. Florence wasnāt impressed with it at first but when it became clear he was going to do it whether she wanted him to or not she managed to scrimp and save enough of their already meager funds to get him his first guitar. She hoped, somewhat vainly, that he might just keep it as a hobby and go on to more stable pursuits. That wasnāt to be, however, since Nicky excelled at guitar and had a clear passion and love for it. He liked music more than he liked school, and, in spite of his motherās strictness about grades and keeping it up, it wasnāt long before Nicky was cutting class to jam with his mates. The group of them had been friends for a long time and Nicky was often the one who got them into trouble but he was equally as often the one who could talk them out of it. He was certainly charming, even as a young punk of a teenager, though sometimes he was just as willing to get into a down and dirty fight as he was to talk his way out of it. Nicky especially railed against men in positions of authority. People said it was because heād never had a father to be strict with him and teach him respect and they were half right. He saw the father heād never known in all of those men who were trying to control him and wanted to spit in their eyes to show them he didnāt want or need them.
It only made sense that Nicky would get into the punk scene, scrappy and talented as he was. He and his friends formed a band and being on stage, even if they were the sticky stages of tiny little clubs, gave him a rush like no other. He came alive in front of an audience, hit them hard with his chords and left them wanting more and soon enough, Nicky Slick was born. Nicky plunged headfirst into the lifestyle his mother had never wanted for him. Sex, drugs, alcohol, and parties became a way of life and Nicky loved it all. The adoration from fans inflated his ego and his natural charm made him even more popular. He got to live fast and free and he loved every minute of it.
The ride got even wilder when they broke out of Britain and went to America, attacking New York and all it had to offer, which was quite a lot. Nicky was happy to indulge in any drug anyone would give him, chasing the same euphoria he found on stage. He was talented and he knew it and the world was his oyster. Who needed a fatherās love when he had the love of thousands of fans? It was a real shame when the label pulled them out of New York and sent them to California because they were ātoo wildā, as if there was such a thing. They were supposed to behave themselves, party less and focus more on the music, but Nicky wasnāt quite sold on that. Why couldnāt he party and do music? He saw no reason why he couldnāt and has always been more than willing to convince anyone who might disagree with him that he can do it just as well as he does everything else.
Did you guys know Joss was coming? She brought Lowell Crane, The Hurricane! And just on time! Grab a drink, find a spot, and make sure you finish everything on thechecklist. The band is just getting started ā you have 24 hours to send in your account! Weāre so glad youāre here!
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā I. OUT OF THE STUDIO
Answer the following questions in your characterās voice:
If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?
āWell, aināt that a question. Not sure how to answer that. I could say I wanna be a lighthouse keeper, or a park ranger in Antartica. Or an astronaut. But thatās not really an answer, is it? Cuz nothingās holding me back from, well, maybe the lighthouse keeper, and the rest, never gonna happen, and maybe I wouldnāt really like it anyway. Be a trip though, floating in space. Canāt imagine anything else feels quite the same, except maybe acid. I could say I wanna hit that perfect note, and it rings like a bell inside your chest, and everyone else is hitting it too, and you all just float in that perfect sound as long as you can. But I donāt think thatās really a job description. Or I could just say fuck it, I wanna be a rock star, cuz isnāt that what we all want, at least a little, if weāre still here? Canāt imagine a reason to stick around otherwise.ā
If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?
āVietnam. I know, not the ideal vacation spot. Donāt worry, Iām not gonna go full Jane Fonda or anything. I went to some protests and sit-ins, but I canāt even claim I was that invested. Thatās fucked up, right? If you fight for something, you should at least have conviction. Not like Iām pro-Nixon or anything, but I just ā¦ it was what everyone else was doing. And people liked to listen to my songs. What bullshit. I was cribbing off Dylan half the time anyway. We all were, but it doesnāt exactly make you proud, you know? I was running around playing flower child the whole time, and Mick was off getting his ass blown up in Khe Sanh. Or God knows where, everything was redacted, so fuck if I know. You know? Sorry, I canāt answer a question to save my life. Probably why Iām here and not an accountant like Ma always wanted me to be.Vietnam. I wanna go to see where he was, before he got sent home in a pine box. He was just a kid, he was supposed to be the smart one, he was supposed to get out of Texas and come see me and I was supposed to be his impressive older brother. Fuck, I sound like a bad country western song. Ignore me.ā
What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?
