Everything Under the Sun Is In Tune...

[Me Am Hulk]

Two young singers find themselves entangled in ego clashes,
each other, and one of the greatest albums ever made.

By Me Am Hulk

Chapter One: Breathe

August 1972, Abbey Road Studios, London.

"Slowly, luv. Slowly. In. Out."
Julia's face was a mask of pure silliness as she drew in a breath and released
dramatically. The brunette's eyes would pop out and cross with every inhalation
and her lips would screw into a fish-like pucker with every exhalaltion. Julia knew
she looked a fool and the poorly concealed smirk on her friend Helena's face was not
calming her down.
"Relax," Helena intoned, "Close your eyes if it'll help. Breathe in, and out. In,
and out."
Julia closed her eyes and focused on Helena's voice, but the image of her singing
partner's smirk was burned in her mind's eye. She lost concentration, and her breath
sputtered past her lips with a tearing raspberry noise. Helena lost control and
cackled.
"Useless! Bloody amateur, that's what you are," tittered Helena, her crimson ringlets
bobbing with her laughter.
"Am not, you awful harridan!" Julia snarled, "I'm just nervous, is all."
"What could the great seasoned veteran possibly be frightened of?" Helena teased.
"We've done backup for the Faces, the Stones, even his Royal Majesty Mick wanted
a private audience with you!"
Julia groaned, "Don't remind me. Oul' Rubber Lips wasn't interested in advancing my
career..."
Helena smirked and mimed an uppercut, "The clout heard 'round the world! You sent
Lord Jagger screaming back to Marianne that night."
"It was Bianca dear," corrected Julia.
"Oh, Marianne, Bianca, who can keep track?" Helena dismissed the matter with a shrug.
"My point is if you can bring that wolf to heel, why are you so worried about these
guys?"
Julia shrugged boyishly and gestured at Helena to stand closer to her. She spoke in
a conspiratorial tone: "It's just the stories I've heard about these geezers the past
few years. How their singer had gone crackers, and their songwriter likes to hang
around graveyards talking to his dead daddy. That's not all I've heard, neither."
Helena rolled her eyes, "Mmm-hmm."
"Well one of the studio crew, he tells me that they actually tracked down their old
singer. They got him tied up in the closet, and they're only gonna let him out so he
can babble like a bloody loon into the microphone! And they're gonna include that on
the album playback!"
Now it the redhead's turn to groan. "Julie-girl, how you can be so worldly-wise one
moment and such a daft cunt the next amazes me."
A familiar male voice interrupted them. "Here's the two lovely chanteuses I promised you, Nick!"
Julia and Helena turned to face the two newcomers. One they knew to be the speaker: a pleasant
young man with blow-combed dirty blonde hair by the name of Dick Parry. Dick was a professional
saxophonist who, as a friend of one of the band members, managed to secure the gig for the girls.
Standing next to Dick was a man of medium height with wavy dark hair and a handlebar moustache
which was very much the fashion of the time. He had bright blue eyes, wore a curious smirk, and
held a tray of teacups balanced on one hand. He nodded and spoke in a cultured upper-class accent:
"Delighted to meet you girls, delighted!"
Dick handled the introductions, "Ladies, I'd like you to meet the band's resident percussionist,
Nicholas Berkeley Mason. Feel free to call him Nick."
Nick extended his free hand and took Julia and Helena's, respectively.
Dick continued, "Nick, I'm happy to introuduce two of your new female vocalists: Julia Volkova and
Helena Katina. They look sweet as angels, but don't let that fool you, they can be tough as nails!"
Nick smiled and presented the tray, "Tea?"
Helena smiled and took a cup, but Julia hesistated.
"Aw, come on Julie!" Dick prodded her, "Don't believe all that 'acid-rock' shite you've heard! It's
plain tea, there's no psilocybin in it!"
Julia smiled timidly, "If you say so." She took a cup and sipped it tentatively.
"Though we have been known to season our darjeeling with MESCALINE." Nick added.
Julia's eyes bugged out and she spat up the tea. A chorus of laughter rang through the room.
"Buggery fuck!" exclaimed the brunette. Helena rubbed her friend's back reassuringly as Dick
composed himself.
"Well now that you've met the resident prankster of the band, you're in good enough shape to
meet the others!" The saxophonist declared.
"Ooooh," Julia growled with mock outrage, "I don't know which one of you I'm gonna knock into
dreamland!"
"Steady on, Julie." Helena giggled, "You can only get away with flattening so many of our employers!"
"Oh!" Exclaimed Nick the Drummer, pointing at Julia, "Don't tell me you're 'Boom-Boom' Julie, the
singer that made Jagger's thick lips even thicker!"
Julie thrust her chest out and struck a heroic pose. "The same," she purred confidently.
"Good Grief!" Nick cackled, "Then I shall have to be on my best behaviour from here on!" He extended
his hand again, "No hard feelings."
"I'll overlook it, this time." Julia answered in her most velvety voice. She graciously took Nick's
hand.
A firm, erudite voice emerged from the far studio door, "So are all the runners accounted for the
marathon?"
Dick, Nick, and the Girls turned to face the three gentlemen entering the waiting room. Two of the men
flanked the open door. The man on the left was short. He wore his hair in shoulder length bangs and had gentle,
plaintive eyes framed with willowy lashes. He wore a black turtleneck and dark blue bellbottoms. The man on the
right had long, stringy, dirty blonde hair. He had blue eyes and a pleasant face. He wore an oddly stained T-shirt
with faded blue bellbottoms.
The man standing in the doorway took up the entire space. He was a tall, lank man who wore flared trousers, not
fashionable Carnaby Street but rough workman's jeans. His T-shirt was a deep midnight blue. To the girls, his face
was the most curious thing about him: He wore his hair in long, shoulder length bangs as was the fashion, but his
expression was far too intense, too intelligent to be your typical zonked-out rock star's. Where the other four men in
the room roughly fit the mold of a hip musician, this man's face seemed to suggest another calling: A university
professor perhaps, a captain of industry, a man of letters if he had any artistic leanings. Out of all the men in the
room, he would have most likely taken a more conservative route in life, had it not been for the strange phoenomenon
gradually coming to be known as "The Nineteen-Sixties."
From left to right, Nick introduced his bandmates to the girls: "Julie, Helena: may I introduce Rick Wright, our
keyboardist; Roger Waters, our bassist; and David Gilmour, our guitarist."
"What was that about a marathon?" Helena queried.
The guitarist spoke up, gesturing toward the bassist. "What Roger means is are you ready to begin recording your tracks?
Running. It's seems to be his metaphor of choice: Running yourself mad, running yourself into the grave, he's been run-
ning us ragged with his lyrics and ideas."
"I just want to be sure they can keep the pace," Roger shrugged.
Dick smiled and patted the Girls' shoulders. "Oh they're kept pace with the champions of the track, Rog." He drew the
girls to one side and murmured in an low, ominous tone:
"Girls, when they give you the cue: Run like hell."

