#Daisy jones and the six au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shieldofiron · 19 days

Text

Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977

Part 1/3 Also on Ao3 here

For @harringrove-relay-race. Very happy with how part 1 turned out, and there will be more to come. Thanks to @foxxtastic for the intro and next up will be something stunning from our fearless Relay Race leader @half-oz-eddie

Rated M / 5k words / Part 1/3

Part 1: Into Hades

Rolling Stone Magazine - May 2002

Billy Hargrove arrived after I did, in his lovingly maintained blue Camaro, the subject of his song, “Lady Blue.” “Lady Blue” was recently named #93 on Rolling Stone’s Top Love Songs of the Century.

“I wrote, ‘She’s the wind in my hair, the rumble in my soul.’ I thought it was so obvious,” He laughed, his blue eyes still boyish. “My niece made it her wedding song, I said ‘Really? It’s about a fuckin’ car!’”

He showed me several pictures of his niece, the supermodel Tyler Sinclair. It seems good looks run in the family. He suggested the diner and he ordered waffles, winking when I mentioned that we’ll be here a long time.

The decades have been kind to him, maybe a few more lines. It’s not hard to imagine him stepping right back onto the stage, as if no time has passed at all.

“A little extra glitter on the eyes,” He said with a smile, “to hide my crows feet. That’s all I need.”

I ask what he’s going to wear to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame ceremony for Kaleidoscope's induction and his smile dims only for a moment.

“I think I should pull out some old costumes. You know, the butterfly still fits.”

He was referring, of course, to the sheer butterfly cape costume that nearly had him thrown off the stage in Houston Texas in December 1976. He caved to putting on a pair of silvery shorts rather than the nude underwear it was designed with. He later wore it with the nude underwear on the inside cover of Kaleidoscope, the album that will be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in just a few short weeks. Kaleidoscope was his last album with the iconic Glam Rock band Pretty Boy, which famously broke up at the height of their career while touring for the album, onstage.

It’s not often that a band is inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and there’s a question if all of them will even show up.

“I’ll be there,” Hargrove said, fiddling with the silver band on his middle finger. “I have no problem with seeing him.”

The him is, of course, the lead guitarist and other lead singer of Pretty Boy, Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington invites me to his oceanfront house in Malibu later that afternoon.

“I haven’t decided if I’m going to go,” He said thoughtfully, his brown eyes darting around the room.

When I mention that Billy is going to go, he seems surprised.

“He didn’t say he was going to punch me, did he?” Harrington smiled, but it doesn’t seem like much of a joke.

For one of the most famous rock stars of the 70s, Harrington is shockingly low key. He wears a t-shirt and slouchy linen pants, and he jokes that he ought to have shaved when I take out my camera. The house is stunning but empty, with miles of blank white walls and overstuffed white furniture.

“I’m looking for a little peace,” He shrugs, “I used to have all these pictures up, all this furniture… It was too much.”

It was hard not to see him as an artist without a muse. He drifted listlessly, picking things up and putting them down as we talked. So it was a surprise to me to hear that he’s been recording.

“I may never release it but… Yeah,” He laughed, “Music. After all this time. Bet you didn’t know.”

He picks up a rare photo from the piano. It’s from the early days of Pretty Boy, before Billy Hargrove. Harrington has his arm around his bandmate, Eddie Munson. Their drummer Chrissy Cunningham is balanced precariously across their shoulders, laughing and cringing at the same time. Bassist Robin Buckley smirks from the corner of the frame, messy bangs in her eyes.

“Who knew, right?” He asked no one, shaking the frame a little.

There are no pictures of Billy Hargrove.

“That’s a… a long story,” He said, when I asked.

But I have time. I tell him Rolling Stone will pay for it. At least that makes him laugh.

It was just by chance that Pretty Boy’s last concert was filmed.

“We were meant to just film in Vegas,” The director, Argyle Molina-Zapata, sat down with me after a private screening of Pretty Boy Live in Santa Fe, 1977, “But there was a freak rainstorm, and I couldn’t get my camera’s out of the back. The crowd was digging it, refused to leave. I remember when Billy hit the high note for ‘Mother Make Me,’ there was this lightning crack… brilliant.”

Molina-Zapata shook his head, “But the footage, what I got of it, was awful. Awful! So I begged Murray to let me come with them to Santa Fe.”

Murray was Murray Bauman, famed tour manager, who handled the Boys, later Pretty Boy from their first album Starfire, all the way to Kaleidoscope.

“And I was lucky,” Argyle nodded, “They had that extra tour bus.”

The tour busses are featured in the first few minutes of the film. They roll around the corner, one reading Billy Blue (Billy’s original stage name was Billy Blue before he dropped the Blue), and the other, Steve’s Six (Named after Steve’s best friends from his hometown.)

“They were nightmares,” Murray Bauman’s voice crackled over the phone, “Nightmares on tour. Separate buses. Separate hotels. Fuck me, I swear to god at one point they wanted separate stages. And the label caved on almost all of it. Fucking nightmare.”

It’s almost impossible to imagine it when you see them on stage together. There’s something electric that passed between Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington, something that drove crowds wild. They gravitate towards each other on the stage, orbiting like planets until they can share the same mic. They can’t seem to stay apart.

It’s hard to see exactly what happened that night.

“I’ve watched it a million times,” Argyle laughed, “But the only two people who can really say what happened are Billy and Steve.”

What you can see is this: Steve tearing into “Pride & Prejudice”, the lead off Kaleidoscope and the last song of the night.

Billy was trembling, visibly shaking as he sang and Steve harmonized along.

What can I say, if you ask me to walk away?

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Billy danced closer, joining Steve, his handheld mic loose at his side.

Can you ever put away your pride?

Is it worth it to not have me at your side?

