Welcome to my new one-piece-at-a-time blog novel, Dr. Samuel von Starbuckaroo and the Bakersfield Sound Underground.  I ripped the idea off of an old Johnny Cash tune (one of the first rap songs) about a poor, recreant young automobile aficionado, working at an automobile plant as a means of putting an entire Cadillac together for himself by stealing one piece at a time. 

This novel is based upon magic realism:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wik...

In the novel, I juxtapose elements of reality and elements of fiction.  Bakersfield artists, bands, and other local movers and shakers may be mentioned from time to time, but if you do not want to be apart of the story, I will go back and edit any information that draws attention to you and/or your band.  It may also mention certain Bakersfield.com or Bakotopia.com bloggers, and the same applies to you. 

Oh, one last comment.  If you're a movie-producer, whether amateur, or professional, and want to make a movie based on my novel, have your people contact my people. 

Without further ado, let the novel begin: 

Scene one:

Dr. Samuel von Starbuckaroo shifted nervously in his barstool at Trout's Nightclub.  The good-natured, garrulous old gent from New York had taken up residence at the Roadrunner Inn on Buck Owens Blvd.  He was here on a special assignment.  He had received a grant to embark upon a psychohistorical, phenomenological study of the Bakersfield Sound movement, and it's burgeoning offspring, the Nu Bako Sound underground, involving the fusion of post-punk-post-Korn rock, the Bakersfield Sound of yore, and the nu Kern County country rock, aka krock. 

A young, scantily-dressed woman appearing to be in her mid-thirties pulled up next to him.  "Do you come here often, sir," she asked in a sultry voice.  

He looked down, and then squarely into the eyes of the woman.  "Actually, no," he replied.  "But I like the psychic energy of the old place," he added.  "

"The psychic energy?"  The woman giggled, covering her mouth awkwardly.  

"Yes, the fuel, if you will, that energizes all mental activity."

The woman managed to contain her laughter before it turned into a rude cacophony.  To be honest, sir, I don't see any of that in here.  Maybe I'm blind.  The bartender delivered her scotch on the rocks and she handed him a 10.  "Keep the change," she insisted.  Then she turned back to the good doctor.

"Well, I'm not surprised.  What was your name, madam?"  

"It's Chrissy---Chrissy McClain, and yours?"

"I'm Samuel--- Dr Samuel von Starbuckaroo. "  He continued, refusing to allow a little thing like introductions to interupt his previous train of thought.

"You see, Chrissy, psychic energy is all around us, but it's not something you can see.  It's unobservable.  It's an abstract reality that we only have access to when we heighten our awareness of the unobservable world."   

Rockwell pulled up from behind and put his arm on Chrissy's shoulder.  "Is this your new friend, Chrissy?"  He smiled and reached out to shake Samuel's hand. 

"Actually, Rockwell, we just met, he's new here, a doctor doing some sort of research on the Bakersfield Sound."

"Well, I'm Rockwell, you've come to the right place for that," Rockwell replied.  In fact, if you take a walk around the corner, you'll notice that Homer Joy is getting ready to play a set." 

"Please to meet you, Rockwell, I'm Dr. Samuel von Starbuckaroo, and, yes, I am familiar with The Streets of Bakersfield, and with the man who wrote it.  That's one of the reasons I came here tonight," Samuel replied enthusisastically.

"Well, I hope you enjoy yourself, it was great to meet you, doc!"  Rockwell waved at the two of them and walked towards the Blackboard stages. 

Sameul looked at Chrissy, feeling a bit more at ease, but still tugging nervously at his Coors label, peeling away the soaked label one piece at a time.  "He seems well-grounded---a good man.  In order to make a place like this run smoothly, you have to be governed by the secondary process."

"I've afraid that one bounced right on top of my head and flew right over it," Chrissy said with a puzzled look on her face. 

"Well, to run a place like this, you must be capable of postponing gratification of the libido, that psychic energy associated with primitive impulses--- like the craving for wild sex or the desire to display raw, unbridled aggression."  

Chrissy lowered her head, and looked embarrassed.  "I hope you don't think I was hitting on you," she uttered. 

Samuel shifted in his barstool again, nervously, obviously experiencing a little embarrassment of his own. 

"So, I hear there's some type of a seminar on songwriting in a couple of weeks."  When I was a kid, I always wanted to be one of the Buckaroos, back in the day when they were with Buck.  I think I'll bring my guitar.  Playing music is a great form of sublimation, and yes, I'll explain the term before you are in the humiliating situation of having to ask again.  Sublimation is a channeling of raw instinctual energy channeled into something creative and socially acceptable at the same time."

A kid in a cowboy hat yelled across the bar.  "Hey, city slicker!"

Samuel turned his head, apparently "wearing the shoe" as if it fit quite comfortably. 

"Yeah you, you *effin* geek."

"Knock it off, Billy, or I'm going to go get Rockwell," Chrissy warned, in a minatoy, yet solicitous tone.  "I'm sick of you coming in here every week, picking fights like it were the old Blackboard days, and I'm sick of you dressing like some kind of Three Chord Whore wannabe. Show some frickin' respect!" 

"It's okay, I'm quite prepared to defend against these sort of attacks," von Starbuckaroo replied in a conspicuous halcyon tone.  "Young man, you're obviously not familiar with Harry Stack Sullivan's one-genus postulate.  You want to marginalize me according to my age, how I dress, and what you perceive me to be in accordance with your parochial biases.  But like Fromm, Sullivan suggested that the similarities that we, as members of the human species, share---like physical characteristics, the 5 senses, intelligence, but, barely in your case, and the rate at which we mature, a little delayed in your case, our need for company with others, and our need to connect with one another in a socially meaningful manner, far surpass our individual differences." 

Rockwell, having heard the commotion, walked back into the area of the club where his new visitor, and Chrissy sat.  "If you want, I'll talk to him, Rockwell offered in his usual hospitible way." 

"No thank you, sir," Samuel replied.  Once I've won him over, he may be my link to the underground post-punk scene mentioned in Bakosphere's blog the other day, and he may be able to get me free tickets to the Mike Ness performance at the Crystal Palace that Matt's blog over at Bakotopia announced. Folks tell me I'm nothing if not optimistic,"  He smiled sheepishly. 

Rockwell returned the smile, shook his head in utter disbelief, and walked back to the Blackboard stages. 

Homer began to play and Samuel and his new acquaintance made their way to the Blackboard stage.  "Care to dance?" Samuel asked in a surprisingly confident manner.  She grabbed his hand and they headed towards the dance floor.  

"So, this is the Bakersfield Sound,"Samuel thought to himself.  Hmm, I think I'm going to enjoy the ride."

What he didn't know is that he was in for the ride of his life.