Faux For All - stories in homage to The Master
The One Thousand Swingin' Nights For Richard, Lord Buckley
Strippin' The Hipster Somebody Done Rolled Back The Rock
Sweet Swingin' Pete And The Gnasher The Night Before Yulescene
Little Davy The Hep Star Fred and Charlie
The Shooting OF Dan's Guru Tesla Vision
How Lord Buckley Got To Heaven The Big Megilla

Little Davy The Hep Star

by Whitman McGowan

copyright by Whitman McGowan, used by permission

a cover of the story of King David,
dedicated to Lord Buckley,
the great transmogrifier of great tales

Now some of you may know some stone gasser of a poet or some great swingin' stud, and some of you might be acquainted with an ace stamped politician or you might be friends with a contender in the arena of, say, boxing, but, Brothers and Sisters, I'm going to hip you to a cat who swings with the Kings in the alltime, all world Hall of Fame for writin', fightin', foolin' around and rulin'....

See, I'd like to explain to you that once upon a time in the middle of the Middle East, about ten minutes after the beginning of recording history, there was lightning in the jukebox, there was thunder in the boombox, there was squawking in the squeezebox, all the land was about to dance to another tune. The Israelites and the Judeans had just gotten their own recording company together and it was headed up by a cat named King Saul, and they were about to be hit by shiploads of cheap imports. Their new rivals, the Philistines, had put some huge numbers on the charts, and they had their people chockablock with Saul's people at the big music convention, looking to set them straight about who the number one recording company in the area was.

The Philistines' top act, their biggest draw, their superstar, their killer closer, the headliner headbanger of them all was a cat who was so big they called him "Goliath." He was such a super freak of nature, you were surprised he had two eyes, one on each side of his head. Goliath was trussed out like a super punk, wore giant studded wrist bracelets and a flak jacket made of 5000 shekels of bronze, packed a spear weighing 600 shekels of iron, was making over a million shekels of gold per year, with incentive clauses. He was dissin' all the jewish bands up and down, this Goliath. Meanwhile, Saul was just getting off the horn with his chief talent scout, who was telling him "We got to face the music, oh great King, we got nobody can trade licks with Goliath. Once he plays his signature tune, that's a commercial break. You can just come back and pick up the pieces later." There wasn't but one pat cat who could shred this motorhead, and he hadn't even auditioned yet, and this cat was Little Davy, the shepherd lad. Now that he'd finally got a chance to get in a word with King Saul in his innermost tent, Little Davy cut loose his demo number, and it was cold:

When they come for my sheep,
I'll have you understand
I slay the bear and the lion
With my very own hands
Let me slay Goliath
'Cause he is just a man!
I may be just a shepherd
But I do the best I can!

And Saul says, "Son, from my long experience in the gangbanging & recording industry, I can dig talent, and believe me, you're the only act we got going here who is fresh enough, def enough, and stupid enough to chill out Goliath and his Death Rock thang. You got a quality I call Real Hep Star Rock Style. You are BIGGER THAN DEATH. It's showtime, homeboy. You're going out a shepherd, kid, but you're coming back a stud. Break a leg, well, break something."

Goliath sees Little Davy walking towards him and he has to laugh... "I'll eat my size 23 Birkenstocks, where's your axe, son? Hweehahahahohohooo... Well, don't he look like what fell out of a tall sheep." But Little Davy just starts his windup:

Little Davy's gotta sling it woo woo
It's a musical sting, woowoo
It's a woowoowoowoooowoowoooo
Little Davy's got to sing woo woo
And man that boy could swing woo woo
Rock you nenuhnenene Rock you

And when this concert was over, Goliath had acquired a third eye. He had been rocked and rolled. He was lying there like a toppled statue with a big unprecious stone in his forehead, had those other two mackerel eyes. All in all he had the look you can only get with a prefrontal rockbottomly. And King Saul said, "Now who was that 4H Club Chorus Boy who has won the battle of the bands for us? Has he signed a contract yet?" One of his yes men who was on the ball piped up, "That rocksolid stone poet star with a rockin' guitar is named David. He is the son of Jesse, the Hepster, oh great King." And Saul lit up with joy and pride in his discovery... "Yes, of course, the Hepster's boy. Okay, I'd like him billed as.... Little Davy Hep Star!"

