LOGAN LITTLE

DELTA WAYSIDE

WHO ARE MID-RIFF?

the counter-cultural group predicated on selling-out.

it's a bird, it's a plane, it's the business-venture-turned-capitalist-enterprise of new york's wealthiest moguls!

mid-riff is less a band than it is four musicians hired based on their talent, thrown together regardless of chemistry or style, and bamboozled into signing a 10-year record deal. they are quintessential sell-outs, playing the ( symbolic ) part of a controversial and counter-cultural rock band while functioning in the interests of investors.after starfire records threw ludicrous amounts of money into marketing, branding, and networking, the band catapulted to fame more or less overnight, leaving its members struggling to adapt to their newfound lifestyle. known for their exaggerated dress, heavy musical style, and eccentric personalities, mid-riff occupies a space of infamy in the cultural consciousness.

the business is in the band: a venture capitalist's experiment.

MEMBERS
simon taylor-davies	simon says	lead vocalist, rhythm guitarist	the son of starfire record's CEO. the model nepo baby. joined the band to make his daddy proud, and actively works with management to keep mid-riff performing the way that it should be. the not-so-indisputable leader of the band. born and raised in england but pretends to be american. puts on one hell of a convincing new york accent.
giovanni bordelli	gio vain	bass guitarist, backup vocalist	when the pussycat dolls said "when i grow up, i wanna be famous", it was about gio. an exceedingly talented bassist with the ego to match. arguably has the best stage presence out of all them—and knows it. gio believes he should be the lead singer of the band and would do anything in his quest for fame and cultural relevance. hates simon.
connie roote	delta wayside	lead guitarist, kills at the triangle	the troubled but virtuosic savant who keeps everyone on their toes. can't sing and shouldn't be let anywhere near the mic. mid-riff's problem child—and also the only person keeping them consistently relevant by way of scandal. hasn't been seen at band practice in weeks. nobody can figure out what he's looking to get out of this whole thing.
logan licciardello	logan little	drummer, backup vocalist, pianist	guy who isn't cut out for this shit—aka mid-riff's everyman. terminal loverboy. genuinely just wants to make music and live his passion. crumpling under investor expectations and the band's rampant in-fighting. the only reason why gio hasn't killed simon, simon hasn't killed delta, and delta hasn't killed himself.

FOUNDED IN. new york city, new york
LABEL. starfire records
GENRE. glam rock / hair metal ( reference )
ALBUMS.

mid-riff
hotel supernova
new york backlot

SINGLES.

glitter bomb, hotel supernova
red hook terminal, new york backlot
one way ticket, new york backlot

TRIVIA.

all of mid-riff's songs are written by a team of ghostwriters. the lyrics range from gratuitously superficial to overbearingly political, depending on who did the writing.
every band member is expected to go exclusively by his stage name. they must also wear the full makeup/costume combo during any and all public band activities.
the whole band has a fabricated origin story that claims the members grew up with one another in new york city. in reality, only logan and gio are from the area.
all band members are expected to sing live, and delta freestyles his guitar solos during every concert.

CORPORATE BEGINNINGS. it started as a night-out between filthy rich friends, when they began reminiscing on the successes and impacts of the music industry. if a bunch of uneducated, inept musicians could become famous, imagine the level of success that could be achieved by a band founded and managed by experienced businessmen with exponential funds and contacts! so they decided to build a band from the top down rather than from the ground up. instead of marketing a pre-existing group into fame, they decided to optimize the process by selecting the very best musicians they could find. they consolidated their efforts and launched one of the most expensive, expansive, and long-running audition processes ever to hit the music industry.WHY MID-RIFF CAN'T DISSENT. simply put: mid-riff developed its expression and music not in response to or against dominant ideologies but from within it; it is an economic-cultural group that conforms neither to the rebellious subcultures of punk or glam-rock, nor to the traditional tenets of rock ‘n’ roll itself. despite the group’s theatrics and elaborate spectacles of subversion, its adherence to neoliberal values and capitalist production renders it so comically commodified that it is shunned by subcultural and “legitimate” musical paradigms alike. consumerism is no longer about conformity but about "difference"; investors created mid-riff within the glam rock genre because they knew that controversy sells.

