Tooth of Crime: Second Dance - Softcover

Shepard, Sam

 
9780307274984: Tooth of Crime: Second Dance
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0307274985 ISBN 13: 9780307274984
Verlag: Vintage, 2006

Inhaltsangabe

One of the plays that first announced Sam Shepard as an original voice in American theater, Tooth of Crime is his thrillingly innovative rock drama, published here in a revised edition that is as fresh and provocative as the original was more than thirty years ago.

An aging rock star in a world in which entertainment and street warfare go hand in hand, Hoss must defend himself against Crow, a newcomer who battles him for fame. Combining musical styles and intense dialogue in an unconventional musical-fantasy, Tooth of Crime riffs brilliantly on rising stars and fading legends, and rock lived and died for.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

SAM SHEPARD was the Pulitzer Prize–winning author of more than fifty-five plays, three story collections, and two works of prose fiction. As an actor, he appeared in more than sixty films, and received an Oscar nomination in 1984 for The Right Stuff. He was a finalist for the W. H. Smith Literary Award for his story collection Great Dream of Heaven. In 2012 he was awarded an honorary doctorate from Trinity College, Dublin. He was a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters, received the Gold Medal for Drama from the Academy, and was inducted into the Theater Hall of Fame. He died in 2017.

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Act I

Scene: A bare stage except for an evil-looking dark chair with a high back, something like an Egyptian pharoah's throne but simple, center stage.

(HOSS enters.)

HOSS: Song: "Anything I Say Can and Will Be Used Against You"

ANYTHING I SAY CAN AND WILL BE

USED AGAINST YOU

People tell me I look like hell

Well I am hell

I got a torture chamber orchestra

At the Delirium Hotel

I got an hallucination rattlesnake

To twist my skill through

You're my friend

But I'm gonna kill you

Somebody's got to monitor all this darkness darkness darkness

Somebody's got to locate the bomb dot com

Somebody's got to breakout through the night so starless starless starless

Those who would overthrow the status quo

Soul like smoke hole in the sky

Gotta cry gotta cry gotta go gotta go gotta go

Target Arab chic MK ultra satellite blowup

Kill the pain let it rain let it rain

I will disengage your mastery

Until all you love is blasphemy

Then I'll break in through your idiocy

And twist your desire hideously

And when you're the object of complete derision

I'll make you a star on television

Then if you want fame at a greater strength

Speak to my girl Friday the thirteenth

Got no background

Got no files

Crawl through the cable black op ground zero no flight zone

All alone all alone all alone

This is a story which is based on a true story

Which is based on a lie

Don't jack with me Sahib

I'm history

Don't jack with me Lucille

I'm gone

I'm gone

I'm gone

(BECKY enters.)

BECKY: Choogin, Hoss. Choogin. The short is on-line. Wanna peek at the toys?

HOSS: Yeah, let's have a look. Jeweler check 'em out?

BECKY: Clean and blue. Gave his little stomp of approval. You know how he gits.

(BECKY lays out the "weapons" on the floor: Strange looking devices; weird mixture of swords, guitar necks, microphones, CB's, pistols, etc.)

HOSS: Merc's set?

BECKY: Greased, lubed, and banging on all eight. Chaser slammed it up to 180 on the old Ventura Freeway. Said she didn't bark once.

HOSS: Yeah. About time he quit them quarter mile bursts. That double-throat's gotta git time to blow out. Holly made that carburetor back then for a reason. Old-time but it still hauls ass.

BECKY: No question there.

HOSS: Chaser fit?

BECKY: I don't gumbo with Chaser. You know that. He keeps to his own self.

HOSS: You watch him don't ya? Observe?

BECKY: I seen him chase his bacon around the plate with a fork this mornin. Asked him if that's where he copped his handle.

HOSS: So, how's he movin?

BECKY: Same.

HOSS: Did he look inclined to Boogie?

BECKY: He's always got the horns on for Road Rankin, you know that.

HOSS: Then we're good to go?

BECKY: I'd best check the Chart Man if I was you, Hoss. The Gazer.