[Me Am Hulk]

I've left enough clues. I wanna see which one of youse
knows who I've teamed tATu with in this crossover
fanfic.

[parrish122]

Pink Floyd!

Interesting combo.

Parrish

[Me Am Hulk]

Just so you guys know in advance, I'm gonna be writing this fanfic series in a NON-LINEAR fashion. The chapters keep coming to me out of sequence, kind of like a recording session.
So the next chapter you'll be reading is Chapter Ten.

In this chapter, Julia supplies one on the most legendary lines ever recorded on this most legendary album. (Fictionally, of course. The albums eleven years older than she is in real life.)

Don't ask me why I decided to team these two acts up. You may as well ask why I teamed them up with Johnny Cash and Eminem.

[Me Am Hulk]

Chapter Ten: Assorted Lunatics.

JANUARY 1973, ABBEY ROAD STUDIOS, LONDON.

Helena could tell that Julia was still smarting over the her friend clinching the torch song of the album. Their
competition had always been a friendly one, even if one's feathers got ruffled from time to time. This time, however,
Julia took it as a personal slight. She was no expert at hiding her emotions, with her downcast eyes and pouting lips.
No one in the band or the studio crew could take notice. They were rushing madly about to complete what was showing evidence of being a masterpiece, if such a term could be applied to a rock album. In her own way, Julia had caught the infectious bug that had caused Roger, Dave, Alan, and The Brothers Ick to split into their seperate camps: Her competitive spirit had been inflammed by the project, and she felt as though she weren't getting a word in edgeways or every one else was in her way.
Helena made an effort to sit next to her partner on so many adventures in an attempt to mend things. She risked reaching
out and taking her lover/rival gently by the chin.
"It was luck of the draw, darling. It could just as easily been you singing that track."
"Bugger off. Don't baby me so like you're my mum," the brunette mumbled.
Helena pressed on, "You're letting this project take over your life. C'mon luv, we were brought on as session vocalists
and nothing more. We never had any real creative stake in the album."
"I can't help it!" Julia whimpered. "Dick's had his moment to shine on two tracks, you've got that scat number, and now
a bunch of bloody roadies are getting interviewed for the fucking album! Even the bloody doorman's getting time to
speak his mind! And I'm just this anonymous backup singer lost in the mix..." her voice choked off in a sob.
Helena sighed. She could easily scold her friend for being so egotistical, but that would be like complaining about
the lead guitarist for being a prima donna. She couldn't deny that this album has been by far the most unusal experience
the Girls ever had. Passions and ambitions were running high, even Alan the engineer began fancying himself an artiste
rather than a technician.
"Julia, there'll be other projects." Helena replied, "This one has demanded a lot from us, a lot more than we expected.
You're just high-strung. Tell ye what, when all this is wrapped up we can nip off to Barbados or Morocco. Y'know,
someplace nice this time of year. You've done great on this album, Julie. You didn't get to showboat, but there'll be
other chances to shine."
Julia forced a smile on her face. "Ooooh Helena, I know you mean well. It's just that this album's grown on me. It's
the greatest challenge I've ever had! I don't think there'll be another album like this one, and it's not like that
studio door's gonna swing open with some eleventh hour..."
With a muffled hiss, the studio door swung open, and out stepped "Hat" Manfiold. His voice was a bemused rustic
gurgle.
"If this album hits the charts, I'll be expectin' my gold fuckin' record, awright?" He caught sight of the Girls and
comically tipped his floppy cap towards them. "'Ello, luvvies. Looks like my golden pipes'll be competing with
yours, eh?"
Julia giggled in spite of herself. Helena smiled and nodded. Bursting out the door behind "Hat" was the band's resident
mad scientist, Roger Waters. He was waving excitedly at the Girls, and Julia in particular.
"Julie! Julie! I'd never believed it! Hat just told me the most interesting thing about you! May I borrow you for a
moment?"
Julia rose in a trance state. She was almost frightened to walk toward the giddy lyricist. Whenever he was cool and
professional, Julia felt at perfect ease. When he was ebullient as he was now, she couldn't help but feel nervous.
What bizarre experiement did he have in store for her? She glanced at Helena who urged her toward Roger and the studio
door with a shooing gesture. The Hat smiled and waved her to the door with a mock bow.
"G'wan dahlin'," said The Hat, "'E won't bite."
Julia glided toward Roger and the open door.
Julia perched herself on the stool in front of the cardioid mic planted nearby. She slipped the earphones on and fixed her
gaze on Roger who stood before her silently, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, hands behind his back with a
broad grin on his face. She looked to the control room window, squinted her eyes and could just make out the sillouhette
of the engineer, Alan Parsons.
Alan's voice came over the P.A., "Comfortable, Julie?"
"Errrrm," the singer burbled, angling the cardioid closer to her lips, "What do you want me to do?"
"Well, when I roll the Ampex, Roger is going to show you a cue card with a single word on it. We want you to tell us
whatever comes to mind when you read that word."
"All right." She said in a half-whisper. "What's this for, by the way?"
"We've been asking as many people as we could find in the building what they felt about certain factors driving the
human animal." Alan said. "We asked Hat, and Jerry the Doorman..."
"Ooooh! Is that why you had Paul McCartney in earlier?" Julia squeaked.
"As a matter of fact, yes." Alan answered.
"Are you going to use him?" Julia asked, more than a little excited.