CAPITALIST (UN)ORTHODOXY. musicians who auditioned for mid-riff had no idea what they were getting into. the ad that the board of directors put out was discreet: record label looking to start a rock band. several dozen musicians were auditioned for each position, in a process which lasted almost six months and cost investors an obscene amount of money. each person performed individually across a series of genres, then within the rock genre, and finally with a random assortment of other applicants as a band. investors and their advisors spent weeks pooling over recordings and resumes and interviews before finally selecting the four members—none of who had met each other or performed together throughout the audition process.DE-POLITICIZED BANDMATES. members of mid-riff were selected based on musical prowess and personality; however, the personalities were chosen based on how easily they could be influenced by and assimilated into the desired public image, rather than how well they would work together. simon is a control-freak desperate to please his father, gio relishes in shock-value and publicity, delta is barely lucid enough to understand what's happening, and logan is too soft-spoken to stand up for himself. as a band, they are a semi-functional unit held together by a contract and vague desire to make music; as individuals, they diametrically oppose one another and rarely get along.

SEQUINS, SATIN, AND ROCK!

LONELY PLANET BOY

FAN-FAVOURITE, MANAGEMENT-DESPISED: delta wayside—the artist formerly known as connie roote—is mid-riff’s lead guitarist and lead liability. a talented musician whose reality doesn’t conform to the world he’s living in, courtesy of the drugs ( and maybe an ounce of boyish whimsy. ) every day on earth is his first day on earth; there’s no substance he hasn’t tried; all roads lead to after-parties and aspirin. he’s the unreliable narrator! the reliable liar! the diversity hire in a hypnotically caucasian band! delta only loves one thing more than music, and it’s valium. good luck everybody else.

NAME. logan 'louis' licciardello
ALIAS. logan little
AGE. mid-20s
BIRTH DATE. may 22nd
BIRTH PLACE. brooklyn, new york
ETHNICITY. white ( irish/italian-american )
FAMILY. richie licciardello ( father ), rosalie licciardello ( mother ), carmella licciardello ( younger sister ), gianna delugia ( ex-fiancée )
ORIENTATION. closeted pansexual
OCCUPATION. musician, drummer
ACCENT. new jersey
VOICE. low pitch. accented intonations distort vowels and dampen r's / drop g's, resulting in an 'uh' sound at the ends of words ( ie. sister as sistuh ). pronounces double t's as d's ( ie. little as liddle ). drops the 'h' in 'th' ( ie. think as tink )
HAIR. brown, consistently dyed blue-black. frizzy because of the constant dye jobs. naturally curly. worn long, with shaggy bangs. sometimes his brown roots show through.
EYES. brown
HEIGHT. 5'6 ( 5'11 in platforms )
TATTOOS. a cat playing drums on the left bicep

PIERCINGS. earlobes, cartillage
NOTABLE FEATURES. large eyes, round face / boyish features, hair
MENTAL. generalized anxiety disorder and adhd—both unmedicated.
MBTI. isfp, the adventurer
MORAL ALIGNMENT. neutral good
TROPES. only sane man, jack-of-all-trades, skilled but naive, obfuscating stupidity.
POSITIVE TRAITS. honest, good, kind, observant, thoughtful
NEUTRAL TRAITS. awkward, anxious, people pleaser, workaholic
NEGATIVE TRAITS. judgemental, non-confrontational, emotional, cowardly
LIKES. live music, sunsets, those little umbrellas that come in drinks, the smell of lavender, gas station snacks
DISLIKES. chaos, hyper-masculinity, tabloids, helicopters
FEARS. losing himself, succumbing to the rockstar lifestyle
AMBITIONS. self-fulfillment through music
HOBBIES. photography, cooking, sketching shit drawings, hiking