HOSS: How's that.

BECKY: Just an inklin. A tickle. Won't hurt.

HOSS: We ironed all that through, didn't we? Week ago? I thought Meera gave me a green lane? I don't need hesitation now.

BECKY: Shit shifts, you know. Every two seconds somethin's slidin. He can't suss it all. Tell you the damn truth, some a them chart patterns he's honkin go back to the late fifties. Meera's antique in a lota zones Hoss. I wouldn't bite the whole red apple he throws out, just cause it rolls.

HOSS: Git his ass down here!

BECKY: All righty. Don't sting my tail just for flaggin a dingo. I'm yer cold bitch, remember?

HOSS: Just buzz his booty! Now!

BECKY: Yabadaba Honk Man.

(BECKY exits.)

HOSS (alone): Chingaflack! Tickles, inklings, cross-information! I'm good to go, here! Can't get stoved up by bad help and superstition. I need the points! Can't they see that? I'm winning in three fuckin states! Controlling more borders than any a them punk Markers. The El Camino Boys. Bunch a slump chumps. Threw down on that whole raggedy tribe back—back when? El Monte Legion Stadium? La Puente? What was it? Done deal. They were sliming. Where's the history here?

(MEERA enters with BECKY. He carries his divining paraphernalia—strange boxes and electronic projection devices that look all jerry-rigged and somewhat outdated—maybe even an old 45 record player. MEERA gets completely tangled up in the wires and plugs of his equipment.)

HOSS (to MEERA): All right, slick face, what's the skinny? Can we move now? Becky tells me you're hedging.

MEERA: Pretty dicey, Hoss.

HOSS: What! I knew it! I knew it! Week ago you give me green lights! Solid. No question. Now, it's no slice. What's the sudden shift?

MEERA: Patterns, Hoss. Meshes. I'm sussing every way I can to keep up but some of my equipment is just getting blown away by all these new waves. I can't even read some a these ciphers. Watch. I'll show you.

(MEERA begins to set up his boxes, plugging them in, transferring wires, adjusting screens and keyboards, etc.)

HOSS: I don't wanna hear this! If we needed new equipment, why wasn't I informed? I'd be glad to pay for new equipment. I thought we were up to date here.

BECKY: A new Gazer wouldn't hurt.

MEERA: I'm the best there is. Hoss knows that.

HOSS: I don't know that! I'm running on faith ninety percent of the time. Wing & a prayer!

MEERA: Just take a look at what I've got. That's all I'm asking. It's come down to techno-improvisation, Hoss. That's the only way to play it. All the data's bastard-info now. Vague vectors. Nothing pure. No essence source. It's all been scarfed and scarred to the bone. Take a look.

(MEERA casts an image through his device.)

HOSS (staring at image): What's that?

MEERA: The El Caminos.

HOSS: I didn't bring you down here to look at pix of Roadkill! I'm ready for a Matar, man. A major Matar! I wanna move!

MEERA: You'll blow it.

HOSS: I'll blow it? What do you know. I've always moved on a sixth sense. I don't need your crossed up, half-assed chart mix! We might as well be staring at box tops from Quaker Oatmeal. Might be more current than this shit.

BECKY: You gotta play privey to the Charts, Hoss. You never went against the Charts before.

HOSS: That was before. When Charts were Charts. Everyone was tuned to E Major back then. The Killing Floor was level. I'm falling behind now! Maybe you don't understand that! I'm falling behind because I'm still tuned to E Major!

MEERA: Not true, Hoss. No verdo. Lookit this. Take a looksee. (He changes the image again.) The El Caminos are about six points off the shuffle. Mojo Root Force is the only one even close enough to flutter and Mojo's got no turn of foot. Never had that bottom gear.

HOSS: Mojo? That Fruitcake? What'd he conk?

MEERA: Phoenix, Hoss. He slipped it while the Caminos...

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Verlag
Vintage
Erscheinungsdatum
2006
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0307274985
ISBN 13 
9780307274984
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
112
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
preigu
mail@preigu.de

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