I can eat 50 eggs. (Authorās note: this is a reference to Cool Hand Luke, a 1967 film which in many ways encapsulates Lowellās aesthetic and ethos. Heās also just a huge fan of Paul Newman and if he had any acting talent whatsoever, heād want to be him.)
Lowell Crane grew up in the unusually average town of Ding Dong, Texas, an hour outside of Austin. He was the first boy, the second child, and grew up singing in choir and learning to play the guitar, though admittedly he was hardly dedicated to the pursuit. It wasnāt until he hit puberty and discovered girls that musical talent became something he valued. Though he was born in Holland, he was often told he had āall-Americanā looks, and even spoke Dutch, his first language, with a soft southern twang. He didnāt really consider it a career, but liked playing at parties and joined a band with his friends on a whim. They were just good enough to get to tour parts of Texas, and Lowell caught the fame bug. By the time he was in his early 20s, he wanted to take it further. As it so happened, he had a cousin in California who invited him to come out and stay for a while.
The California music scene was a hard hit of culture shock for Lowell, and he bounced around different bands, never quite fitting in, never really making a splash with anyone, but continuing because people said he had talent. He joined a band, The Lonely Boys, who were in need of a guitarist, and they toured for a couple of years before breaking up because nothing was happening, quite discouraged. Lowell took a plane to New York just in time for the Summer of Love, and all of a sudden, he was a flower child. Somehow that alchemical magic happened and he took off. He had a recording contract with a big name, he played at Woodstock, he was going to be another Bob Dylan. Then he got the news his younger brother, Mick, was dead, and simply ā¦ dropped out of his own life. He was just another broken person left behind by the hippie movement, and it took him until 1972 to drag himself back to something like normalcy. He ended up in an ashram in Southern California getting clean and seeking enlightenment. He got clean, but as for enlightenment, all he got were the keys to a dive bar in Los Angeles that one of the new converts no longer wanted.
Lowell has spent the last year building up Daredevilās Bar as a venue for up-and-coming musicians, and itās now one of those places where you āpay your duesā in the rock scene. People even say some of the big name studios scout there sometimes. Lowell is just the owner and the guy behind the bar who can tune your guitar, help you break down your setup after a show, and who only occasionally has to threaten the crowd with a baseball bat when they get rowdy. Heās still putting the pieces of his life together, and heās aware on some level that his music career is done, but he canāt quite give it up. Heāll provide backup guitar for any of the bands doing shows at his bar in a pinch, but he doesnāt perform by himself at the bar, though sometimes he will hit up a late open-mic or jam with the few friends he has in town, or the odd person who remembers who he used to be.
Lowell can play by ear and can play a song if heās heard it once. He isnāt as good at remembering lyrics and will sometimes make up his own if he canāt remember them.
The last name āCraneā is an anglicized form of Krane or Krahn, which is Dutch. His family fled Holland after the war. Lowellās parents lost most if not all of the rest of their family during the war. The effect on the Crane children of being the children of survivors has left the family split between those who strive to be as American and unobjectionable as possible, like their parents, or those who reject their parentsā attitudes and seek to be as unusual as possible.
Lowell is the second of five children, with three sisters and one brother, Michael Crane, now deceased. His sisters are Emmeline, Virginia, and Dorothy. Emmeline and Virginia are married and live in Texas, Dorothy currently lives in upstate New York on a commune with her female lover, and is estranged from her family, other than Lowell, who lived with her during his period of ādropping outā.
Lowellās favourite food is peanut butter, and he eats it straight from the jar, to the consternation of his family and roommates over the years, as he often double dips the spoon to lay claim to a jar.
NAME: Lana May; āOpalā
FACE CLAIM: Elle Fanning
AGE: 21
TITLE: The Lollipop
OCCUPATION: Keyboard/Backup Vocals for The Gemstones
INTERVIEW
If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?
āāWell iām already doing it, you silly! This has always been my dream. I mean, who wouldnāt want to be a member of The Gemstones? Iām young, Iām pretty and I get to sing and perform in such a wonderful band. What more could I want from life? I consider myself really blessed. Do you know how many other young girls come into this town with big hopes and dreams? But they donāt all get to sing and play like I do. So, I donāt want to be selfish. Iām truly happy with what Iāve got. But you know, if I werenāt famous, Iād probably be a seamstress just like my wonderful mama. I love fashion. I really do.āā
If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?