ARC I. default. follows delta's time in mid-riff, from its rise to its fall. the fan favourite for his eccentric personality, unorthodox play style, and accidental status as a symbol of nonconformity. notorious party-goer. probably spends too much time in his stage makeup. this arc focuses heavily on delta's struggles with addiction, and ends with him spiralling to the point of complete atrophy. he can no longer function on a day-to-day basis, and cannot play the guitar the way the band needs him to.

ARC II. management releases delta from his contract—which is a kind way of saying that they fire his ass. logan breaks his contract soon-after, marking the end of mid-riff. with the support of logan, delta goes to rehab. upon completing his stay, he retires from music and spends the next year avoiding the public eye. desperate to stay clean and traumatised by his historical association between music and addiction, he stops playing the guitar entirely.

ARC III. delta returns to minnesota to seek out his mother. this leads to a journey of cultural reconnection, during which he officially enrols with red lake nation and begins to connect with his identity. he becomes an active member of his community, who encourage him to continue playing guitar. delta occasionally features on logan's independent music project, and uses his residual fame to promote indigenous sovereignty and cultural revitalization.

delta has the balance of a newborn deer, and the platform boots don't help. he eats shit at least once per show.a connoiseur of pizza and beer. would've made a great fratboy in another life. knows all the best pizzarias in new york, but he's also kind of gatekeeping them.wears mismatching socks, but it's not a fashion statement. or maybe it is? also doesn't tie his shoe laces xx

TRIVIA

the only member of mid-riff to be openly and unapologetically queer. gay icon but has never once shown up for the community, i fear.champion of verbal irony. everything that delta says sounds like it could be the truth—or just as easily a lie. whether this is intentional is up for debate.

although it's rumoured that mid-riff got its name from delta's propensity to wear cropped shirts, it's got nothing to do with him. the name was decided by management.delta cannot read sheet music, and he plays most of his solos with his eyes closed—a habit from when he was learning to play guitar by ear.the only band member who doesn't sing and has no interest in doing so.

DISCLAIMER. delta's story centers around addiction and substance abuse. because i'm writing from his perspective, these things, throughout all of arc i, will seem like they're being addressed flippantly—but please trust that i am not taking this subject matter lightly, and that i'm exploring this narrative from a point of personal understanding.

LONELY PLANET BOY

NAME. ~~conrad "connie" roote~~
ALIAS. delta wayside
AGE. mid-20s
BIRTH DATE. april 27th
BIRTH PLACE. minneapolis, minnesota
ETHNICITY. mixed ( ojibwe first nation, white )
FAMILY. rose and ernest roote ( grandparents ), conrad roote sr. ( father, deceased ), martha kaghee ( mother )
ORIENTATION. openly pansexual
OCCUPATION. musician, guitarist
ACCENT. minnesotan
VOICE. relatively high pitch. abrasive laugh. over-extends his vowels—particularly o and a. for example, snow becomes snooa and bag becomes bayg. speaks slowly and often trails off mid-thought.
HAIR. black. kept relatively long, past the shoulders. cut into asymetrical, shaggy layers. sometimes wears his bangs on his forehead and other times to the side.
EYES. dark brown
HEIGHT. 6'2 ( 6'6 in platforms )
TATTOOS. multiple randomly dispersed tattoos. the delta sign tattooed across the back of his left hand.
PIERCINGS. earlobes, cartillage, septum

