In a small cabin during the zombie apocalypse, a man and a woman listen to a transistor radio, playing Don't Stop Believin’ by Journey, on an endless loop.
MAN: (annoyed) Can that radio play anything else?
WOMAN: I don’t think so. That’s the emergency song that comes on when there’s nobody left in the studio. You know, to prevent dead air.
MAN: I get it. I just think it’s an annoying song to have to listen to during a zombie apocalypse.
WOMAN: (rolling her eyes) What would you prefer?
MAN: I dunno. Thriller? At least that’s thematic.
WOMAN: (confused) What’s Thriller?
MAN: (frowning) You know, Thriller. (He does a few steps and jumps of the dance, shrugging his shoulders enthusiastically at the appropriate moments.)
WOMAN: (staring blankly)
MAN: Thriller… Michael Jackson.
WOMAN: Who?
MAN: (confused) What?
WOMAN: Who’s Michael Jackson?
MAN: (incredulously) Who’s Michael Jackson?
WOMAN: Yeah.
MAN: He’s the King of Pop.
WOMAN: (shrugging her shoulders dismissively) We need to reinforce this door.
MAN: No, no, no. Let’s not change the subject. Michael Jackson. (laughing in disbelief) Come on. You know Michael Jackson.
WOMAN: (pulling chairs in front of the door) I really don’t.
MAN: Billie Jean.
WOMAN: (moving a coffee table to blockade the door as well) Don’t know him either.
MAN: No, no. Billie Jean is a Michael Jackson song.
WOMAN: (looping a belt around the door knob) If you say so.
MAN: No, no. Not if I say so. It is.
WOMAN: Okay. Are you going to give me a hand?
MAN: (helping to move the bookshelf in front of the windows) Smooth Criminal.
WOMAN: Sorry?
MAN: Beat It? Bad? Black or White? The Way You Make Me Feel? You must have heard of these.
The zombies start pounding on the door.
WOMAN: (shouting over the pounding) I don’t know his music.
MAN: But it’s Michael Jackson. You know. Little Michael Jackson, of the Jackson Five. A.B.C.? Easy as 1-2-3?
WOMAN: (hammering fresh nails into the planks across the windows) I. Don’t. Know. Him.
MAN: The Girl Is Mine, with Paul McCartney?
WOMAN: (bracing her shoulder against the door) With who?
MAN: (in utter disbelief) What?!?
WOMAN: (straining against the increased pounding from the zombies at the door) Can we drop this?
MAN: (enunciating) Paul McCartney.
WOMAN: (ignoring him in favour of bracing against the door)
MAN: Sir Paul McCartney. An actual Beatle himself.
WOMAN: (being pushed away from the door with the sheer cumulative force of the zombie blows) I don’t know him.
MAN: (counting off on his fingers) Hey Jude? Yesterday? Let It Be? Love Me Do?
WOMAN: I’m not really interested in popular music.
MAN: But these artists transcend music. They’re part of culture. You can’t not know Paul McCartney. Eleanor Rigby? Penny Lane? Band on the Run?
WOMAN: Oh! Paul McCartney?
MAN: (delighted) You’ve got it now.
WOMAN: The lead singer of Wings?
MAN: (sighing, frowning in confusion) Well… I guess.
WOMAN: (pleased, stepping away from the door) Why didn’t you say so? Sure. Jet, Live and Let Die, Maybe I’m Amazed (as the zombies crash through the wooden door) Help!
MAN: No, that was John Lennon, I think.
WOMAN: (being bitten) Who?
Credit Where It’s Due Department: the idea for this sketch was triggered by an improv show I did, based on a premise from Tim Redmond, in which I performed alongside Adel Cox and Isabel Cameron. For the purposes of this piece, I have leant even heavier into the ‘not knowing incredibly famous musical artists’ aspect. Because that’s what tickles me most, and it’s my website.
I’m in another show tomorrow night, if you want to come along.
LOL:)
I remember once there was controversy because BIllie Eilish didn't know who Van Halen were and then someone wrote a satirical article (which I can't find) "Old bloke in nursing home aghast Eddie Van Halen has never heard of Jerry and the Harmonicats" :P