Her answer came from a mute response by Roger: He gave a lopsided frown, shook his head, and made a "thumbs down"
gesture.
"Rog and I decided his responses were a little too practiced, too diplomatic."
"Too nice," Roger added with a wink.
"Paul's too used to being interviewed. We want someone who'll be more honest. We want you."
Julia visibly shrunk in her seat. "I'm not sure I'm the kind of person you want, I might be TOO honest."
"Excellent," replied Alan. Roger nodded vigrorously.
Julia cleared her throat. "Righty-ho, just give me a cue."
A few seconds passed by, the P.A. crackled, "Master tape speed, and... go Rog."
Julia's eyes darted to Roger, who produced a placard and held it at chest level. The card read, "VIOLENCE."
Julia's jaw went slack. "Oh. Oh my. I wouldn't know where to begin! You mean like, war or something?"
Roger pulled out a Sharpie and scribbled rapidly onto the placard. The card now read "VIOLENCE, IN YOUR OWN LIFE."
Julia tittered, "Oh, well I've never been mugged or raped before." She replied in a tremulous voice. "Do you mean,
have I been violent? I don't consider myself a violent person..."
The next expression on Roger's face took Julia totally by surprise: It was a smirk of dubious amusement. The smirk
of a father who'd just found his mischeivous child with her hand in a cookie jar.
Julia tittered again. "I'm not doing very well, am I?"
"We think you're holding out on us, Julia." Alan spoke up.
"Come again?"
"The Hat told Rog and I a very interesting story about you and a certain prominent figure. We'd like to hear it
from you firsthand."
Julia was lost. A prominent figure? Did they mean a Minister of Parliament? She looked to Roger, who was mouthing
a word, no a name, out silently: His lips moved slowly and carefully.
He was mouthing the name, "MICK, MICK..."
Julia's face lit up. "Oh bloody hell! You want me to talk about HIM? That's the prominent figure you want me to
talk about?"
Roger face nodded up and down, his expression was one of childish delight.
In less than a second, Julia's demeanor changed completely. She sat upright, hand on hip, a cocky, shite-eating grin
dominating her face. Her eyes flashed with mischief. Her voice became a low velvet drawl:
"Where shall I begin? Shall I name names?"
"Do what you like," said Alan, "we can edit out names later."
"Wellll..." Julia purred, "It was during the sessions for 'Sticky Fingers,' you know which album I'm talking about.
The band required my golden pipes for the track 'Brown Sugar' and their singer, I believe you know who I'm talking
about, he couldn't get his eyes off me. And this was WITH Bianca in the room, The one and only Bianca.
"It was a true test of grace under pressure for me. Laying down my vocal tracks with one set of eyes going over me
like a fine-tooth comb, and another set of eyes skewering me like daggers. Well, I may be young but I'm no glassy
eyed ingenue. I laid down 'Brown Sugar' in one take and I didn't even break a sweat.
"The moment I hopped off my perch, I found myself swimming among the sharks. One had the mating lust in his eyes and
the other was circling in for the kill. Now what was a sweet young fish like me to do? How was I going to keep my
skin and my sanctity?"
Julia glanced over to Roger, whose teeth were clamped over his lower lip, barely suppressing a cackle. This deceivingly
dour man obviously had a taste for a good tale of mischief. Julia licked her lips, and continued:
"Well I'll tell you what I did, I played the innocent little fish and allowed that shark in heat to angle right up next
to me, and can you believe what he said to me? He said... in the most bogus cockney accent I've ever heard: 'Cor
luv, what say you and me 'ave a quick shag in moy private office!' He jerked his thumb at the men's lavatory and
flashes me a sickly smile.
"I square my shoulders and declare for all to hear, 'I need to powder my nose.' I sashay my petite little self towards
my benefactor's 'private office,' with Bianca glowering at the pair of us.
Julia glanced at Roger again. The towering Cambridge man had the spellbound look of a child. Not a word came from Alan
in the control room. She smiled and continued:
"I lead the way to the men's lavatory. I open the door, and the Shark in Heat is practically rubbing agianst me, his
breath dampening the hairs on my neck. Before I let this man pounce, I spin about face and stop his advance with a
firm push of my hand...
"'Hold still love,' I said to the Shark. 'I want to remember you just as you are right now.' The Shark - this most
world famous shark - leaned towards me and flicked his tongue out from between those legendary lips. The soft spittle
showered my cheeks. That tongue, those lips. Someone should print them on a T-shirt."
"THEN what happened..." Roger caught himself in mid-exclamation and clapped his hand over his mouth. He shrugged at
the control booth and then gestured at Julia to continue.
"I took my hand and gently stroked his cheek. I said 'That's just perfect...' and with my other hand I LET HIM HAVE IT
WITH THE STRONGEST UPPERCUT I COULD MANAGE.
"The Shark staggered back, his eyes rolling round in his head. He slid past the door and his the floor like timber.
Everybody stopped in their tracks, especially Bianca. I stepped out of the um, private office, stood next to my would-
be dance partner and said loud enough so everyone could hear:
"'I would like to remind all you gentlemen and ladies, that you hired me for my PIPES, not my PANTIES.' With that, I
retired to the cantina. I breezed right past Bianca who put about six or seven paces between me and her and she was
not about to take her eyes off me, for fear of joining her boyfriend of the carpet."
A long silence followed. The next voice was Roger's, "And did you feel you were justified?" He inquired softly,
"Did you feel that you were in the right?"
Julia grinned broadly. She thrust out her chest and planted her fists firmly against her sides...

"Oh, I DEFINITELY was in the right. That fella was CRUISIN' for a bruisin'."

