Pitch Perfect: The Quest for Collegiate a Cappella Glory (24 page)

The only group to survive the mass deletion campaign was Rockapella. It was tough to argue with the relevance of their legacy as the house band on PBS’s
Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE BEELZEBUBS

Unlike most a cappella groups, the Beelzebubs begin each rehearsal with the historian (an elected position) telling an old Bubs story—some dating back to the group’s founding. These legends cover the derivation of words in the Beelze-lexicon, a continuously updated dictionary of terms the Bubs have invented (and use frequently). Other stories recount road trips of yore. There’s a by-product to all of this self-study—and it’s expectations. When the Bubs traveled to Los Angeles on spring break in March 2007, Doug Terry (who’d organized the trip) had a plan: the Bubs would talk their way onstage during a live taping of CBS’s
Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson
. “We thought it might happen,” Doug says.

Why was he so sure? Because it had happened before.

On May 20, 1999, a Beelzebub named Jeremy Cramer came face-to -face with David Letterman—yes, that David Letterman. The confrontation aired on national television, and though it didn’t last very long, Letterman did manage to get in a few zingers. “Letterman called me a
squirrelly little kid
,” Cramer says.

For all the talk of a late-night war, Jay Leno regularly trounces Letterman in the ratings. In 1999, in an effort to boost market share across the country, Letterman’s people implemented a plan. It was fairly simple: They’d fly hundreds of Bostonians in for the night, give them tickets to the show, and promote it back in Bean Town as Boston Night. (Some eight thousand Bostonians sent postcards to Letterman, hoping to win tickets.) Rob Burnett, an executive producer of
Late Night with David Letterman
, is a Tufts alum. He wanted to do his part for his alma mater, and so he called the Tufts PR office and sent over twenty-five tickets. The university, quite smartly, gave fifteen of those tickets to its best ambassadors—Jeremy Cramer and the Tufts Beelzebubs.

A Bubs performance at Logan Airport—as the New York- bound Letterman flights boarded—was caught by a CBS affiliate. And lo and behold, the Bubs—dressed in Tufts gear, no less— found themselves seated in the front rows of the Ed Sullivan Theater for the taping. That night’s guests: Natalie Portman and the newly reunited J. Geils Band.

Before the show begins, as is customary, Letterman comes out in his gray double-breasted suit. He fiddles with a button. He says hello to the audience, makes a Boston joke, and asks if anyone in the crowd has any questions. A few hands go up. Letterman calls on Jeremy Cramer. “I’m here with the Tufts University Beelzebubs, the university’s oldest all-male a cappella group,” Jeremy says. “Natalie Portman goes to Harvard and we’d really like to serenade her with—”

Letterman abruptly cuts him off. “Shut up, kid,” he says. “I run the show here. I don’t have time for your
a cappella
music.” Letterman wasn’t kidding, Jeremy says. “He was
nasty.
” Jeremy Cramer sits back down with the rest of the Bubs. He’s pretty embarrassed about the whole thing. Oh, had it ended there.

Letterman retreats backstage and the taping is about to begin. Paul Shaffer strikes up the CBS Orchestra. “Live from New York—where everyone in the audience is from Boston!” the announcer says. “It’s the
Late Show with David Letterman
.”

Letterman comes out for the opening monologue and immediately deviates from the script. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ” he says. “Welcome to the show. Had a
fascinating
conversation with a kid from the audience before the show began. ” Here Letterman affects a high-pitched nerd voice. “Ah, yes, Dave, we’re part of an a cappella singing group.
What we’d really like to do is come up onstage and sing for the audience.”
The camera flashes to Jeremy Cramer. Letterman says, “Here’s what you do ... you get Regis to invite you to his show—you can sing all you want.”

The show comes back from commercial break and Letterman is seated at his desk. He wipes his lip with an exaggerated gesture, and starts in again. “Thank you very much,” he says. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to our big Boston show. We’ve been thinking this over—before the program a kid, a frankly, a
squirrelly little kid
stands up, and he says, Well, we’d really rather just sing. And I tried to explain to him, well, we have a show lined up for you already. And I don’t know that there is a position in the show for”—Dave uses air quotes for emphasis— “
a cappella
music.”