āāTruth be told, Iām really happy here in L.A. Itās the perfect place for me I think. But I guess maybe Iād go to New York City, Iāve heard itās much bigger than all the cities here on the West Coast. Itād be a real adventure to get lost in New York. Or perhaps Iād go to Paris? Iāve only seen it on tv, but my oh my, it looks so glamours and chic. Audrey Hepburn makes it all looks so sweet.āā
What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?
āāMy mom says itās my smile. No other girl can smile like me. She says that the sparkle in my pretty blue eyes cannot be replaced with any jewelry. So, I guess maybe that? But everybody says that I remind them of cotton candy. I donāt know why. Maybe itās because of the way I dress. Does that count?āā
BACKSTAGE
Thumbelina emerged from a flower into this world, but Lana was created from the finest silk, sugar and gossamer - or so her motherās bedtime stories oftentimes claimed. Born as Lana Mayor Young, she spent her idle childhood years in her hometown of San Francisco, as the only child of a local seamstress called Viola Mayor. The life of a single mother and a divorced woman had never been a fairy tale for Lanaās mother, but still the little Lana was loved and adored almost to the point of madness.
Vibrant dresses, heart-shaped sunglasses and pretty flowers in her flaxen hair, Lana lived a life most would be envious of thanks to her overprotective and caring mother. At school she was always among the favorite girls in class, simply drawing everyone in with her bubbly smiles, pretty eyelashes and saccharine personality that was practically contagious. Nothing ever seemed too hard or impossible for the young blonde; after all a girl with such a cherubic smile could solve any issue.
But when she wasnāt playing dress-up at her motherās boutique store ( in hopes of imitating all the stunning clients ) or roaming around with her pretty Barbie dolls, Lana had the tendency to watch tv for hours upon hours and listen to the radio. There was something so undeniably entrancing about all the pretty girls in glittering dresses with shiny microphones in their delicate hands - and the way others looked at them made Lana all the more intrigued. They were revered and idolized and Lana almost immediately became enamored with the world of fame and music, and she wanted to be just like all the ladies on TV as singing in front of a tall mirror wasnāt enough for the little sweetheart.
And so it all started with the young blonde practically begging her loving mother with glistening tears in her eyes to let her join a local choir. At first, her mother had been rather reluctant to say yes to such a whimsical and peculiar wish, but then again saying no to Lana was practically impossible ( really, one cannot find a person strong enough to turn down such a delightful creature with bambie eyes ). Soon after that, she started attending regular practices and extra classes, hoping to improve her voice and make her wildest dream come true. But of course, it didnāt take her long to realize that being a part of a choir wasnāt even remotely similar to her perfect California dream.
However on one fateful sunny afternoon in Los Angeles ( while Lana and her mother were visiting one of her aunts ), a tall and older, but still rather handsome stranger in a black suit approached Lana, claiming she had the perfect face and personality for an upcoming band in his record label ( her voice was the least of his concerns ) and of course Lana was drawn to the whole idea like bees to honey. Convincing her mother was the hardest part in all of it, but too oblivious to see the potential troubles Lana almost immediately signed the pretty contract, more than ready to start a new glamorous chapter in her life.
And really, look at her now, with a new name that rolls off the tongue so smoothly, utterly fit for a stage. She has all sheās ever dreamed of and she lives inside of her pink little bubble, floating around like sheās in some silly dream. Her sweetness and charm are truly hard to ignore and sheās beloved and revered, but be aware my child, the sweetest apples are always the ones that start to rot first.
Did you guys know Sam was coming? She brought Nicky Slick, The Pretty Vacant! And just on time! Grab a drink, find a spot, and make sure you finish everything on the checklist. The band is just getting started ā you have 24 hours to send in your account! Weāre so glad youāre here!
If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?
āYou mean other than this or can I just say this? Because Iām already livinā the dream, mate. Who wouldnāt want my life? Sex, drugs, rockānāroll, literal piles of money, thousands of adoring fans. Iāve got it made and wouldnāt change it for the world. Thereās nothing like being on that stage with the crowd going wild ācause Iām killing a solo. Other than this? Hell, never really thought about it.ā Nicky took a puff from his cigarette and leaned his head back, contemplating as he exhaled slowly. āNope, nothinā. Got no answer for you, sorry. This was always what I wanted to do.ā Ā
If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?