Helena looked up from her magazine to see the tall figures of Roger Waters and Alan Parsons hovering like puppy dogs over
her petite friend, Julia. They took turns shaking her hands vigorously, patting her on the shoulder, and gushing with
kudos, superlatives and boyish words of praise: "Smashing!" "Wizard!" "Bloody Brilliant!"
Julia was soaking it all up, waving them off and pish-toshing them. "Oh, you flatter me," she drawled.
"That was undoubtedly the most bracing anecdote we've had the good fortune of capturing on tape!" Roger declared breath-
lessly. "We did get it on tape, didn't we Alan?"
"You mean that wasn't a warm up?" Alan asked.
The room went dead silent. Roger was slackjawed, "Good God, Alan."
Alan jabbed Roger playfully in the ribs, "Would you bloody lighten up?" Roger clutched his chest, slumped against the
wall and whooped with relief. Alan and Julia roared with laughter, they took turns ruffling Roger's mop of hair and
soothing him with "There, there now's."
Helena spoke up, "Would someone PLEASE clue me into what just happened?"
Julia playfully stroked her lover's cheek. "You carved out your little slice of history, and I just carved out MINE."

[Me Am Hulk]

Chapter Eight: In the Flesh?

DECEMBER 1972, ABBEY ROAD STUDIOS, LONDON.

