Thelonious Monster HOLLYWOOD BABBLIN'
Zelda was nervous as hell. Riding in the back of the rumbling Condo-On-Wheels with a small crowd of eating, drinking, smoking and sleeping human-types, the lean walnut-colored canine paced nervously, dodging knitting needles and falling burrito wrappers.
Thelonious Monster HOLLYWOOD BABBLIN'
by
Steve Appletord
“I lost it way, way back. ” —Dix Denney
Zelda was nervous as hell. Riding in the back of the rumbling Condo-On-Wheels with a small crowd of eating, drinking, smoking and sleeping human-types, the lean walnut-colored canine paced nervously, dodging knitting needles and falling burrito wrappers. Zelda held her pointed head low to the trembling floor, doing what she could to ignore the insane electric guitar screeches emanating from the speakers high above her and the crazed young man in the driver’s seat blurting out lyrics from a long-forgotten song called “Rock And Rollers.”
Bob Forrest, the blond, dreadlocked leader of this van-load of musicians, friends and roadies traveling under the banner Thelonious Monster, stopped his singing for a moment to absorb the recorded guitar poundings of Angel, a band left for dead eons ago. "They were way ahead of their time,” he enthused, a gaping grin spreading below his glasses. "But they were just lame enough to be popular now.”