āWell, weāve been a lot of places already. Hard to go anywhere without being recognized but then, why wouldnāt I want to be recognized? Iāve heard Las Vegas is fun, would be nice to check that out. Whatās that fancy place in China with all the casinos?ā He paused for a moment, frowning slightly as he thought before shrugging. āWhatever itās called, there. New York was a bloody good time so Iād go back there, too. Itās a party wherever we are with me and the boys.ā
What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?
āYouāve seen and heard me play guitar, right? Thereās a million wankers out there who play but none of āem do it as well as I can. I know how that sounds, but itās true. Come to a show and youāll see. I do things with a guitar most people only dream of. But honestly, do come to a show, mind. Iāll set you up right, backstage passes, the whole bit. Maybe Iāll even take you to the after party, ācause thereās always an after party, and trust me you havenāt partied until youāve done it with Violent Vale.ā He flashed a grin with an almost dangerous edge to it. āWeāll show you a proper good time.ā
Nicholas Hardy was never supposed to be a rock star, at least not according to his mom. Nicky always had other ideas, however. She did her best, raising him on her own in Bristol, but he was always a little wild. Some blamed the fact that there was no father to speak of in the picture and Florence Hardy was never forthcoming with details about who he might have been. Most outside the family assumed heād died in WWII, given that Nicky was born roughly a year before it ended, but Nicky knew that couldnāt be. If his father had died honorably, as a soldier, surely his mom would have been willing to talk about him, tell stories, or even have pictures in the house. But Florence wouldnāt even talk to Nicky about his father so he came to the conclusion that the man must have abandoned them, must not have wanted him. His mother did the best she could and heād always felt loved at home but the idea that his father hadnāt wanted him planted a bitter seed in his heart that grew as he did.
One thing that eased that bitterness was music. Nicky loved music from a young age and displayed talent early on. Florence wasnāt impressed with it at first but when it became clear he was going to do it whether she wanted him to or not she managed to scrimp and save enough of their already meager funds to get him his first guitar. She hoped, somewhat vainly, that he might just keep it as a hobby and go on to more stable pursuits. That wasnāt to be, however, since Nicky excelled at guitar and had a clear passion and love for it. He liked music more than he liked school, and, in spite of his motherās strictness about grades and keeping it up, it wasnāt long before Nicky was cutting class to jam with his mates. The group of them had been friends for a long time and Nicky was often the one who got them into trouble but he was equally as often the one who could talk them out of it. He was certainly charming, even as a young punk of a teenager, though sometimes he was just as willing to get into a down and dirty fight as he was to talk his way out of it. Nicky especially railed against men in positions of authority. People said it was because heād never had a father to be strict with him and teach him respect and they were half right. He saw the father heād never known in all of those men who were trying to control him and wanted to spit in their eyes to show them he didnāt want or need them.
It only made sense that Nicky would get into the punk scene, scrappy and talented as he was. He and his friends formed a band and being on stage, even if they were the sticky stages of tiny little clubs, gave him a rush like no other. He came alive in front of an audience, hit them hard with his chords and left them wanting more and soon enough, Nicky Slick was born. Nicky plunged headfirst into the lifestyle his mother had never wanted for him. Sex, drugs, alcohol, and parties became a way of life and Nicky loved it all. The adoration from fans inflated his ego and his natural charm made him even more popular. He got to live fast and free and he loved every minute of it.
The ride got even wilder when they broke out of Britain and went to America, attacking New York and all it had to offer, which was quite a lot. Nicky was happy to indulge in any drug anyone would give him, chasing the same euphoria he found on stage. He was talented and he knew it and the world was his oyster. Who needed a fatherās love when he had the love of thousands of fans? It was a real shame when the label pulled them out of New York and sent them to California because they were ātoo wildā, as if there was such a thing. They were supposed to behave themselves, party less and focus more on the music, but Nicky wasnāt quite sold on that. Why couldnāt he party and do music? He saw no reason why he couldnāt and has always been more than willing to convince anyone who might disagree with him that he can do it just as well as he does everything else.