Julia and Helena lay sprawled out on the benches in the canteen. They were suffering through one of those dreaded
"hurry up and wait" strecthes of time. It was some consolation that they were being paid for their lounging, but
they still needed something to banish the boredom. So, they played their favorite game: Dream Shag.
"From America?" Helena asked.
"You need to ask?" purred Julia, "Tina Turner. She's got legs like marble columns, only chocolatey."
"I'd go for Janis," replied Helena.
"Ooo, that unisightly cow?" Julia made a face, "Why do you always go for the homely ones?"
"I went for you, haven't I?"
"Oh very funny," Julia growled. "Besides, Joplin's dead."
"I know someone else who hasn't been very lively recently." Helena sneered.
"Oh, you'll regret that one, you will," warned Julia.
Helena leaned close to Julia's ear, "I should hope so."
"Okay, Okay, back to the game: 'Round these parts?"
"Mmmm... Dusty Springfield?"
"Sorry, I've got dibs on her."
"Oh you dream that little dream."
Julia looked straight at Helena and smiled a wicked smile. Helena's jaw dropped.
"You bloody little liar," the redhead whispered, "She is not one of us."
"She's very much so, Lena Love. I read her the gospel."
Helena folded her arms, "When?"
"When she was touring Denmark. I kept her occupied a few days."
"I'll make a note of asking her."
"Don't you dare, you little busybody. She's still very closeted."
Helena shrugged, "Let's change the subject, then. Which MEN would you shag?"
Julia's eyes rolled into the back of her skull and she feigned snoring.
"Oh don't be so snooty. There must be SOME man. Cliff Richards?"
"Piss off."
"Mmmmmmm...." Helena's eyes narrowed. "How about Bowie?"
"I only bunk up with my own species."
"Thought you'd like the androgynous type. I know, Hendrix!"
"First off, deceased. Secondly, why settle for a chocolate bar when I can have 'Double Layer Devil's Food' Tina?"
Helena scanned the canteen. "How about someone in the room? How about... our good employer, Mister
David Gilmour?"
The straw-haired guitarist was busy talking to a newcomer when he caught Helena's gaze. He smiled and waved
at the young singer, who smiled and waved back coquettishly.
Julia propped herself onto her shoulders. "What's this bloody obsession you have with MEN, all of a sudden?
I've told you many a time I've felt nothing for neither the male nor his member!"
"I just thought someone with Mr. Gilmour's boyish looks might be your speed."
Julia rolled her eyes, "Admittedly, David is a very handsome fellow. He's the type of boy I would have teased
in the schoolyard, but I can honestly say Helena, the female is the flavor for me and I shall NEVER get my
knickers in a knot over any of the opposite-- OH MY HOLY MERCIFUL GOD."
Helena followed Julia's gaze across the canteen. Her eyes landed on David, busily chatting away. Helena
frowned, "Julie, didn't you just say David wasn't your type?"
"Not him you spacey sod, NEXT TO HIM." Julia hissed.
And then Helena got a good look at who David was speaking to. "Fucking Hell," she intoned in a reverent whisper...
Chatting with David Gilmour was a creature of pure legend: Sir Paul McCartney, O.B.E.
Helena gasped, "Julia, that's Paul McCartney."
"COURSE it's Sir-Paul-Mc-Star-Fucking-Cartney," Julia hissed, "we're in Abbey Road Studios, why WOULDN'T he be here?"
Julia sat bolt upright and shot straight to her feet. Her breath came in rapid pants, her fingers clapped against her
lips as she whimpered what sounded like a schoolgirl's prayer. "OhmygodohmygoditshimIcantbloodybeleiveitshimitsPa ulits-
myPaulmydarlingPaulohmygodohmygodImustbedreamingso meonefuckingpinchme..."
Helena looked from Paul's face to Julia's. "Hang on," she whispered to her sometime lover, "you just said there wasn't
a single man on earth..."
"Oh but he's NOT a man," Julia sighed, "He's a doe eyed ANGEL, and he's in the same room as us! Oh my god, I used
to DREAM of having him all to my own, RUNNING my fingers through his long, long hair, PEELING his clothes off and
dressing him up in a little girl's nightgown and SMEARING his face in powder and rouge and having him for my VERY,
VERY own! Ooooooh, I could just EAT HIM ALIVE..."
"Wait a tick," Helena interrupted, "Dress him up like a girl?"
"It's 'cos he's soooo pretty, Lena! He's too pretty to be running around like a dirty little boy! Oh my GOD, he's
looking this way, I think I'm gonna CRY..."
Helena looked towards Dave and Paul, and sure enough they were looking at the girls. Dave nudged Paul and murmured
something to the living legend. Paul chuckled, nodded, and the two stood up and began walking towards the girls.
Helena positioned herself strategically between her girlfriend and the two rock stars, just so Julia won't make a
complete arse of herself, Helena reasoned.
Paul glided up to the two singers, with David swaggering behind. "Paul," David announced, "I'd like to introduce you
to two of our lovely hired professional pipes for this album."
"Hullo girls," Paul said warmly.
"Hallo Mr. McCartney," Helena began, "I'm Helena Katina, and this is my friend and partner..."
"PAUL!" squeaked the little brunette.
"Well isn't that a coincidence!" joked the ex-Beatle, "They call me Paul too!" David and Helena laughed, Julia was
bobbing up and down with delight.
Helena prodded Julia, "Would you like to introduce yourself to Mr. McCartney?"
"I'M DELIGHTED! DELIGHTED, Mr. McCartney!" Julia trilled.
"Please," he laughed, "Call me 'Sir Paul!'" Another joke.
"Oh YES, Sir Paul! I mean, Paul! I mean... Oh gosh! My geesh!" Julia continued to stammer.
From the opposite side of the canteen came the barking voice of Roger Waters. "Dave! I need you quick! I've hammered
out that line in that verse for that riff you've been working on but not recorded yet!"
"Can it wait?" David called out.
"DOUBLE QUICK, MAN!" Roger hollered.
David rolled his eyes dramatically, "Will you be all right out here, Paul? 'The Missus' needs my attention..."
Helena restrained Julia and smiled, "We'll be on our best behaviour!"
"Coming!" David called, and dashed out the canteen.
Paul smiled at Helena and Julia, who was hyperventilating like a frisky puppy.
"Her name's Julia, by the way," Helena informed Paul.
Paul stretched out his hand, "Lovely name, Julia..." he crooned.
Julia brought her breath under control as she tentatively took Paul's hand. "Oh gorsh, my geesh..." she repeated.
"I can translate," Helena replied, "Julia wants to say she's been a fan for a very long time, and an encounter like
this was beyond her wildest dreams."
"Yuh-huh!" Julia yelped.
"So what have you girls been doing on our friends' album?" Paul asked.
Helena answered, "We've just been laying down our vocals for two of the band's more bluesy numbers. Something about...
um... Oh God, how did they put it?"
Julia jumped in, "It's these really wild concepts, like the march of time, and insanity, and warfare, and how death is
like the most intense orgasm and..."
Paul blinked, "I beg your pardon?"
Julia caught herself, "Oh! Well, maybe not orgasming. Maybe not in that order, anyway. It's just we were hired onto
this gig, and it's MORE than we expected! It's got like us crooning, and all these WEIRD voices babbling in the back-
ground, and all these machines BLEEPING and BLIPPING and THUMPING, and clock noises... and it's REALLY FAR OUT!"
Julia noticed Paul and Helena smiling at her patiently.
"Did I mention I'm REALLY happy to meet you?" Julia added.
Paul chuckled and ran his hand through Julia's bristled mop. Her heart began to hammer a million beats per minute.
"I think Mr. McCartney would like to get back to his lunch." Helena hinted to Julia.
"Oh gosh! Oh yes! How rude of me!" Julia giggled. "Oh-h-h-h-h-h it's been an honor Mister Paul Sir! I PROMISE
I'm not like this most of the day, I'll be on my BEST behavior, you have my word! I'll be as quiet as a church mouse
and... and... MAY I HAVE YOUR AUTOGRAPH?"
Helena grinned nervously. Paul pulled a Sharpie from his pocket. "Where shall I sign?"
Helena glanced at Julia, who stood in a blissful trance, "Julie? Hello?"
Julia thoughts ran chaotically: Where, oh where shall he sign? Ohhh, my breast? My bum? My midriff? My knickers?
My underpants? Ohhh DEFACE me, my darling Paul! My flesh is your parchment! Mark me head to toe! Sign me anywhere!
Helena tugged Julia's pink cravat off from her neck. "Will this do?" She offered it to Paul.
"What shall I write?" He said with a grin.
"Oh, my angel..." Julia whispered.
"Earth angel, earth angel, will you be mi-iiine?" Paul crooned, and wrote: TO JULIA, MY RAVEN HAIRED ANGEL! YOURS,
PAUL. He handed the cravat back to Julia, who fell deeper and deeper into a trance.
"Not to trouble you, I know you're a busy man..." Helena spoke up, "could you give me one as well?"
Paul nodded, "Where would you like it?"
Helena glanced over at Julia, and grinned a fiendish grin. She whispered to Paul, "Your wife's a tolerant woman, yes?"
Paul glanced around, "Well what she doesn't see, won't hurt her..."
"Perfect!" she hissed. She pulled up her top and revealed her brasierre. "'TO HELENA - BABY, I'M AMAZED! YOURS, PAUL.'
Write just that for me, I beg you!"
Gingerly, Paul wrote the epigram on Helena's brasierre. She fanned at the ink to dry it, then replaced her top. "And
a THOUSAND apologies for putting you in such an awkward spot, Sir Paul!" She leaned to Paul's ear, and whispered, "I'll
not tell a soul."
Hand on heart, Paul bowed gracefully. "And now ladies, If you'll excuse me, I believe I see our mutual friend Mister
Gilmour summoning me to the studio. Adieu."
The Living Legend turned and ambled to the canteen exit. Julia stood, one hand clasped over heart, the other strecthing
after the slowly retreating figure. Helena peeked under her top with a greedy smile, then nudged her raven coiffed
partner.
"Well, well! Looks like some stubborn little girl got her knickers in a knot, didn't she?" The redhead teased.
"Lena," whispered Julia, "is there a nice, plush sofa directly behind me?"
"The lounge sofa? Of course!"
"Good!" Julia chirped, and promptly crumpled into it.

[parrish122]

Oh, but I *love* the interesting combos you come up with!

And the whole Paul McCartney bit had me laughing my ass off! I don't know how you come up with these ideas, but I'm glad you do.

Parrish

[Me Am Hulk]

Chapter Four: Us and Them

OCTOBER 1972, ABBEY ROAD STUDIOS, LONDON.

