Pitch Perfect: The Quest for Collegiate a Cappella Glory by Mickey Rapkin

Author:Mickey Rapkin [Rapkin, Mickey]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gotham
Published: 0100-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

THE HULLABAHOOS

Wherein the Hullabahoos travel to Los Angeles for winter break 2007 and attempt to (among other things) gain admission to the Playboy Mansion

On a Friday night in January, the Hullabahoos find themselves stuck in traffic. The boys are split between two sets of rent-a-wheels—a twelve-passenger van and a Dodge Caravan a few minutes apart. Not that it matters. The freeway, the fabled 101, may as well be a used-car lot.

Tonight, at the Staples Center in downtown Los Angeles, the Lakers are scheduled to face off against the Orlando Magic in front of twelve thousand fans, including regulars like Jack Nicholson and Tobey Maguire, not to mention the Los Angeles Laker Girls. Our beloved Hullabahoos booked this gig months ago—in fact, this whole trip to Los Angeles was built around their slot singing the national anthem at the Lakers game. (The five-day itinerary includes, among other stops, a gig for UVA alums, a tour of the Disney Concert Hall, and a couple of nights with the all-female a cappella group the USC Sirens.) The gig was Morgan Sword’s baby—and he spent nearly six months trying to wear down the booker for the Lakers, Lisa Estrada. He sent a press kit. He followed up with phone calls. And now, well, here they were, staring down miles of traffic.

It is six-thirty P.M. The Hullabahoos are due to sound-check at seven. Joe Cassara calls the booker. According to Google Maps, he says, the trip is just 9.9 miles. They should still make it, right?

“We can hold the game until seven thirty-two,” she says—a grace period of just two minutes. The Hullabahoos won’t get to sound-check, she says, but that shouldn’t be a problem. It’s happened before. She repeats the time. “Seven thirty-two. That’s the latest you can literally run on.”

The Hullabahoos could see the Staples Center in the distance. After months of anticipation for tonight’s gig, the stadium sits there taunting them. Patrick Lundquist suggested they run there. He was only half kidding.

The Hullabahoos had flown out to Los Angeles three days earlier. And the trip began with some emotional reverence. The founder of the Hullabahoos, Halsted Sullivan—now a television scribe in Los Angeles, last seen writing for ABC’s Carpoolers—agreed to host the group for a couple of nights at his duplex in West Hollywood. He’d even stocked the fridge. Over the years, Halsted has kept up with the Hullabahoos canon, though he hasn’t listened to much a cappella otherwise. “It’s sort of like cleaning up your own baby’s vomit,” he says. “You’d do that, but you wouldn’t clean up someone else’s.” He still has his Hullabahoos robe, by the way. It’s hanging in his bedroom closet. “Just in case,” he says, smiling. On the group’s second night in L.A., Halsted took the Hullabahoos to a karaoke bar in Koreatown. At one point, Joe Whitney, a freshman, turned to Halsted. “Hey,” he said, “I just realized something— you founded the group the year I was born!”

That was not the only time the Hullabahoos would embarrass Halsted that week.

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