I guess it must be, because I’m yours,

Regretfully,

Baby.

Billy leans in, sharing Steve’s mic for the bridge.

Is it really a mystery?

What I mean to you, and you mean to me?

Is it really, baby?

Billy shook his head, curls bouncing. He looked into Steve's eyes. He smiled. Steve looks at Billy, and Billy looks at him. It almost looks like Billy mouths something, but bootleg footage also has appeared where it looks like Billy just nodded. Steve goes a little shell shocked, hand freezing on his guitar, falling out of sync.

And then Steve turned away and left the stage, handing his guitar to a stagehand. Billy turned to the crowd, his expression strangely triumphant. He was always magnetic on stage, but this moment transcends that. It somehow feels like he’s getting everything he wants.

So I guess I’m losing you,

You promised me you would and it’s true.

Baby, there’s no words for you.

Baby. I don’t know what to do.

Steve Harrington hasn’t performed in public since 1977.

“None of us knew what was going to happen that night,” Chrissy Cunningham curled up next to her husband, Eddie Munson, on the large white couch of their Seattle home.

They’re a handsome couple still, draped in rock and roll finery. He toyed with the edge of her scarf, and she curled his long hair around her long fingers.

“We had some of our own shit going on at the time so…” Munson shrugged, “Maybe we were distracted.”

Their living room was crowded and verdant, every spare flat surface covered in plants. Their partner, former record executive Jason Carver, puttered in the kitchen in an apron that read Plant Papa.

“Yeah,” Chrissy smiled, “We had some stuff going on at the same time. But still… It seemed like they were getting better. Didn’t it seem like they were getting better?”

Munson shrugged, “The thing about Billy and Steve… they were soulmates. You don’t write music like that and not… it was like they had a second language, just for them. They were soulmates, I really believe that. Everything they did, everything that happened… they could only hurt each other that badly if… yeah.”

When I ask what they did to each other, Eddie and Chrissy just scooted closer together, like teenagers in a slasher, hiding from the killer. She laid a hand over his leg, her two stone diamond ring catching the sunlight.

“Steve never wanted Billy to be in the band,” Eddie shook his head, “but Jim had a soft spot for Billy. And Steve had… I mean Jim was…”

“Jim was like a father. To all of us.” Chrissy’s knee jiggled.

“We were this little tiny band from Nowhere, Indiana,” Eddie nodded, “And Jim believed in us.”

“I was just a junior exec at the time. I was put on the Kaleidoscope tour in case of catastrophic failure, which by the way it was,” Jason Carver is making risotto while we speak, the steam curling the lock of hair that falls over his face. “But it wasn’t my fault although I was high as hell on coke half the time. I guess I deserved to get fired. But Jim was the real deal. Gold records out the ass, best wife in the world, and his daughter, I mean… she was something else.”

They’re referring, of course, to Jim Hopper, producer on Kaleidoscope as well as Billy Blue and The Boys’ records, and the father of pop superstar Eleven aka Jane Hopper.

“Jim was…” Steve Harrington’s eyes always got a little misty talking about Jim, staring out over the ocean. “Yeah, I guess he was a little like my dad. My own parents were always gone. Which is like… I grew up so privileged so like I’m not saying… I just mean I grew up mostly by myself. And we were just so lucky he even agreed to listen to us when we got to LA.”

“I remember that night,” Joyce Hopper’s voice was raspy, cigarette-y in the way only old movie stars are. She’s a gorgeous woman in jeans and a gardening hat, speaking to me while she tends to her garden at her home in Castellammare. “He came home and said, ‘I have the next ones, the next big ones. Fuck, Joyce, they’re brilliant. Unpolished, but brilliant.’”

When I ask about when Jim discovered Billy Hargrove she just laughed.

“If Steve and the rest of The Boys were unpolished, Billy Hargrove was a fucking ten carat diamond,” She said. “But Steve’s band was Jim’s, and he could polish them up how he wanted. And then when he thought they were just right for it… he set the diamond.”

Jim Hopper was a big man, larger than life both in appearance and in personality. His fingerprints are all over some of the best hits of the decade.

Watching him on old interviews, there’s an immediacy to his presence that leaps off the screen.

“My daughter is the one who really found him. She snuck out with her sister and wandered God knows where. And she just… found him. Called me the next morning, saying ‘Dad, you have to hear this guy.’ He was playing in this… terrible club,” Jim said, tapping his cigar on the table of Merv Griffin’s set. “Absolute shithole, pardon my french. And he’s got a great voice, you’ve heard his voice, right?”

“I have,” Merv said.

“I had to get him out of there. He was a star.”

Billy Hargrove was a teenage runaway from San Diego when he came to LA in 1971.

“I had a girl’s backpack from my stepsister, eight dollars, and an extra pair of underwear. By the end of the next week? I had two more dollars,” Billy laughed. “But I got lucky. I met Heather.”

Heather Holloway was a showgirl at Wildwoods, a nightly revue. She found Billy at the backdoor, and took him to her apartment.

“She saved me,” He frowned. “Whenever I needed her most.”

Heather Holloway, Billy Hargrove’s first and only wife, died in 1979.

“I got a job singing at Sugar, this great gay club downtown. It was in the late afternoons, so I had a crowd of about… two. But those two brought two more,” Billy smiled, “Heather would talk me up to all the promoters. He’s a singer, he’s great, you’ll love him, he’s so cute.”

“He was an instant hit,” Sugar’s manager, Bob Newby, tells me by phone as well. “I did have to keep a couple of creeps off him, when he just started he was only nineteen. But even if you closed your eyes… he was a hit.”

“Guys used to think that because I was a part of the entertainment, I was fair game. And let me tell you, the novelty of that wears off mighty quick,” Billy shakes his head.