Cue audience applause. The camera cuts to Jeremy Cramer, who blows Letterman a kiss. “Not very
Ivy League
, is it,” Letterman says, mimicking the air kiss. “Hi, how you doin? Kind of hip, Beverly Hills a little. So, we’re trying to work these kids into the show, because what television show would be complete without a little”—he pauses again—“a cappella music. Paul, you have any suggestions?”

Letterman is relentless. Between bits about Michael Dukakis, and the Top Ten List—Boston Mayor Thomas Menino read “Things you don’t want to hear from a hot dog vendor outside Fenway Park”—he continues to berate Jeremy Cramer. Letterman jokes with the crowd: “Are the kids ready? Are the kids ready?” The audience is eating it up. All Letterman has to do is say
a cappella
and they lose their lunch. Jeremy cannot believe this is happening. During the commercial break, one of the producers comes over to Jeremy Cramer and the Bubs. He’s asking them whether they can really sing. And the negotiations begin. “The producer would say, Well, maybe we can do something with a crowd shot,” Jeremy says. “But, because we’re the Bubs, we keep pushing.
What if we run out onstage,
that sort of thing.”

Meanwhile, Natalie Portman comes out and does her thing, promoting
Star Wars
. And when the show comes back from commercial, Letterman says to Paul: “We have the brotherhood of music. I’m putting you in charge of the fourteen a cappella singers, all right? You figure something out.”

The show goes to commercial again. Now, the Beelzebubs are looking at one another. Is this going to happen?

Minutes later, Dave says to the audience: “When you have a television show like this, often the best part is when members of the audience beg to be on the show. And that’s the situation we find ourselves in here tonight. And, Paul, you’re taking charge of this. What do you know about the group you are about to present?”

The camera pans to the audience, in time to catch the Bubs jumping up from their seats and running onto the stage. Paul Shaffer’s band plays an E. Jeremy does a quick count-off, two-three -four, and the Bubs launch into the song. The intro sounds a little like this:
Nunga nung a nung a nung nung nunga nung a nung.
It is both amazing—the Bubs are on
Letterman
!— and impossibly embarrassing. They’re dressed, almost uniformly, in ill-fitting Tufts sweatshirts tucked into khakis. The camera zooms in and pans across the group. Paul hasn’t told them how long they should sing, so they just keep going. Eventually, after a minute, the camera cuts to Letterman, who looks confused. “OK there,” he says. “How about that?” The Bubs sing for another few seconds. The camera returns to Letterman. "Ladies and gentlemen. Still going....We’ll be right back with the J. Geils Band.” As the show fades to commercial you can hear Paul Shaffer and the CBS Orchestra pick up “Signed, Sealed, Delivered.”

In 2007, Doug Terry wonders: Could lightning strike twice?

When Matt Michelson pictured spring break with the Beelzebubs—an eleven-day trip to Los Angeles and Mexico—he couldn’t have imagined the scene that awaited him at the Backpackers Paradise Hostel in Inglewood, California. Perhaps the seventeen-dollar -a-night fee should have tipped him off. Though the Web site did describe the place as “centrally located.” (Inglewood is, of course, many things—homicide up thirty-eight percent from 2005 to 2006!—but centrally located? Nope.) Matt had no one to blame for the accommodations but himself. “I booked it,” he says. “My bad.”

The hostel was, judging by the clientele, a stopping-off point for some bizarre mix of Euro tourists and runaway teens. The pool was kept at a warmish temperature (perhaps better hospitable to bacteria and STDs?). An elaborate system of electronic gates had been installed to keep the guests and their automobiles safely inside. No one dared sit in the pleather mechanical massage chair, the one located perilously close to the pool. The hostel’s saving grace was supposed to be the room itself. The receptionist at the Backpackers Paradise had promised the Bubs their own private oversize dorm. But when the Bubs unlocked the door—revealing a long, dank barracks with twelve identical bunk beds—there were two guests already inside. The first was a female Japanese tourist who told the Bubs she’d been living in that room for a month; the second was a hotel maid who’d taken up residence.