Just about everyone immediately fell in love with the Hep Star because he had that special strength and beauty; he could make war and he could make love, he was a man of the sword and a man of the word, and the music, the sweet sweet music, man! He was indeed guided by the heppest star in the universe, the Master Mixer Star, the Hep Star.

And so pretty soon the Hep Star and his new rock solid backup group, the Mighty Men, went on tour gigging all across the land, and they could swing with the kings. They ripped it up for the Jerahmeelites. In Judah they burned the house down. Their night with the Kenites was a smashing success! Only trouble was they were gigging for the Philistines now, due to some strange contractual arrangement. Some people thought this would queer the deal with Zion Records, but eventually, when Saul's head rolled, the Hep Star greased the wheels with some green mail and all the Zion VIP's were down with him when he came up with a new single, a tribute to Saul called "Oh How The Mighty Have Fallen," and that title has stuck with us to to this day:

Mighty, mighty, mighty, yeah
Fallen, fallen, fallen, hunh
Oh How how how the oh how the
Mighty have fallen, Lord, oh
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
Oh how the mighty have fallen
Fallen oh how the mighty have
Oh how mighty thee fallen have
How fallen Oh have the mighty
Oh how the mighty have fallen

Everybody in the whole recording market area knew that riff. It was friendly takeover time. Little Davy had another number one, and his backup group, the Mighty Men, became almost as famous as the Hep Star Himself.

Now the Hep Star headed up Zion Records, and he was taking a stroll on the roof of his palace, and the sun was beating up hard against those tall Jerusalem palm trees. He took a gander at the apartment house across the alley and saw a fantastic woman performing her ablutions there and he sent one of his minions over to pay a little visit to find out who this bathing beauty was, and the woman in the bath, oh yes, she was soaping up her leg, you see, oh yes now she's fooling around with her toy reed boat, and um, whoa, this went on for a while, and finally the gofer comes back and tells him the name of this fabulous creature in the bath is Bathsheba.

There was a problem -- she was married to one of the biggest suits in the company (which is why she happened to live next door), and this maven was Uriah the Hitmaker. So the Hep Star thought twice about it, then he thought thrice about it, then he said, "Dry her off and bring her here!" with the result that the Hep Star knocked Bathsheba up, and then, seeing as how Uriah the Hitmaker probably wished he was dead, the Hep Star worked it out so Uriah could be, him dyin' an honorable death in a misunderstanding gangbang with the Ammonites' set.

This was too much for the Master Mixer, the Big Engineer in the Control Booth way up yonder. He's been behind the Hep Star's every move up 'till now, you dig. His voice comes on in the Hep Star's headphones when he's in the recording studio one day, and he say, "You better get you a blade and light you a candle, and wait for the other sandal to drop--you can't stop it. What goes around comes around." Which means from then on out, every time he turned around, the Hep Star found himself in a hard place after that, and his heart was being ground down to a nubbin every time the Master Mixer dial twisted, BUT he stayed with the melody no matter how bad he was being absolutely unabsolvingly Absalomly pulverized between a rock and a hard place, and he still managed to come up with a little bit of lyric:

My god's a rock
My god's a rock
My god's a rock
My god's a rock
My god, my god's a rock

And so he really dug, finally, when you run your recording company the right way, choosing all the best material, keeping everything on the up and up, maybe not hitting on some other hitmaker's old lady, wielding your power with a light touch, etc., it will dawn on EVERYONE that the righteous CEO lays his number down "like the morning light, like the sun shining forth on a cloudless day, like rain that makes the grass sprout from the earth," like a groovy little thing called love. At least, that's the way things ought to be.

The crafting Prince Whitman can be reached at his email address: wmcgowan@ix.netcom.com

And you can visit him at home at whitmanmcgowan.com