He shares a diary entry from his late wife of a night in April 1972. He came to her home with blood all over his face.

“Some guy thought because I was a fag…” Billy’s mouth twisted, but he went on, cradling the little marble notebook in his hand. “He could do whatever he wanted to me. When I fought back… he cracked a bottle over my head.”

He’s not just a piece of meat. He’s a person. I don’t understand these people. I just don’t understand, Heather Holloway wrote. I cleaned him up and he’s sleeping now.

The next diary entry is from a day later. April 12. Billy and I drove to Vegas and got married. When we spoke in the morning he said he was afraid for me too, even though I’m careful with the girls. He’s afraid of the cops trying to bust up the Wildwoods and picking me up. At least this way, he says. He and I can come home to each other. Look out for each other. Always. The groom wore band aids and his great velvet pants. The bride wore lavender. It was perfect.

“And lucky too. Because within a month… I met Jim,” Billy smiled. “And my whole life changed.”

Upside Down Records signed Billy Blue, unagented, in1972 and he spent the next year working on his debut album with Jim Hopper.

“I didn’t even realize, when it happened,” Billy shook his head. “A couple of girls came by after a show, wanting to talk to me, wanting to meet me. That wasn’t that unusual. But they were young, far too young to get into the club. And the little one, she was asking all these weird questions. Did I have an agent? Did I know if I had enough songs for an album? Weird fuckin’ questions. And then she said I have to meet someone. To be honest, I thought she was coked out of her mind when she said, ‘You have to meet my dad.’”

“I was not,” Eleven promised me, “coked out of my mind. But that’s just Billy.”

Eleven aka Jane Hopper, meets me backstage at one of her shows. She’s dressed in slouchy leather pants, to match her sister and drummer Kali Hopper.

“I knew he was something special. My dad was always talking about the IT factor. That thing that made a person something special. But I didn’t get it until I saw Billy Blue singing on that tiny stage,” She smiled. “He didn’t just have the IT factor. He was IT.”

It’s odd then, that Billy Blue’s first album had a surprisingly tepid response. His first single, in 1973, “Let Alone,” came in at only 26th for the month of April on the pop charts.

“People liked it,” Billy shrugs, “But I don’t think they knew what to do with it. You have my songs, these like… little pop love songs and ballads. I wasn’t that strong of a writer at the time. It was like half my songs, half covers. And so they’d book me, expecting fucking… Peter Frampton. And here comes this big queer with glitter on his nipples.”

But the lyrics of “Let Alone” would hint at his later songs, a hallmark simplicity that shone off his raw voice and poetry that hinted at a troubled past.

And if you were meant to care for me

You would, and that’s how it has to be

You said I couldn’t go on without you

Ha, look at me, looking brand new

At the same time, The Boys’ song “Paper Girl,” penned by Harrington, was number one.

She’s my paper girl

Wakes me up every morning, right on time

She got me smiling, got my head in a whirl

Picture perfect, paper girl

“Billy didn’t have much commercial appeal. Sex appeal, yes,” Jason laughed, toying with Chrissy’s hair. “But for sales? That’s where The Boys came in.”

“I hated that name,” Eddie said, “To start with we were half girls.”

The Boys had already had a somewhat successful tour under their belt by the time Jim suggested a collaboration with Billy Hargrove.

“It was a nice, short tour,” Steve Harrington glances away when I ask about the first tour.

“It was a nightmare. Balls to the wall nightmare,” Robin Buckley’s voice is a warm crackle over the phone. “Steve went on like thirty overlapping benders at once.”

Her partner, soap actress Vickie Carmichael cackles behind her, at their home in Salt Lake City.

“The thing about Steve is… well… he’s never found a good way of coping with himself,” Robin huffs. “Music was about as close as he ever got. But in those early days, he just kept looking for more and more.”

“You don’t think it was about-” Vickie asked, just barely into the phone.

“No.”

“It was about Nancy,” Eddie said confidently when I mentioned their first tour. “Nancy, Nancy, Nancy.”

The Boys got their start in the late sixties, beginning with Eddie and Steve. Eddie gave Steve guitar lessons, which turned into some talent show performances. They used to practice at Eddie’s Uncle’s trailer.

“That’s where we got the name,” Eddie nodded, “My uncle used to just call us that, and it stuck.”

“I don’t even remember,” Chrissy said.

“That’s not how we got the name,” Steve shook his head, when I mention Eddie. “It was our first gig, after we got Chrissy and Robin. Robin put it down after the headliner kept asking when ‘you boys’ would go on, and kept addressing it to Chrissy’s chest. She blew him out of the fucking water.”

Nancy Wheeler was there that night, writing about local bands for a tiny column in the school paper.

“She was beautiful. Smart. So smart. Could hear her talk forever,” Steve said, eyes falling.

Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler were married in 1972 after they graduated high school.

“Steve made his own choices,” Chrissy shook her head.

That summer, the Boys plus one drove to LA and Nancy Wheeler took a job at Women’s Day Magazine and later, Rolling Stone. Steve Harrington and The Boys got a “steady gig” at La Bonita Rosa on the strip, playing for drunks every night from seven to eight.

“I really liked playing at La Bonita,” Steve said. “The audience, right there. You could smell the sweat. You could see on their faces if you were bombing. And we used to bomb. A lot. But it was a great place to try things. Experiment. We played there for about a year but… it felt too short.”

Within the year they had met Jim Hopper, who got them into the recording studio and sold their demo nearly on the spot to Upside Down Records.

“They had a great sound. They had got this way of playing. Smooth like a polished stone. Everything sounds good sitting in a frame like that,” Jim said in an interview with Rolling Stone in 1981. “Their songs were… catchy, but basic. But they had the sound.”