Helena entered the studio which housed the grand piano. Enthroned behind the instrument's great bulk, she saw the
diminutive figure of Rick Wright. His feather-lashed eyes were closed gently as though the man were deep in mediation.
His fingers glided over the keys, playing a gentle, hypnotic round which permeated the soundproofed room with a profound
air of serenity.
Quietly, the russet-haired singer placed her charts on a nearby music stand and adjusted the hypocardioid mic the tech
had left out for her. On the chart, she traced her finger to the bar that Rick was approaching. Softly, her voice
intoned the lyrics that Roger, the bassist, had thrashed out mere days before:

"Us...
and them...
and after all,
We're only
Ordinary men..."

Rick spoke up, "For someone could can dominate a conversation for hours, his lyrics are surprisingly spare,
aren't they?"
"Every time I see him in the canteen or the lounge, he's always scribbling something or other down. Humming the
lines in that eerie, thin voice of his..."
Rick smiled. "Very hit or miss his voice, one of the rare occasions he'll remember there's other people in the
band."
"He doesn't write the instrumentals, does he?"
"Rarely. It's mostly Dave and myself. This piece, I'm proud to say, is all mine. Though I'm sure Dave and Rog will
have their way with it by the time we're done."
"It's so peaceful, very beautiful." Helena remarked with a sigh, "What's it called?"
"The Violence Sequence," said the keyboardist with a shrug.
"Beg your pardon?" Helena stammered, "Violence Sequence? Why would you name it that?" Helena was having a time
getting used to Roger's sense of humour, she had yet to be exposed to Rick's.
"Well this piece is a bit of an orphan really," Rick began as he stopped playing and laid his hands on his lap. "We
were doing it for a movie soundtrack at first. Ever hear of Antonioni?"
"Sorry," Helena shrugged, "I'm no film buff, I wouldn't know Antonioni from ravioli."
"Mmm... how about 'Zabriskie Point?'"
"Oh Good God," Helena said with a giggle. She and Julia had gone on a blind date a while back with two boys, for
appearance's sake. Their dates were a pair of student radical/film afficionados. ('Awful combination,' Julia would
warn her friends thereafter.) She remembered them whispering in hushed, reverent tones about the veiled significance of
this visual and that, while Julia slowly dozed off and annoyed the whole theater with her abrasive snoring. Helena
considered amusing Rick with this little tale, but she was far more interested in his story about writing an actual movie
soundtrack.
"I'm sorry," she sighed, "yes I have seen 'Zabriskie Point.' You guys wrote a song for it?"
"We had written three. One was titled, 'Careful with That Axe, Eugene...'" Rick smiled as Helena surrendered to another
fit of laughter. When she composed herself, he continued: "So Antonioni, he needed a music piece to cover a filmed
sequence he shot of a student riot. You know, kids and cops running about and shouting and kicking the crap out of each
other...
"Anyway, we first whipped together this menacing, noisy number. We wound up using it for another movie, 'cos he thought
it was TOO tumultuous. He wanted us to go in the opposite direction. So I whipped this up, this piece..."
Rick played a few dolorous bars. Helena closed her eyes and sighed, on the verge of tears.
"Didn't he like it?" She asked, "He must have liked it."
"Well we couldn't get a reading on that guy. When we played it for him in studio, he just rubbed his chin and said..."
"'Ees berry good, but eets too sad. Eet makes-eh me theenk of choorch.'" A heavily accented voice interrupted Rick's
reverie.
Helena turned to see Roger enter the room toting some XLR cables.
"Shall I let you finish the story, Roger?" Rick sighed.
"No no no, your music, your story." Roger replied with a smirk.
"And don't you forget it!" Rick admonished as Roger retreated from the room. Helena giggled at the argument.
"We're normally not this civil to one another." Rick said in a low voice. "I mean, we're not fisticuffs, but this is
the most genial we've been to each other in a long time."
"Could it be because you're in the presence of a lady?" Helena suggested.
"Oddly enough, you, Julia and the others are the first female presence we've had in a studio or on the road in years."
Helena was spellbound. "You're kidding me. You're a rock band, yes?"
"Well yes, in the loosest sense of the term. And yes, I wouldn't have minded being with a groupie, or ten..." At
this moment, Rick flushed. "But whenever we were on tour... with Hendrix, say, or the Who, or the Soft Machine,
the birds... er, the ladies rather, would flock 'round THEM. Truth to tell, I think the girls thought we were a bit
NAFF."
Helena's frame began to shudder with barely suppressed laughter.
"Besides, if we toyed with loose women, our wives would probably murder us. Roger's wife most especially..."
Helena exploded with giggles. The image she had of these men was quickly crumbling. The thought of these
psychedelic mystery men fretting over payments, and groceries, and WIVES...

When Roger re-entered the room with Dave and Nick, they were greeted with the spectacle of Rick and Helena doubled
over their stools, sobbing with laughter, faces red as beets.

[Me Am Hulk]

Chapter Three: On The Run

SEPTEMBER 1972, ABBEY ROAD STUDIOS, LONDON.