Did you guys know RheaĀ was coming? She brought Lana May, The Lollipop! And just on time! Grab a drink, find a spot, and make sure you finish everything on the checklist. The band is just getting started ā you have 24 hours to send in your account! Weāre so glad youāre here!
Answer the following questions in your characterās voice:
If you could do anything in the world for a living, what would it be?
āāWell iām already doing it, you silly! This has always been my dream. I mean, who wouldnāt want to be a member of The Gemstones? Iām young, Iām pretty and I get to sing and perform in such a wonderful band. What more could I want from life? I consider myself really blessed. Do you know how many other young girls come into this town with big hopes and dreams? But they donāt all get to sing and play like I do. So, I donāt want to be selfish. Iām truly happy with what Iāve got. But you know, if I werenāt famous, Iād probably be a seamstress just like my wonderful mama. I love fashion. I really do.āā
If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?
āāTruth be told, Iām really happy here in L.A. Itās the perfect place for me I think. But I guess maybe Iād go to New York City, Iāve heard itās much bigger than all the cities here on the West Coast. Itād be a real adventure to get lost in New York. Or perhaps Iād go to Paris? Iāve only seen it on tv, but my oh my, it looks so glamours and chic. Audrey Hepburn makes it all looks so sweet.āā
What is one thing that makes you different than anyone else?
āāMy mom says itās my smile. No other girl can smile like me. She says that the sparkle in my pretty blue eyes cannot be replaced with any jewelry. So, I guess maybe that? But everybody says that I remind them of cotton candy. I donāt know why. Maybe itās because of the way I dress. Does that count?āā
Thumbelina emerged from a flower into this world, but Lana was created from the finest silk, sugar and gossamer - or so her motherās bedtime stories oftentimes claimed. Born as Lana Mayor Young, she spent her idle childhood years in her hometown of San Francisco, as the only child of a local seamstress called Viola Mayor. The life of a single mother and a divorced woman had never been a fairy tale for Lanaās mother, but still the little Lana was loved and adored almost to the point of madness.
Vibrant dresses, heart-shaped sunglasses and pretty flowers in her flaxen hair, Lana lived a life most would be envious of thanks to her overprotective and caring mother. At school she was always among the favorite girls in class, simply drawing everyone in with her bubbly smiles, pretty eyelashes and saccharine personality that was practically contagious. Nothing ever seemed too hard or impossible for the young blonde; after all a girl with such a cherubic smile could solve any issue.
But when she wasnāt playing dress-up at her motherās boutique store ( in hopes of imitating all the stunning clients ) or roaming around with her pretty Barbie dolls, Lana had the tendency to watch tv for hours upon hours and listen to the radio. There was something so undeniably entrancing about all the pretty girls in glittering dresses with shiny microphones in their delicate hands - and the way others looked at them made Lana all the more intrigued. They were revered and idolized and Lana almost immediately became enamored with the world of fame and music, and she wanted to be just like all the ladies on TV as singing in front of a tall mirror wasnāt enough for the little sweetheart.
And so it all started with the young blonde practically begging her loving mother with glistening tears in her eyes to let her join a local choir. At first, her mother had been rather reluctant to say yes to such a whimsical and peculiar wish, but then again saying no to Lana was practically impossible ( really, one cannot find a person strong enough to turn down such a delightful creature with bambie eyes ). Soon after that, she started attending regular practices and extra classes, hoping to improve her voice and make her wildest dream come true. But of course, it didnāt take her long to realize that being a part of a choir wasnāt even remotely similar to her perfect California dream.
However on one fateful sunny afternoon in Los Angeles ( while Lana and her mother were visiting one of her aunts ), a tall and older, but still rather handsome stranger in a black suit approached Lana, claiming she had the perfect face and personality for an upcoming band in his record label ( her voice was the least of his concerns ) and of course Lana was drawn to the whole idea like bees to honey. Convincing her mother was the hardest part in all of it, but too oblivious to see the potential troubles Lana almost immediately signed the pretty contract, more than ready to start a new glamorous chapter in her life.
And really, look at her now, with a new name that rolls off the tongue so smoothly, utterly fit for a stage. She has all sheās ever dreamed of and she lives inside of her pink little bubble, floating around like sheās in some silly dream. Her sweetness and charm are truly hard to ignore and sheās beloved and revered, but be aware my child, the sweetest apples are always the ones that start to rot first.