Upside Down records set the Boys on a US tour after “Paper Girl,” and “Joy to Love You,” both charted.

“It was like… overnight. One day we’re in a studio, messing around. Kid stuff. I was nineteen,” Steve Harrington shookhis head. “But…”

“That tour,” Chrissy trails off, playing with her ring again.

“I…” Steve Harrington scratched his nose. “I was losing it. Majorly losing it. It felt like we had just moved to LA and we were already neck deep. I mean, I had a number one fucking song. And for some reason I got it in my head to call my mom. She told the maid she wasn’t home. And I could hear her over the phone. My mom. So yeah. I lost it. Lost about half my damn mind on that tour. And people will say it was because of Nancy, because we got married just out of high school, and she wasn’t supportive… but that wasn’t true. Nancy saved me.”

“Nancy never wanted him to be in the band. But… she also didn’t seem to care that much either,” Eddie shook his head, “It’s… complicated. Love is supposed to be. Simple. Like the chords of a song. 1-3-5.”

Jason Carver rolled his eyes at that, “Then what are we?”

Eddie grinned, “We’re a band.”

Nancy Wheeler met me on a Thursday in New York City, slim sunglasses dominating her small porcelain face. We get lunch at her favorite deli shop, and she perches at the counter, loafers dangling. She’s an editor at The New Yorker now, but she still has a soft spot for rock and roll, as evidenced by the Grateful Dead t-shirt under her blazer.

“That tour. I didn’t even know anything was wrong. He just came home with a funny look on his face, saying, ‘We’re headlining.’ So I said, ‘That’s great, Steve.’ He just kept… saying it. It was starting to piss me off, if I’m being honest,” She shook her head. “I should have known something was wrong.”

“I wish she had stopped me. But how could you know right? Hindsight is always 2020,” Steve Harrington said. “I mean, she was my wife. How could she not want me home? But that’s just… sorry. That’s not fair to put on her. I chose to go.”

“I flew out to meet them when they were in Indianapolis, visited my family, and I came a day early to see him,” She smiled warmly, and then it fell. “He was… Well, first, Eddie Munson tried to intercept me at the hotel, so I wouldn’t see him. I told him, ‘I’m here to see my fucking husband.’”

Steve Harrington didn’t add any more details about the tour, just shrugged when I asked.

“He was coked up like you wouldn’t believe,” Robin scoffed. “She walked in on him with two girls and coke all over his… well.”

“I just asked him. Do you want to come home? Do you want to get help? Or not?” She purses her lips. “And so he came home and we found a rehab place near Hawkins.”

“The tour kind of… fell apart. Obviously. We had lost our lead singer and guitarist to fucking… Hawkins, Indiana,”

Everything stopped for the Boys. Upside Down offered to let them out of their two album contract, but Steve couldn’t afford to pay it down.

“Rehab,” He shrugged. “Is expensive.”

Right as it seemed that everything would be over for the Boys, things were looking up for Billy Blue.

“Jim was always saying, ‘the record is selling alright, the songs are getting there but he needs a… push,’” Joyce said. “‘He’s so close. So close. He’s a star.’”

“He always believed in me,” Billy smiled, toying with his ring again. “Always. Even when I threw a jug of milk at his head.”

Joyce laughed when I asked about that moment, “He came home saying, ‘He milked me, Joyce. But he’ll fix the song tonight.’”

“And I did,” Billy said. “And the album was going alright. I did a little tour, socal and the southwest. And then one night, Jim brings me this song. He said, ‘I want you to tell me what’s missing from this.’”

The song was, of course, the Boys’ biggest hit, “Hades.” Steve Harrington’s first version was called, “To Orpheus” and the chorus goes:

Don’t turn back don’t look behind you baby

I’m close, I’m right behind

The future's so bright, and I want you to take me

Wanna be holding your hand when I make it across the line.

“It was fine, but just kind of… nothing. It was supposed to be about Eurydice, but it was so… nothing. She just loved Orpheus and that was it. There were no insides to her. She was going to follow him to her doom,” Billy shook his head. “That’s not right.”

This was not the version that made it to the recording booth, of course. The Boys’ single, “Hades featuring Billy Blue,” came out in 1975. The actual chorus goes:

Turn back on me and I won’t forgive you baby

Don’t want you to see me like this

Up ahead is bright, and I want you to take me

If you’re strong enough to cross that finish line

“‘Hades,’ was a real step forward for the Boys. Gone were the teenybopper tunes,” Steve Harrington’s biographer and personal friend Dustin Henderson wrote in his book The Pretty Boy. “Their first album got the kids dancing. But the second proved that they actually had something to say.”

“Still hate it,” Steve Harrington said. “I wrote that song in rehab. It was deeply, deeply personal to me.”

“He came out, all ready. He wanted to start recording right away,” Robin sighed. “Like I mean the next day. All these songs, just pouring out of him. But the label had lost faith in us. And they certainly weren’t going to let us start recording with a guy who had only just earned his thirty day sober chip.”

“The song wasn’t ready,” Billy shook his head. “But I guess he was. Jim said he needed this. So Jim asked if I would come and like… pitch some stuff as a personal favor. Songwriting credit, that’s all it was supposed to be. Get the songs moving, get them going.”

Steve Harrington takes a long time to continue speaking about it.

“I felt it, writing for that album. I felt proud of those songs. They didn’t belong to anyone else but me,” He toyed with some piano keys while we talked, and then finally sat down and began to play something tuneless and half formed.

“That album was all about Nancy,” Chrissy said. “I mean. I know it. You know it. Nancy knew it. And she kind of hated it. But-”

“You can’t leave your husband right as he gets out of rehab,” Nancy said to me, toying with her wedding ring. “When he writes all these songs about how you’re the only thing… Steve was always like that. Heart wide open. That’s why when he met Billy. I almost thought… it would all be okay. That sounds fucked up but. I thought they could save each other. That the music could save him.”