NOTABLE FEATURES. high cheek bones. permanently placid expression. androgynous appearance.
MENTAL. addiction, with particular emphasis on alcohol and prescription medication. depression associated with intergenerational trauma and cultural whitewashing.
MBTI. istp, the virtuoso
MORAL ALIGNMENT. chaotic neutral
TROPES. contagious laughter, the alcoholic, brilliant but lazy, cloudcuckoolander
POSITIVE TRAITS. easygoing, intelligent, imaginative, perceptive
NEUTRAL TRAITS. eccentric, mischievous, scatterbrained, superstitious
NEGATIVE TRAITS. dishonest, lazy, irresponsible, self-destructive, uncooperative
LIKES. live music, pineapples on pizza, classic horror films, beer</3, causing issues
DISLIKES. card games, small towns, snow, authority figures.
FEARS. hurting those he loves, kangaroos, dying alone.
AMBITIONS. vibe~
HOBBIES. making up conspiracy theories, astrology, magic tricks, mixology

TRIVIA

TRIGGER WARNING FOR ANTI-INDIGENOUS RACISM.

according to rose and ernest roote, martha kaghee was a cherokee princess. oh yes, they told connie one night over a bowl of lukewarm spaghettios, your mother was indian royalty. she was a cherokee princess—which makes you a cherokee prince.this was untrue for multiple reasons. for one thing, martha kaghee wasn’t dead. the past tense did not apply to her because she was very much living in the present. but considering all natives are dead natives to their settler neighbours, relegated to fifth-grade histories and scholar’s footnotes and political monoliths, the rootes couldn’t rightly be blamed for talking about martha like she was past-tense news.for another thing, cherokee princesses don’t exist—unless you’re talking beauty contest titles. which no one ever is.and for a third: martha kaghee wasn’t even cherokee. she was ojibwe, and she belonged to the turtle clan, and she lived in red lake nation—four hours away from where the rootes were having dinner. but hey: indian is indian. and at least the boy knew what he was, even if he didn’t know who he was.so connie roote grew up the cherokee prince son of a cherokee princess daughter—which is to say he grew up living in a white man’s fairytale, and whenever the community theatre put on a performance of peter pan, he never really knew if he should relate to peter or tiger lily.

( WHAT MAKES THE RED MAN RED? i don’t know. fuck. stop asking me that. )

but we’re getting ahead of ourselves. let’s back up a bit.connie roote was the only kid in all of insanti, minnesota, who got to have sleep-overs at his grandparents’ place every. single. night. ( and wasn’t it awesome? didn’t he get fresh-baked cookies every morning and a swig of grandpa’s beer every night? didn’t he have one of those shelter mutts—the little ones with the crusty eyes and balding tails? didn’t he get to stay up late and do whatever he wanted, like, all the time? ) whenever kids tried to point out his good fortune, connie would shrug. they weren’t really his grandparents, anyway. they were basically mom and dad. they just happened to be really old.of course he had real parents. there were lots of adults around who still remembered his father from his football days, even—and whenever they met connie, they’d look him up and down and say “you’re conrad’s son? huh. who would’ve guessed.” which was to say that he took after his mother. that he looked just a little too indian to be the conrad junior that his name implied him to be. ( yeah, yeah. i’m a cherokee prince. i get it. that’s what everyone keeps telling me. fuck. )anyway. the rootes didn’t work; they’d been retired for years, and they were living off ernest’s pension plan. they spent their days going to church or the community center or hanging around in grocery store aisles and talking to people. they took connie with them—only that he didn’t like any of these places, and the rootes hardly ever forced the boy to do what he didn’t want to do. so he’d hang around outside kicking pebbles into puddles and talking to all the other dogs that were tied to poles.he met owen slosser on some bleary summer day, tearing phone numbers off the notice board that hung, crooked, beside the grocery store’s cart corral. when he noticed connie staring, he asked him if he had any quarters.

yeah, said connie, sure. i’ve got three.there’s a payphone around the corner. wanna prank call these numbers with me?yeah. sure.

