Taking place in the summer of 1978, the story follows 18-year-old aspiring music journalist, nicknamed Goldie, tasked with following up-and-coming UK rock band - The Orphans - while they do their first tour of the U.S. New to life on the road, Goldi...
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The record store has always been her safe haven, whether that be Jimmy's or another's. Being surrounded by the tunes of great musicians was an escape. Her anxiety builds, reminding her that she needs to call her dad to regain her sense of sanity. There's been nothing but sensory overload since she's stepped on the bus, between being on tour, listening to the band practice and all five guys asking her to hang out with them on their free day. All the way around, it was too overwhelming (as much as she loved to feel included).
Portland is an unusually tolerant town. She's accompanied by two dogs on leashes — Grimmy's Pig and Stinky Blob — and she's allowed into the establishment without question and peruses the aisles of vinyl.
She struggles to hold onto her stack of records for review as the two gremlins pull on the ends of their tethers. The Ramones "Road to Ruin." Fleetwood Mac's "Rumors." "Going for the One" by Yes. The ding of the store's front entrance pulls her attention. A boy with bleach blonde hair rolls in on a skateboard. His faded, ripped black jeans hang on to their last seam, his dramatic movements making them cling to every last thread. Tattoos scatter under his black tee. As soon as she places her purchases on the counter, the stranger awkwardly maneuvers to pull a stack of flyers out of his large, army-green messenger bag.
"Aye!" The blondie yells to the store's cashier. "Gotta show at Clockwork Joes. Can you pass these out? We want a good crowd tonight." He goes to grab papers out of his bag, but holding his large skateboard causes him to drop almost the entire stack onto the ground. "Ah, shite."
Goldie immediately bends down to help. Black and neon pink scatter across the ground.
"Sorry 'bout that," he says with a thick Irish accent. He fixates his eyes on Goldie. "Got plans tonight?" he asks, handing her one of the papers.
"I don't know yet, really." She grabs his offering and examines what it's advertising. The flyer includes a picture of the boy, the band name THE CREEPS plastered across his face. "This is you, obviously. Are you the singer?"
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"Just the temp drummer. I made the promo, though, so why not make me the face." He laughs to himself, looking her up and down for a moment before continuing. Anyone could tell he was taking a quick assessment of her youthful appearance. "And don't worry. They don't check IDs at the door. What's your name, lass?"