“It was just a songwriting credit,” Billy raised his hands. “Jim swore up and down. I was just gonna come in there and sit down with this guy Steve. But when I walk into the studio, there’s two mics set up.”

“I was the Boys’ only singer,” Steve Harrington shook his head. “And to be absolutely honest, I was kind of a jackass about it. So to have some guy come in and say he’s gonna sing me my song… well…”

“Steve was the only one who would ever argue with Jim, And he let him have it that day,” Eddie laughed. “He called him the most low down, dirty, rat bitten bastard in California, and that he would die rather than give up his band to someone else.”

“I did not want his band. I did not know his band. And I did not care. And his song sucked. And I told him so. And then I sang it. Better.” Billy smiled.

“Billy was…” Chrissy shook her head. “Incredible.”

I ask Steve what Billy was like that first day in the studio.

“He was,” Something passed over his face. “Alright. He has a great voice, alright.”

“I was good. Better. Best.” Billy smiled.

“But he didn’t understand the song. He wanted Eurydice to… doubt. To think she wasn’t going to get out,” Steve slammed his hands on the keys. “It’s been… almost twenty years. I still don’t understand it.”

I asked why he let Billy stay. But Steve doesn’t have an answer.

“They were like oil and water, right away,” Chrissy said.

“Yeah, but oil on the water can catch fire,” Eddie shrugged.

“Jim asked me to stay,” Billy looked away from me, down at his waffles. “It was a favor to the label.”

“If Billy said louder, Steve said mute,” Robin snickered. “It was kind of great, actually. Finally someone called King Steve on his shit. One day I came in and they were arguing over how close the microphone should be to your throat. Almost got in a physical fight over a fucking microphone. I mean, I love Steve. But he always thinks he’s like… the babysitter. It’s his job to do everything for everybody.”

“Like who was this guy? Really? He came into my studio with no shirt on, most of the time still half smashed from the night before, and he thinks he can make all these changes. But Jim keeps telling me it’s just business, the label thinks it’s good business.” Steve frowned, and then smiled, and then frowned again.

“Yeah, I never wore shirts back then. Or underwear,” Billy said with a grin. “I was a rockstar!”

“Steve fought for every song on that album,” Nancy Wheeler patted her lips primly with a napkin. “He only lost on one.”

“Billy Hargove has songwriting credit and lead vocals on “Hades.” Dustin Henderson wrote.

“Billy was all over that album. He’d make some minor suggestion, maybe this chord instead of that, this word is better. And Steve would flip out, yell at him, yell at Jim, threaten to storm out… and then two days later quietly tell me to change the chord, he’d start singing the new words. Billy was there with us about every single day,” Eddie said.

“Of course, it was our biggest hit,” Chrissy laughed. “Everything but that song, Steve did what he wanted. Oh we had Billy in the studio, making suggestions. But Steve did what he wanted except for ‘Hades.’ Jim said that song is the album, and he wouldn’t cut it.”

“Jim was always right,” Steve closed the piano. “The bastard.”

Hades exploded onto the radio in late 1975. They didn’t have the same distribution as their first record, but the Boys had another hit.

“Billy had this way of singing it. Still does. He broke four mics when we recorded it. Singing so loud I had to keep an eye on the cymbals to stop them from shaking. You can feel him, right in your chest.” Chrissy giggled. “Like he was trying to wake all the dead from Hades. If anyone could, he could.”

“It’s a really, really great song,” Robin said.

This song belongs to Billy Blue, Rolling Stone wrote in 1976. The only question now is, what will The Boys do next?

“I remember that article. Fucking… Harrington said that he basically wrote the whole song. But he said, ‘the label thought bringing Billy in was a good idea,’” Billy gets tense for the first time. “I’m not saying I was like… I just mean. It would have been nice. To treat me like an equal. I’m more than just a singer. I’m not just… a piece of meat.”

“Billy was really pissed about that article. I remember, the day after the article came out, we were getting breakfast at this tiny place off La Cienega. Steve had this car back then, a big maroon BMW, and Eddie had got him a vanity plate when he bought it. Stupid thing it said, ‘BIGBOY.’ Anyway, We’re having breakfast, and we hear this screech outside, like an accident,” Robin Buckley gets uncharacteristically quiet as she goes on through this story. “Billy’s car is parked halfway out of the parking lot, and he comes in like a bull in a charge. Billy… he wasn’t some wimpy guy. He was small, but he was strong as hell… He came right over and grabbed Steve by his collar and lifted him right off the counter. And he said, I’ll never forget it because Steve used to recite it from memory, yell it at me, ‘Tell me I’m not dreaming. Is that Steve fucking Harrington? The lead singer of the Boys. Hey man, I love your song ‘Hades.’ How’d you get your voice to sound halfway decent for once?’”

“I don’t remember that,” Steve Harrington said flatly when I asked.

“And Steve used to be a fucking dick in high school. So he starts getting real bitchy, shoving Billy off him, asking what his problem is, why he’s such a dick all the fucking time, when it’s not even his band. And Billy said something like, ‘No one wants your shit band. Not with you in it,’” Robin paused for a moment. “And they just. Stare at each other. Like… daring each other to do something.”

Billy just shrugs when I ask, “I was pissed. I gave this guy a number one hit, and he still wanted to treat me like some… airhead singer the label brought in as a stunt. I’m not just a singer. I’m not a piece of meat. I’m a person.”

When I ask Steve about that day he’s pretty quiet, deflated at his piano. He only wants to talk about the song. The music. Can’t seem to talk about Billy any other way.

“He sang it like he not only knows Orpheus can’t save him, but that he won’t. It was supposed to be hopeful. A happy ending.” Steve said.

