The Devil and Jim Steinman

(With a nod to The Charlie Daniels’ Band)

 

            The room was quiet for the moment.  Earlier Jim was pounding away on a piano at a melody that was eluding him.  Now he simply sat on the piano bench, drinking in the moonlight through the windows and staring absently at some sheets of music.  The chords were correct, the rhythm beautiful, and yet, Jim was not happy.  It just wasn’t right.  He puzzled a bit, but knew he would find the poem as soon as his heart wanted to reveal it. 

            He sighed slightly, and then stretched his arms.  He stood, continuing the stretch.  He hadn’t realized how long he had been sitting at the piano until his aching body reminded him of the hours of sitting there.  He glanced at the clock face to read midnight.  A sharp knock, unusual for even his late night habits, came from the door. 

            He paused, thinking he should ignore it, but curiosity got the better of him, like it usually does.  At the door stood a man in jet-black clothing, trimmed with crimson.  He held a cane with a silver bat’s head handle in one hand and his hat within the other.  Jim had never seen him before in his life, yet anyone who sees him knows who he is immediately.  The Devil himself, straight out of all the stories.  And Jim, being Jim Steinman, simply sighed again.  “I suppose you want to come in?” 

            “That is the way these things work, Jimmy, my boy.”  The Devil’s voice was all black silk and velvet.  Immediately Jim’s thoughts turned to all the things he could do with a voice like that, but a blink of his eye brought him back to the reality at hand.  Jim paused for a bit of dramatic effect, as if considering the matter, then invited him in with a flourish. 

            “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Jim.  Never doubted it.  Oh, what a charming little place.  Exactly the kind of place I would picture such a great songwriter to live.”  His smile held a slight mocking in it, as if he had seen everything before.  He likely had. 

            The rooms were cluttered with sheets of music, pieces of stereo equipment, tapes, CDs, posters, and memorabilia from all sorts of plays, movies, songs, and artists.  It looked liked a small child had thrown a temper tantrum and destroyed a local library.  For Jim, it was a haven against the world; it was a place where he could create from his soul in an environment to match the chaos within him. 

            The Devil stepped through the door, removing his long black coat.  A slight smell of smoke hung in the air as he moved, neither unpleasant nor unexpected.  Jim took his coat and placed it on the back of a chair, then moved some folders from it to offer it to the figure before him.  The Devil smiled politely himself, sitting down and folding his hands. 

            “Is this a business visit or just a social call?” Jim asked as he took a seat. 

            “Oh, a little of both, as usual.  Did you really expect anything less from me?  No?  Didn’t think so.   Oh, what a world you all live in these days.  Theater, movies, rock and roll, so many things to distract you.”  The Devil bent forward, a hungry look in his eyes.  Jim thought he recognized that look quite well. 

            “You see, Jimmy, the world is huge these days.  There are more people in this world than ever before.  More lovers, more loners, more children and more elderly.  And what more do people want in the world than to be entertained?  You know this.  People hunger for it.  People ingest poisons just to have a ‘good time.’  Cheap sex is now a given, a moment’s fancy.  People want to be entertained.  And that is where I come in.

             A little push here, a little shove there, and the masses get what they want.  More and more sensational entertainment.  Oh, most of it is human influenced only; you all don’t need my help that much.  But you work in the music business.  Look at the bands today.  Glorifying in death, rape and murder.  Oh, how I love it.

            But then there is you.  You say you explore the Bermuda Triangle of Love.  Now, there is nothing wrong with a good obsession.  I like a few of them myself.  Sex, drums, rock and roll, I like them.  Like your music with them.  But you see, there is this little problem.  Along the way, you started reminding people of things like real love, loyalty to the one you love, love breaking through to people in the deepest of despair.  Disgusting, Jimmy.  You had so much potential, but I couldn’t quite get you over the edge.”

            “So you are here to take care of that in some form or another, I take it?” Jim smiled pleasantly enough.  The man before him was very charismatic, as the natural charmer would be.  Jim still found himself locking onto that voice, thinking what he could do with The Devil.