Helena and Julia had been singing with Durga and Suki for two weeks now. The quartet had been laying down vocal tracks
for a rough jam The Floyd had laid down earlier in the summer, its working title: "Run Rabbit, Run." The lyricist,
Roger Waters, was already in a bad funk since "Rabbit" was an already copywritten title for a still-unreleased dance
number. Even the news that the dance tune was going to be released as "Fly Robin, Fly" didn't lift Roger's spirits.
('It would take a lift to raise his spirits, sometimes.' David privately quipped to the Girls.) Roger had already decided
to change the title to "Breathe In the Air," or "The Breathing Song," or "...just plain fucking 'Breathe'!" he groused.
And so the Girls were in Studio B, with David on slide guitar and Rick on the Hammond Organ. They were in the process of
laying down the final melodic touches of the track over a mellow, brooding drum-and-bass track that Roger and Nick had
recorded earlier in the day. Nick was in the control room with their engineer, Alan Parsons. Roger in the meantime was
in the canteen chatting away with a cartoonist named Gerald Scarfe. "One of Rog's political buddies," Julia informed
Helena, "but one with an actual sense of humor! Last I left them, they were swapping jokes and LAUGHING." This was a
great surprise to Julia, who generally regarded the political types she met as "arse-faced, hog-jowled sheepshaggers!"
David and Rick were definitely energized by the Girls' presence, faint smiles on their faces and swaying ever so
slightly to their soaring, seductive vocals. Julia had established herself as the unofficial "cheerleader." She amused
The Floyds and her fellow singers by vamping about while they recorded, doing stock showgirl gestures that she picked up
from watching The Supremes, Dusty Springfield and The Ronettes on the telly. Helena was relieved that her singing partner
could control her swaying and gesticulating enough so she wouldn't knock over a mic stand. She couldn't help but worry
that Julia's flirting and grandstanding would get them in trouble.
But David and Rick were not distracted, quite the contrary, they fed off the flirtatious energy and sent some back the
Girls' way. Rick's Hammond purred away as David's soft, glacial voice and lazy slide brought the song home:
"The longer you live, the higher you'll fly
But only if you ride the tide
Balanced on the biggest wave
You race towards an early grave..."
The Girls' voices eased off and faded, and the musicians waited a few silent seconds until Alan's voice appeared over
the studio PA, "Right, I think we've got a keeper lads n' lasses!" Nick's voice could be heard whispering just out of
the PA's range, Alan added: "Our house percussionist felt it necessary to add: 'Top Shelf!'"
David sat upright, stretched and grinned, "Who'dve thought such grim lyrics could make for such pleasant listening?"
"Grim?" Julia's voice chirped, "What were we singing about?"
"You mean you weren't paying attention to a single word David just sang?" Suki asked.
"I'm just singing backup, Sook! I don't soak in the whole song until I hear it in playback!"
"I swear Julie," Durga spoke up, "they could be playing an Emergency Broadcast and you'd just traipse through Hyde Park
humming a Tom Jones number!"
"Well maybe if those Beeb announcers sounded more LIKE Tom Jones, I'd pay attention! Who knows, I might even fling my
panties at them!"
Julia's crack had the whole studio shrieking with laughter. David shook his head as he opened the door. "Well we've
polished off our first complete cut, I'm famished, let's break for the canteen and tell Roger the good news! Even HE
couldn't stay in a foul mood once he hears it!"
But even as they streamed out of the studio and control room, who should come marching down the adjoining hallway but
bassist and lyricist Roger Waters, with Gerald Scarfe trailing behind him. Gerald jerked his thumb at the rampaging
giant from Cambridge and mouthed the words: "Brace yourselves!"
"SHITE! BLOODY, BUGGERY, GOBS OF TURD-PELLETED DAMNATION!" Rog bellowed, strangling a trade newspaper in his right hand.
He then thrased the newspaper onto the carpeted floor and stomped on it.
Nick intercepted Roger, "Why Rog! Whatever could be troubling you? I've got some good news--"
Roger stormed straight past Nick and marched into the studio everyone exited. Nick sighed and followed him, a few seconds
later, he reemerged. "He sulking, I can't get him to budge, I'm off to lunch. Cheerio." Nick glided down the corridor.
David turned to Gerald, "What happened, Gerry?"
Gerald sighed, "My fault, lads, however indirectly. I was showing him some conceptual drafts for the animation you guys
wanted for the live show. He was all smiles and laughs and we're tossing about some ideas and then I, er--" Gerald
pointed to the battered trade magazine, "noticed that article. And then he noticed me noticing it, and had a look at it."
Rick scooped up the newspaper and flattened it out. Suddenly, he winced and held the magazine away as though it stank.
"Ooooh. That WOULD get Roger's underwear in a knot..."
Helena leaned over Rick's shoulder, and read it aloud: "New Releases for September: Medicine Head's Sophomore Effort,
'The Dark Side of the Moon.'"
"Erm, I don't get it..." Julia mumbled.
Roger's voice erupted through the open studio door: "THAT'S OUR BLOODY TITLE!!"
"It was the working title for this album," Alan explained.
David clutched his chest in mock terror. "O Merciful Heavens, Rog! You mean we might have to... CHANGE THE TITLE?"
Roger was having none of it, "OUR... BLOODY... TITLE!!!"
Alan mopped his brow, "One of us will have to go in there and talk him down, or he'll be like this all day..."
"Cheerio." Rick called as he darted down the corridor.
Gerald started edging his way toward the exit, "Sorry lads, appointments at the studio and all. We'll talk when he's...
you know..." Gerald vanished.
All eyes turned to David.
"ME?" He hissed. "Why does it have to be me? NICK'S his best bloody friend! He'll just do to me what he did to that
paper!"
Alan patted his shoulder, "I'll supply moral support. Come on."
Durga and Suki shrugged sympathetically, "We're kinda hungry." Alan smiled and dismissed them.
Julia grabbed Helena's arm, "We'll help!"
Helena stammered, "We will?"
David shrugged at the girls and ushered them along, "Enter at your own risk."
......................
Roger sat hunkered in the far corner, his tall, athletic frame crumpled in an uncomfortable position. His long
fingers massaged his neck. David, Alan, Julia, and Helena crept into the room.
David forced on his best smile: "Hey, Rog!"