“So you still hate the song?” I asked.

“No, I don’t. It’s brilliant. And that’s the whole problem.”

To be continued...

Next up is Half-Oz-Eddie's piece at 7:00 pm. GET HYPE!

#harringrove relay race #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic #steve x billy #harringrovefic #harringrovefanfic #harringrove fanfiction #harringrove fanfic #stranger things #my writing #DJATS au #Daisy jones and the six au #tw drugs

91 notes · View notes

stwritings · 2 months

Text

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 & 𝑯𝒂𝒕𝒆

𝑹𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓!𝑬𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒆 𝒙 𝑭𝒆𝒎!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 - 𝑫𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒚 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔 & 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒊𝒙 𝒂𝒖

𝑻𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝑰 - 𝑹𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝑬𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒚

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨.

May, 1988

The sun beamed through the chipped windshield of Eddie's 1971 Chevy as he made his was through the city of Chicago. Taking quick glances at his map every chance he got, his eyes honed in on the big red pen mark circling his new address.

Truth be told, Eddie wouldn't have believed it if he were told a few months back that he would be uprooting his life one state over. He wasn't much of a plan kind of guy, so this move was rather spontaneous. The town of Hawkins no longer felt like home but a prison, it's tight shackles a reminder of the simpleton lifestyle he was bound to lead if he stayed in this godforsaken place. He dreamt of a bigger life, for it to have meaning. And if he couldn't attain it in Indiana, perhaps Illinois was the place to be.

He finally pulled over to the side of the road next to a dilapidated building. He put the car in park and glanced at his map once more, then back at the rough looking structure. Eddie caught a glimpse of a golden plate on the brick wall reading '242' and sighed. The number, unfortunately, corresponds with the address on his lease. He could only hope for a nicer interior as he climbed out of the driver's seat and walked towards the building.

Upon entering his new residence, his prior optimism was shattered by more unfavorable characteristics. The building had a distinct smell that Eddie couldn't quite place, but it certainly wasn't a pleasant one. It reminded him of his great aunt's home that reeked of cigarettes and peppermint, only so much worse. He tried not to think about too much, making his way up the flight of stairs. As he came to his apartment door, he noticed a small note taped to the door. He squinted as he attempted to read the scribbled writing:

'See 87 for key' the note read.

Assuming this was the work of his landlord, he began looking for the number eighty seven. The apartment was relatively easy to find, given that the building only had 2 flights of stairs. Eddie noted that his landlord lived directly above him before knocking on the door. He took a step back as he waited for a response.

A few seconds passed, then a whole minute did and still... No answer. Not wanting to seem too eager, he decided against knocking again. This decision was forfeited once 2 minutes elapsed without any sign of life inside that apartment. Eddie knocked once again, this time more forcefully which, luckily, yielded results. An older gentlemen with large bi-focal glasses opened the door, smiling, though he did look a tad frazzled.

"Can i help you?" he asked, pushing the bridge of his glasses up his nose.

"I think so... Uh, i hope so." he nervously chuckled. "I'm moving into 82...." he trailed off, pointing at his feet in reference to the vacant apartment below them.

"Oh, yes. Eddie, is it?" the man asked, eyeing him up and down curiously.

Eddie nodded, feeling slightly uneasy under his landlord's inquisitive gaze.

"Brian, pleasure." the old man extended his hand while smiling.

They shook hands and Eddie was taken aback by Brian's strong grip, especially considering his small stature. He handed Eddie the key and gave him the rundown of the building. Despite it's dodgy appearance, this appeared to be a great place to live. Rent was affordable, his landlord was nice and the interior of his bachelor pad was newly renovated.

After two hours and several tedious trips up and down the stairs, Eddie was finally settled in. He sat on the window seat overlooking the city, feeling excited for the morning to come. When it eventually did, he embarked on then next task at hand; finding a job. He figured it wouldn't be too difficult in a city this size, and began wandering the streets, walking into all shops and bars in sight within walking distance from his home.

Eventually, he found a shoe store that was hiring. Now, this wasn't the kind of excitement he was hoping for, but given his circumstance and dire need for cash, it would have to do for now.

Following a closing shift one Saturday night, he decided to venture down the bustling street, figuring a night out on the town would lift his spirits. Luckily the shoe store wasn't strict on attire, so Eddie rolled out of there wearing his nicer pair of jeans along with a Van Halen band tee and his trusty leather jacket. He eventually stumbled upon a small rock junction with a flashing neon light reading 'LIVE! SHOWS! EVERY! SATURDAY!'

Obnoxious advertising aside, he was intrigued, and decided to give this place a chance. He felt right at home once her entered, noting that it was very clearly a dive bar similar to the one he used to play at with his former band back in Hawkins.

Given it's size, it didn't take much time for him to find the bar and order himself a beer. His usual go to of Pabst Blue Ribbon was anything but his favorite, but it was the cheaper option. He thanked the bar tender and found a spot to stand within the small crowd gathered near the stage. Eddie noticed almost instantly the lead singer's inebriated state as he swayed and screeched the lyrics into the mic. Eddie quickly took a large sip of his beer in an attempt to hide the grimace forming on his face. He hoped that maybe after a few drinks himself, the drunkard would sound better.

He didn't.

The band carried on for another 10 excruciating minutes, the crowd filing out of the bar as they tried to escape the horrendous performer. Eddie stayed put though, amused yet feeling sorry for the rest of the band mates who looked absolutely horrified.

Without warning, the man hurled the mic down to the ground, causing a shrill ring to blast through the sound system. He then stumbled off the stage, yelling words at his bandmates that Eddie couldn't quite make out before stumbling out the back door.