that was basically it for connie and owen. they were inseparable after that. the rootes hardly saw their grandson anymore, because he was always off running the fields with owen, or building bigger and bigger bonfires until the cops came and told them they had to cut it out, or devising devious plans in the slosser basement on how best to terrorize the population of insanti with their quarters and their pay phones.eventually, like lots of kids who grow up in towns where there’s nothing to do except grow old, they decided to make a band. they had no musical direction at all. they didn’t even play instruments. owen wanted to be the singer—which made sense, ‘cause he was always doing all the talking anyway. and connie wanted to play the bass—except that when he told his grandparents and christmas came around, it was a guitar wedged under the tree instead. connie, being neither a complainer nor someone who took his own plans too seriously, picked up the guitar and never looked back.

the slossers could afford vocal lessons for owen, which he diligently attended twice a week after school. because the rootes couldn’t afford to do the same, connie took his lessons from old records that he found pigeoned in a box behind the basement stairs. he closed his eyes and listened, running his fingers experimentally up and down the strings, until the sounds coming out of his guitar matched the sounds coming out of the record player.they practiced every day for eight years … give or take. somewhere along the way they found a drummer—a wild girl named chris, who always wore her hair in a spiky ponytail that shot straight up—and a bassist—a quiet boy named jackson, who came from a family of self-proclaimed jazz musicians who couldn’t carry a single beat between them. they called themselves lutefisk, and they were hot shit in nowhereville, minnesota.but they were sixteen and stupid and too convinced of their own stardom in a town where performing at homecoming was like selling out madison square garden. and with that came the drugs. now, connie and owen had started smoking some years earlier, when connie found a half-burnt cigarette on the ground and told owen he’d give him five bucks if he tried it out. and connie had always been a little too partial towards beer, which was kept and consumed in plenitude in the roote household. but the drugs were different.lutefisk were always invited to parties, and they were always offered booze and smokes in exchange for their presence. except that one day owen accepted a joint, and another day connie took someone’s mom’s adderall, and on a third day chris snorted something that turned out to be flour. they drank in abundance. they burnt out in front of a crowd of their cheering peers, and their degeneracy wasn’t just tolerated—it was encouraged.until the habit got expensive, and connie had to start stealing from his grandparents to afford the next fix. yeah. well. never let it be said that old people don’t notice things. they have all the time in the world to sit by and stare, and when connie got sloppy trying to palm a bill from the household grocery allowance, shit hit the fan.

your mother’s no cherokee princess—she’s a deadbeat addict. didn’t we tell you? she got your dad all hooked up on crack and he walked off a pier while trying to find more. we saved you from her. if she’d had her way, you’d be on a reservation right now! we took you in; we saved you. and this is how you repay us?

( WHAT MAKES THE RED MAN RED? i don’t know. the addiction? i don’t know. fuck. i’m sorry. i don’t know. )

well, connie roote didn’t finish high school after that. rose and ernest sent him off to rehab in minneapolis and told everyone he died. which no one really believed—but if that’s what his own grandparents were saying about him, then he probably deserved it.he got clean. sort of. traded the drugs for a daily pack of cigs and the alcohol for huasca tea. he spent most of his time playing guitar in his room, and eventually started busking for the pigeons in gold medal park. people gave him money for it, too—even though it wasn’t ever really about that. to make ends meet, he ran the projector at a theatre that exclusively showed b-movies or porn, depending on the hour. during runtimes, he wrote songs on the backs of movie posters. and if the seats didn’t sell—which they almost never did—he closed the doors early and used the whole theatre as a practice room.he was only twenty-one when the audition ad for some super secret band started playing in between movies. he ignored it at first—which wasn’t personal. only that he always tended to ignore things the first three times they were said to him. but weeks passed, and the band didn’t find whatever elusive guitarist they were looking to find, and he had just about enough of minneapolis and its fuckass snowsqualls.so connie roote, not being one to take his own plans too seriously, booked a one-way bus ticket to new york—duffel bag in one hand and guitar case in the other. ( what’s the worst thing that could happen: that he doesn’t get the job … or that he does? )