Roger responded with a feral growl. David pressed on:
"It may interest you to KNOW, that we've completed the 'Breathe' track that you and Nick started, our very first
track for the album! Jolly good news, eh?"
"Mmmmmh. Jolly good," Roger lowed like a wounded animal.
"At this rate, we may have a whole new album by, who knows? January?" David continued.
"Just have to think up a whole new title..." Roger groaned.
"Bollocks to this!" David snapped, "We've just polished off a track, and all he can do is carry on like a bloody
BABY!"
Julia's eyes strayed to an instrument near Rick's Hammond: It was the Synth V/A, that highfalutin' contraption
she saw Roger and David playing with the other day, she snapped her fingers and cried out triumphantly!
"David! I think I know what would cheer up our grumpy little fellow!"
"What?" David caught sight of the Synth V/A. "Oh yes! Yes! Oi, Rog!" David ran over to the synth and rolled it out
on its rack to the center of the studio. "Come on, we had fun figuring this thing out remember?"
Roger finally looked the gang in the eye with his sad blue beagle-eyes.
"This thing plugged in Alan? Good! Right Rog, off your duff! Look at the shi-i-i-i-i-ny toy!" Dave crooned.
Helena nudged Julia, "What's he doing?"
"One thing I noticed Rog likes to do as much as scribbling and arguing is playing with flash new gadgets!" Julia
said with a grin.
"Not in the bloody mood," Roger sighed.
"Not in the bloody mood?" David cried, "You never pass up a chance to muck about with equipment!"
"David, David!" Julia skittered up to the irate guitarist, "What Little Rog needs is a proper showroom introduction!"
Julia struck a pose near the Synth V/A, spread her arms out, and put on her best showroom smile: "For your personal
amusement! WhizBang Electronics, in cooperation with Abbey Road studios, proudly introduces - Lena, what's it called?"
Helena read the label aloud: "Synth V/A."
"...The Synth V/A!" Julia continued, "Our lovely protoype model sports the latest innovations and features for the
enterprising young acid rock-psychedelic-stereophonic-studio-mucker! And it's not your typical unsightly block of
electronic keys, knobs, and gizmoes (actually it was,) it's got sexy, streamlined features that beckon to the
aspiring electronic knob-twiddling wanker with its siren call! David, my lovely assistant, if you please?"
Eyes still on Julia as though she just stepped off the mothership, David inched over to the synth, splayed his fingers
over the keys, and plonked out a slow, repetitious series of bleeps and blorps.
Roger began to rub his chin thoughtfully. Helena smiled and gave David and Julia a thumbs-up.
"Ah-h-h-h-h-h," Julia batted her eyes longingly at the synth as David hammered out a flatulent sequence of notes.
"Can't you hear it Roger?" Julia cooed invitingly, "It's celestial chime-like cadences are calling out to you!
Listen! It's saying "Play-Me-Ro-Ger! Play-Me-Ro-Ger! Play-Me-Ro-Ger! Play-Me-Ro-Ger!"
Roger's eyes lit up. He rose from his seat in the corner and Julia guided him toward David and the synth.
"You are the sun/I am the moon/You are the words/I am the tune/Play Me-e-e-e-e-e-e-e!*" Julia trilled.
Rog's head was hung low like a penitent school urchin. He shrugged at David, (which, David reasoned, was about as close
as he'd get to a 'Sorry.')
"Errrm... May I?" Roger sheepishly asked David.
"You may, you grumpy git." David replied with a smirk.
Without a break, Roger's fingers replaced David's on the synth keyboard. The band lyricist immediately began playing
a new slow sequence.
Helena nudged Alan, "Doesn't sound like much..."
Then Roger keyed the sequencer switch, which began cycling Roger's keyed progression. Roger struck the low end keys,
and the sequence was then accompanied by an ominous, throbbing bass rumble. Julia began swaying her hips.
Deftly, Alan grabbed two Phono-to-XLR cords and connected the Synth V/A to two stereo woofers, and the whole studio was
filled with the synthetic drone.
"Bloody hell," Helena murmurred. Julia giggled and clapped her hands softly.
But Roger still wasn't finished. A smile crept onto his face as he turned the oscillator switch on the Synth, which
sped up the tempo of the repeating sequence. An accelerated warble with predatory throbbing hum. Roger threw yet
another switch, and a hypnotic percussion track mingled with the burbling electronic melody: THUM-PH'TEK, THUM-PH'TEK,
THUM-PH'TEK, THUM-PH'TEK, THUM-PH'TEKTHUM-PH'TEKTHUMPH'TEKTHUMPH'TEKTHUMPH'TEKTHUMPH'TEKTHUM PH'TEKTHUMPH'TEKTHUMPH'TEK...
A peculiar giggle escaped Roger's throat, and his smile became a mischeivous grin. His head slowly bobbed up and down
to the insectlike percussion: THUMPH'TEKTHUMPH'TEKTHUMPH'TEKTHUMPH'TEKTHUMPH'TEK THUMPH'TEKTHUMPH'TEK...
"WHEEEEE-eeeeeee!" Julia squealed encouragingly, spinning madly about the room, skipping deftly over cords and mic
stands, her arms pinwheeling about her, dancing - in Helena's opinion - one of those awful hippie-chick dances she
used to see at the UFO and the Electric Circus. Ah well, if it was cheering Rog on...
"Well!" David called over the electronic throbbing, "At this rate we may have TWO complete tracks at the end of the
day!" He leaned toward Roger's ear, "TWO, do you hear?"
"Um?" Roger's head jerked up, "How's that? Oh yes! Two tracks! Wonderful! Good job, David! Top shelf!
First rate!"
David smirked, "You haven't HEARD the first complete track yet, Rog."
"You know something David, I'll have to HEAR what you, Rick, and the girls've done with the first track!" Roger called
over the warbling synth.
David's eyes rolled heavenward. Alan chuckled and patted the guitarist on the shoulder, "Grab some lunch, my lad. I'll
cue up a new Ampex and take down what Rog is doing while he's in the right mood! Strike while the iron's hot and all!"
David tugged Helena's shirt, "I bet you're hungry."
Helena started towing the still-capering Julia away, "Come on, Julie! You've done enough cheerleading for one day!"
"But I want to sta-a-a-a-a-y-y-y-y-y-y..." sang Julia.
"Lunch. Now." Said Helena. She pulled her scampering friend safely out of Alan's path as the engineer began fixing
pick-up mics to the throbbing synth speakers.
........................
Outside, David and Helena walked down the corridor, with Julia in tow. The new electronic melody streamed down the
hall after them.
Helena shook her head and quoted the formerly irate bassist: "'Bloody, buggery gobs of turd-pelleted damnation?'
That's some of the most inspired swearing I've heard in my entire life!"
David snickered, "That's why we let him tackle the lyrics."

(*"Play Me," by Neil Diamond.)