Eddie downed the rest of his beer, placed it on a nearby table waiting to be bussed and headed out the front door. Once outside, he leaned against the brick wall, sighing as he looked for his pack of cigarettes.

'What a night.' he thought to himself.

His attention was diverted to the front door swinging open and an agitated woman storming out. Eddie avoided eye contact, trying to mind his business and not irritate her further.

"Got a light?" she blurted out, staring directly at him.

Eddie froze at the sudden interaction, eyes widening. He quickly snapped out of it, hurriedly digging in his pocket to retrieve it. He pulled out the small blue lighter, flicking it before the cigarette placed between her lips.

Once he successfully lit it, they stood together quietly, Eddie not daring to speak a word. From experience, he knew better than to try to feign encouragement to make someone feel better about a clearly shitty situation. The antsy woman paced around for a bit, before turning to face him once more.

"You don't happen to know any available front men, do you?"

Eddie chuckled at her desperate, unexpected plea. "Uh.. none that you'd be interested in". he responded while putting out his cigarette.

She perked up. "What do you mean by that?"

"None in the city, i mean..." he quickly corrected himself.

"Shit..." she muttered under her breath, her disappointment very evident.

Eddie felt bad for bending the truth... He would be a front man, hell he was one once! But this band was different than anything he had ever played before, and he knew better than to try to live up to an expectation he knew he couldn't live up to.

"Well, thanks for the light." She offered a kind smile before retreating inside the bar.

"Good luck!" Eddie called out, truly wishing her the best.

June, 1988

It had been a month now since Eddie had moved to the city, and he had become quite comfortable here. He finally ditched the shoe store, finding work at a record store where he restored donated instruments, a gig that proved to be urgently needed given how many busted up Les Pauls' ended up in his care. He had yet to make any friends, apart from his co-workers, but that felt like plenty for now. Especially since his time off was mostly spent wandering the nearby shops or visiting friends and Wayne back in Hawkins.

The only real complaint he could think of was with his landlord, Marvin, who had a nasty habit of falling asleep at the drop of a dime. This would often result in the tap being left on causing flooding in his apartment. This, in turn, would lead to the flooding of Eddie's apartment as well.

Despite Eddie's patience and understanding for the older gentleman, he had reached his breaking point one morning when he was awoken by the uncomfortable feeling of damp sheets surrounding him.

"...what... the fuck..." he mumbled while sitting up from his drenched mattress. He instinctively looked up just as a droplet of water splatted on his forehead. "God dammit!!" he screeched, the covers flinging off of his body and onto the floor from the motion of him launching out of bed.

He hurried to his closet where he practically ripped his house coat off the hanger, shoving his arms through the sleeves and tying the loose belt around his waist. He stormed up the staircase and hurried over to apartment 82.

After knocking several times with varying amounts of force, the brass door creaked open. Marvin appeared in the doorway looking rather disheveled, wearing a similar house coat to Eddie's. The older gentlemen chuckled at the sight of his young tenant, not used to seeing him look so.. flustered. "I'm sorry Eddie, you know how i get after I've had tea." was all the gentleman offered as he looked at him apologetically.

Eddie often wondered if the tea in question happened to be laced with some type of sleep agent. Nevertheless, he no longer wanted to deal with it, deciding right then and there to look for new places to live.

His search for one bedroom apartments proved to be a challenge, as most of the places he was interested in were way out of his budget. He was forced to look for bedrooms to lease, even though he wasn't keen on the idea of having roommates.

After a slew of disappointing visits to sketchy buildings with even sketchier people, he had but two ads in the paper left to respond to. One was on the far side of town, and the other was a room a few blocks away from his place. He figured he'd start with the further option since the description of the place sounded a lot nicer than the latter.

After a lengthy cab ride, the car pulled up to a building stained with light blue paint lazily applied onto the brick wall. He exited the cab after paying the driver and made his way into the building. Despite the unkept exterior, the lobby was very nice and even came equip with an elevator, something Eddie wasn't so lucky to have where he currently resided.

He eagerly got into the elevator, pressing onto the number four until it illuminated, signaling it's final destination before promptly shutting the doors. Finding the listed apartment was fairly easy given the small amount of homes per floor. He knocked on the door and waited patiently for his potential roommates to answer. He only had to wait a couple of seconds for the door to swing open, a stark contrast from how long it takes for Marvin to respond.

"No shit!" a familiar voice exclaimed.

'"Oh, hey!" Eddie replied, surprised to find the keyboard player from the bar standing before him.

"What? What is it?" came a muffled voice from another room.

"Just some guy i know." the woman responded, smiling amusingly. Eddie couldn't help but smirk at her response. 'Some guy i know' was generous given their brief interaction a month ago.

"Eddie." he said introducing himself.

"Well, Eddie, you come to see the place?" she began before extending her hand. "I'm Steph."

"Uh, yeah! I saw your ad in the paper..." he shook her hand in return.

"Why you moving, Eddie?" the voice called from afar. "You get evicted or something?" he questioned challengingly.

"Don't mind him." Steph responded while smiling warmly, a stark contrast to her annoyed tone. "He assumes the worst in people."

"Because people are the worst!"

She rolled her eyes in response. "Well, come on in! It's a two bedroom, but we converted the living room into a bedroom, which don't worry! Is not the room you'll be staying in!" she spoke rapidly while making her way through each room. Eddie followed along, though he struggled to keep up.

Steph guided him to the bedrooms, urging Eddie to enter the larger vacant one. "This is the master," she stated. "perks include more space and access to the fire escape!"

Eddie stepped inside to have a look. Although he liked what he was seeing, he wanted to make sure it wasn't too good to be true.

"And you said 200$?" he asked while inspecting the room.

"A month, yeah. Usually we'd get you to pay first and last's but... We're kind of desperate..." she admitted, trailing off.

