𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

✿︎ 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐨 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐝 ✿︎

─┈▨⃟⁕✺⃟ ݆݅༞ ✿°.•ꦿ•.°✿ ݆݅༞✺⃟⁕▨⃟┈─

─┈▨⃟⁕✺⃟ ݆݅༞ ✿°.•ꦿ•.°✿ ݆݅༞✺⃟⁕▨⃟┈─
I opened the door and picked up the newspaper lying on the front step. My boyfriend, Michael, was currently at rehearsal with his band, The Monkees.
I closed the door and sat on the couch to see what today's paper had to bring. What made the front page shocked me.

"Monkees are Frauds?" The newspaper read. "Oh, no," I said a loud, "Michael will not be happy to hear this."

The Monkees didn't have much control over their music. They weren't allowed to play instruments on any of their albums, but that would soon be coming to an end. They were making their album Headquarters after finally getting musical rights, plus have been giving tours all over America. The reason this rumour was happening had made no sense to me. It was half true, half false, as much as I hate to admit it.

"Y/N! I'm home!" I heard Mike say as the door shut. "Y/N?"
Mike set his things on the kitchen counter before he noticed me in the living room. He smiled and gave me a kiss.

"How was your day, honey?" I asked as I hid the newspaper behind my back.

"Same as always. How was yours?"

"Same as always," I repeated what he had said, laughing nervously. I backed away slowly, causing him to give me a look of confusion.

"What's wrong?" He asked, walking towards me. I backed away again, clutching the newspaper tightly in my hands.

"Nothing's wrong!" I said nervously. He looked behind me and noticed that I was holding something, so he quickly reached behind me and grabbed it. "Michael, before you get mad..."

"'Monkees are Frauds'?! This is ridiculous, I'm not going to tolerate any of this." His attitude changed immediately as he threw the newspaper on the floor, walking towards the bathroom.

"Michael, please. I-"

"No, Y/N! We both know damn well that we will play our own instruments. That stupid Don Kirchner is the one controlling all of this. That's why I got out of the contract. The rumours will soon be proved wrong when we get this album done." He slammed the bathroom door.
I sighed and sat on the couch, placing my head in my hands. I didn't want Mike to feel this way, since he worked so hard, but it seemed as if the press was ignoring that.
I stood up, went into the kitchen and poured myself a drink. I waited for Mike to come out of the bathroom, and in the meantime, I stood at the kitchen counter thinking about Mike's problem.
Soon enough, Mike came out of the bathroom in his pajamas, as nighttime was nearing. The sun was setting, and there I was, feeling horrible for Mike. He saw me looking very stressed out, so he came into the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my neck gently.
"I'm sorry I yelled at ya, angel. It isn't you, it's the stupid press. Let's not talk about this anymore, alright? The problem will be solved soon enough."
I smiled at him and placed my glass in the sink.

"Thanks, Mike. I get it, I just feel bad for you. I love you."

"I love you too, angel."

2 years later

"This is absolutely ridiculous, Y/N! Even after Headquarters, and Pieces, Aquarius, Capricorn and Jones, AND the Birds, The Bees, and The Monkees, they STILL do not believe we play our own music! It's been two years, why can't they accept the fact that we aren't a TV show band anymore, we are real people in a real band!" Mike said as he stared at the newspaper, once again with rumours of the Monkees not playing their own music.
Mike and I had been married about 3 months earlier, and he had been less focused on music lately so that we could spend time together. I looked at him, feeling sad and deja vu, since the same exact thing had happened 2 years earlier.
"You know what? I'm gonna write a song about this. It's gonna be really good, and I'll make sure we actually play on this one, as we do all of them. I'm gonna start now!" He jumped off the couch just as excited as a little school boy. I smiled, hoping that this would stop the rumours and people would finally accept that they were not a fake band.
I stayed in the living room watching films while Mike was in our bedroom writing his song. About 2 hours later, Mike came out of our room to show me what he had written.
"This is what I got. Let me know if you like it." He smiled as he handed me the paper. "I also added some things about you in there, since I love you too much to not include you in the song." He winked.

"Thank you, Mike." I said, smiling as I started to read the paper. It read:

Hey, hey, mercy woman
Plays a song and no-one listens
I need help I'm falling again
Play the drum a little louder
Tell me I can live without her
If I only listen to the band
Listen to the band!
Weren't they good?
They made me happy
I think I can make it alone
Oh, mercy woman
Plays a song and no-one listens
I need help I'm falling again
Play the drum a little bit louder
Tell them they can live without her
If they only listen to the band
Listen to the band!
Now weren't they good?
They made me happy
I think I can make it alone
Oh, woman
Plays a song and no-one listens
I need help I'm falling again
C'mon, play the drums just a little bit louder
Tell us we can live without her
Now that we have listened to the band
Listen to the band!

"Mike, I love it!" I said, planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, darling." He answered, smiling, "maybe if the guys like it, we can play this on that TV event we're doing next year."

"Yeah, that's a good idea!"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Mike."

About 3 months later, The Monkees had a TV special aired titled 33 ⅓ Revolutions Per Monkee, which Mike and the others performed the song, titled Listen To The Band. As Mike played his guitar and sang, Davy playing tambourine, Peter on keyboards and Micky on drums, Micky held up a sign saying "he's really playing this!" As I watched this air on television, I smiled to myself, hoping that the hard work my husband and his friends put into their music was no longer going to be put down as effortless.