            “Ahh, good.  Sharp, that’s another thing I like about you.  You see, Jim, I was once the director of The Celestial Choir.  I was the original horny angel, if you’ll allow me that excess.  Which beings me to my real problem with you.  You seem to be trying to take that title.  People all over the world are calling you the greatest songwriter in existence.  When I am THE original songwriter.  You see, that is what God’s problem was.  I wrote better than He did.  Jealous bastard couldn’t handle it, so He kicked me out.  But I’m getting off the subject at hand. 

            You see, the real problem I have with you is that you are a pretentious son of a bitch who thinks he is better maestro than I am.  Now, normally I let people go ahead and think such things since it generally gives them massive arrogance and pride drags them down to me in the end.  But now and again, it is fun to pick someone out and knock him down a few pegs.  Congratulations, Jimmy, you’re it.”  The Devil smiled again; this time the evil was clearly written on his face.

            “And if I really am better than you?” 

            The Devil’s face broke into a jovial fit, laughing as he sat in the chair.  “You see, dear Jim, you aren’t.  So many have come before you, to lose.  It just can’t be done.  In the end, they have all had to acknowledge that someone was better.  That someone is me.  Always.”

            “If you are so certain, why are you here then?”  Jim said, beginning to listen to the music in his heart again.

            “Why, to get your soul, Jimmy.  Why else does the Devil make an appearance?  I want your soul.  Could use a few more lost souls down in Hell.  Got  a great choir down there.  Could be better, but hey, what kind of quality can you expect to find in Hell?  I was once in charge of The Choir, the biggest in the universe.  And now you think you are up for the job.  Oh, deep down inside you think you can make the angels sing better than I ever could.  And I just can’t allow that.  But I am a good sport about these sort of things.  A fighting chance, if you want, makes the blood boil and then it is so much sweeter.  My, my, my, you still think you do have a chance to prove you are better than me, don’t you?  Ha, ha, delicious.”

            The Devil jumped from his chair in glee, grabbing his coat in a swirl.  He spun around to face Jim again, and his face was now a red mask of emotion.  “You can give me all of your creative spirit now and save us both the trouble, or you can give the stupidity a try.  And I know you, Jimmy, you’ve got to have that pride.  You’ve got to be able to sleep at night saying to yourself that you are better than the Devil.  Let the party begin, then...”

            A snap of the fingers and suddenly the world was black.  Then two spotlights snapped on, each highlighting the loveliest of grand pianos.  Big beautiful black wood and high gloss.  Spectrally beautiful. 

            “A gift if you win, Jimmy, and you’ll be able to play notes on it you never even dreamed of.”  The Devil said with a leer.  “I’ll go first and maybe save you the fruitless effort later.”

            The Devil sat at his bench quickly, and placed his hands over the keyboard.  With the first note it was clear that the Devil was a master of music.  The chords were powerful and then soft; a driving rhythm and a beautiful melody in turns.  The notes were like a thousand angels calling the true name of love.  The song was one of freedom and loss, a story told from before time.  There was no equal, nor could there ever be.

            Jim suddenly found himself sitting on the piano bench, his eyes damp with tears.  The last note of the song was slowly fading away, taking with it the very definition of life.  Jim turned to look lovingly at the piano, knowing it would never be his.  As he stared at the glossy black finish, the darkness seemed to swallow his vision.  Tunneled down to a point, he felt chaos building within him.  He recognized it as the very act of creation, but never had he felt it this strong.  It was a candle burning within him, and it was clearly going to burn him out if he faced it.  To choose defeat or to choose to flare up and burn away into the wind. 

            An abyss loomed before his eyes.  He was on cliff edge, the wind a gale around him and nothing below save whirling shades of blackness.  The darkness of oblivion that represents the chaos of creation, and his only choice was to be defeated and never be able to create again.    And Jim knew what his choice would be; he had felt it from the moment of his birth what his destiny was.   Powder kegs and sparks, the flame of an original sin, and Jim stared at that blackened cliff edge that was the Devil’s own.  To create was death and to admit defeat was impossible.  Spreading his arms wide, Jim Steinman jumped. 

 

10-31-98, G.Matthew King