"Desperate, huh? Well, when could i move in?"

"Tomorrow's good!" she eagerly responded.

Eddie raised his eyebrows, unable to prevent the chuckle from escaping his lips. Just then, a man appeared behind her, presumably the voice that rang through the apartment earlier.

"You're really dropping the ball here, Stephanie." he teased as he put both hands on her shoulders. She quickly shrugged them off of her, turning to glare. "Eddie, is it?" the man continued.

Eddie hummed in acknowledgment.

"Tom." he said dryly.

"Or Thomas if he's being a real prick." Steph chimed in, clearly retaliating for his prior use of her full name.

"Don't call me that." Tom said in a stern manor, pointing a threatening finger at Eddie.

"Noted, Steph and Tom." Eddie reassured, raising both hands up defensively. He had to admit, Tom's attitude was slightly off-putting and he certainly found his and Steph's dynamic odd, but amusing nonetheless. Despite this, Eddie felt that he was a pretty good judge of character, and apart from this small quirk, the lack alarm bells sounding off in his brain helped him make a decision.

He took a leap and agreed to move in, which in tern, caused Steph to leap as well.

Literally.

September, 1988

Despite everything that resulted in Eddie seeking a new apartment and Steph's eager offer for him to move in so soon, he chose to give Marvin a few month's notice out of respect. After all, he wasn't a bad guy, he just had a bad habit.

Luckily, there were no more incidents leading up to him leaving and soon enough, moving day came. Much to his surprise, his new roommates offered a helping hand, though Tom seemed less than pleased. What would have normally taken Eddie a full day, only took two hours.

Once all of his belongings were set in his room, Eddie walked around his new place, taking in small details he hadn't noticed before. For example, the collection of shot glasses neatly placed on a hanging shelf near the kitchen. He couldn't help the smile that formed on his face, the arrangement reminded him of his uncle's collection of mugs back at the trailer.

Steph appeared behind him, gazing up at the shelf. "Oh, yeah! Just a.. silly little thing i like to do." she stated, seeming proud of the display.

"My uncle's got a bunch of mugs he collects, too."

"Does your uncle steal them from bars and restaurants, too?"

Eddie turned to face her, eyes wide and fully invested in what he thought was just mindless chit chatting. He glanced back at the collection, then to Steph one more. He nodded, his lips forming into a pout while his eyebrows raised. "Impressive."

October, 1988

The trio had gotten closer in the small amount of time spent living together. Tom finally warmed up to Eddie, allowing him to see the good side of him that wasn't always snarky and judgmental. He opened up to Eddie one night following a smoking session, speaking of his tumultuous upbringing. The pair bonded over shared experiences, and realized that they actually had quite a lot in common. Thus, a friendship blossomed where Eddie didn't think it would.

As for Steph, they became close almost instantaneously, all thanks to her bubbly, in your face personality. Their banter, though not as intense as hers and Tom's, was always cause for entertainment. Unlike the men, Steph had lead a simple life, some might even call it easy. Her lack of trauma was almost unbelievable to Eddie, but it made him very protective of his new friend. In his eyes, if she was lucky enough to have gone through 24 years of life without experiencing hardships, now was not the time for that to happen.

Eddie as well as his roommates had varying work schedules, which often resulted in at least one person being left alone at the house.

This time, it was Eddie's turn for some much needed me time. He spent the afternoon reading and smoking in his favorite spot: the fire escape. Though, spending more than an hour at a time in there resulted in him being covered in dust and debris, most likely becoming airborne from the speeding cars passing by.

This slight annoyance caused him to cut his reading session short, heading inside in desperate need of a shower. With everyone out of the house, Eddie didn't feel as bad blasting his music through his stereo as he occupied the bathroom. He sang along loudly to the Black Sabbath album playing through the apartment without a care in the world. He lathered his hair in foamy shampoo, enjoying every minute of this warm shower when suddenly, the bathroom door swung open and a wide eyed Steph came gawking in.

"JESUS CHRIST!!" he exclaimed, quickly covering his bottom half with his hands.

"You sing?!" she shouted over the music still blaring, paying no mind to his naked body.

"Uh, yeah...Do you knock??" he blurted out, now blushing from her presence.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she pushed on.

"Can we have this conversation some other time? Maybe when i'm not naked, THREE FEET AWAY FROM YOU."

Steph rolled her eyes, storming forward and pulling the transparent curtain aside causing Eddie to yelp. "Like this thing covers anything anyway. Besides, i don't care about that right now. Why didn't you tell me you can sing, you could have joined our band ages ago!"

"Because, you... Could you at least hand me that towel?" he asked pleadingly.

"No." she responded without missing a beat, causing Eddie to sigh.

"I didn't think you'd want me to join... Our styles are so... different. Plus, don't you need a bass player?"

"And a singer!" she corrected.

"Right... But i don't play bass, remember?" he asked rhetorically, knowing Steph had seen his guitar hanging up on his bedroom wall.

"I know, jackass." she said, throwing the towel at him. "But if we have you as our lead, it'll be way easier finding a bass player rather than someone who can do both! You've heard of two birds, one stone? Well this is one stone and you're the bird!"

Eddie paused, blinking slowly while trying to decipher her jumbled metaphor. "What...are you talking about...?"

"Forget it, can you just do me this one favor, and please join the band?" she pleaded, bringing her hands up to intertwine her fingers.

"If i say yes will you get the hell out of here?" he asked, wanting nothing more than for this interaction to be over.

"No backsies?" she urged, narrowing her eyes.

"Yeah, fine!!" Eddie blurted out, growing frustrated as the foamy shampoo began trickling down his forehead and into his eyes.

Steph shrieked excitedly while exiting the bathroom. "Alright! Let's find that other bird!"