- Paris -

What Don lacked in musical skill - and that was quite a lot - he made up for in knowledge of and adoration for obscure musical acts from the eighties to the teens. Somehow this earned his bandmates' respect, and so, pulled in the muddy wake of his ideas and taste, the band stumbled from failure to failure among the public, gaining a cult following all the while. They would go on to be one of the most influential bands of their 1990s, not that it would be of any real benefit to them by that point. As it was, this feral band of one odd stranger and four British expats - all coincidentally Liverpudlians - earned some pfennigs and a few easy marks in  smelly clubs by the Elbe and dreamed of better days, occasionally saving up to ride out to a few dates away along with their manager Jens.

"Are you sure we can afford this?" John asked Paul nervously; Paul just glanced at Jens, who glanced at his watch to avoid looking Paul in the eye. "We'll earn an audience…" was all he could offer. The Flat Five - nicknamed for the main characteristic of Don's intriguingly awful performances - laid off of Jens, and a few more hours passed by until their arrival jolted them from half-slumber.
With no budget for roadies, the boys were condemned to lugging their gear into the not-yet-famous Bus Palladium on their own. By the time they were done, they were ready to relax until well after the end of the opener, if only they could.
Just then Pierre Ducreux, the club manager, rushed up to them, bellowing "Get off your asses!! We don't have all night boys! What the hell?" Jens had the unenviable task of both interpreting for his band and negotiating too… "I'm sorry sir, but as far as I know, we have plenty of time until after the opener-"

The manager scoffed. "After the opener?! YOU as the main act?! Ha! Count yourself lucky to be here at all, the other band cancelled… you idiots, how could you not understand?!" Jens had to admit to himself that his French had gotten rusty lately, but wouldn't admit it to Pierre. "Well. We'll play." George shot daggers at him. "We'll. Play," he repeated firmly. The bedraggled Silver Beetles lumbered onto the stage in front of the already gathering crowd and waited for Don's cue as to which to start with. After a bit of consideration, he chose their rowdy rock and rolling take on Negativland's "Christianity is Stupid." "The loudspeaker spoke up and said! The loud-speaker spoke up, and said!" half-crooned half-shouted John and Paul in raucous harmony, piquing the interest of the crowd.