“Do we have to stay at this shitty hotel?” Lucas Walker said. The Japanese tourist giggled. Unfortunately the Bubs had prepaid for the hostel—five nights.

A few of the Bubs, making the best of a not-great situation, sidled up to the hostel bar. “Can we have a drinks menu?” Andrew Savini asked the surly Eastern European barmaid. She didn’t move, just stared back at him blankly. Finally, slowly, she spoke. “We have red wine,” she said. “One dollar. White wine—one dollar. Frozen margarita—one dollar. Beer—one dollar.” Pause. “Oh, and da hot dogs.”

“Let me guess,” Andrew said. “One dollar?”

A Rastafarian seated a few stools over suggested the frozen margaritas.

Andrew looked back at the bartender, who suddenly remembered one last item: “Oh, and we have lick-
war
.”

“What?”

“Lick-
war
.” She pointed to a few bottles of bottom-shelf liquor on the mirrored bar behind her.

The next morning the Bubs abruptly checked out of the Backpackers Paradise Hostel and into a nearby econo-chain, negotiating a severance package with the hostel.

When it came time to visit the
Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson
, the Bubs—as planned—made their move. Matt Michelson attempted to negotiate with the producers, much as Jeremy Cramer had done with Letterman’s people back in 1999. But Ferguson’s team was less receptive. And the Bubs were shut down fairly quickly. The Bubs would have to settle for smaller, local numbers—agreeing to sing “Cecelia” for the studio audience before the taping began. If it was any consolation, Craig Ferguson must have heard them from back in his dressing room, because when he came out to deliver his monologue, on air you could hear him whistling “Cecilia.”

The Bubs’ eleven-night tour of the West Coast would include (among other stops) a gig at Disneyland and a detour to Mexico, where they sampled Cuban cigars. Maybe Craig Ferguson hadn’t worked out, but there was another high-profile gig on the Bubs’ docket, this one at a rock club, of all places.

But first there was business to attend to. This may have been spring break, but it was far from a vacation for the Bubs.

It was ten o’clock at night when, just a few days after checking out of the Backpackers, the Bubs locked themselves inside a Super 8 in San Diego for a meeting on
Pandaemonium
, which was scheduled for release five weeks later at Bubs in the Pub, the group’s final show of the year. Ed Boyer had e-mailed a rough mix of the album to Matt Michelson. Tonight, the Bubs would listen together and air any concerns. In a few weeks, Matt and Alexander Katzoukis would fly to San Francisco to mix the album alongside Bill Hare and Ed Boyer, where they could advocate for the group’s interests.

Which is how the Bubs ended up taking this room hostage, comandeering two double beds, a rollaway cot, a handful of standard-issue chairs, and whatever floor space wasn’t taken up with luggage. For a while there, anyway, it was smooth sailing. Though the Bubs played the tracks on Michelson’s laptop, it didn’t sound half bad. Minor elements were missing, like the percussion on “Ruby Falls.” But the Bubs were happy with what they heard. Until, that is, they came to “Come Sail Away.”

It would be seven hours before the Bubs would leave this room.

Before hitting PLAY, Michelson prepared the group. Ed hadn’t had a chance to work on the song yet, which meant parts were still out of tune. Also: The solo hadn’t been recorded yet. Still, the Bubs couldn’t get past the imperfections. It wasn’t just that it was out of tune. The Bubs weren’t sure it had earned its place on the album. Two hours into the argument, Michelson (who was leading the discussion) tabled the talk. The fight over “Mama, I’m Coming Home,” meanwhile, would quickly turn into nothing short of a debate over the soul of
Pandaemonium
. Michelson played two mixes of the song—one with a vocal percussion track and one without. This argument had been raging since Squam Lake in January. Lucas Walker was against using percussion. He felt that dropping the drums here was somehow
progressive
. “The drums don’t sound organic,” Lucas said. “We have a chance to do something no one has ever done before.” Which wasn’t remotely true but certainly sounded good.