I can't believe I'm here. Backstage at the Battle of the Bands competition.

Me, little old Karl Smith, a humble trombonist, the air feels electric and it's not just because

of that guitar. All the other bands are huddled together, tuning their instruments, warming

up and eyeing us off. Oh, well, look at the audience. Everyone's bursting with excitement

to hear the music take in the spectacle and find out which band will be crowned the best.

Personally, I hope it's my jazz band, the Rambunctious Funk Kids featuring me on the trombone.

And here comes the floutist with the moustist, Molly, Shibiribapab, layers of tune on your

fallute to tut tut, M dog. Whoa, whoa, that was less of a tune on your flute and more of a guttural

scream. Sorry, Karl, I just saw our rivals, the whimpering banjos. The 18-piece folk and country band,

blah, they're always up to something. Their lead singer Bladen will do anything to win.

Everyone knows the Battle of the Bands is going to come down to them and us.

Them, the buff headbrows on the banjos. Versus us, a tenacious jazz band who loves to keep the

audience surprised by mixing up melodies and time signatures. Shibiribapab!

Karl's stopping weird and over-describing jazz.

Sorry. So what are the whimpering banjos do this time?

Oh, just now they went a step too far. When I walked past their rehearsal space,

they laughed at my fedora. And then they called out and said that our jazz was lame and we're 100%

going to lose. What? That is so mean, Molly. Also, your fedora is styling.

I know. Thank you. I'm going to go back there and tell them a thing or two about how awful

folk music is. Whoa, whoa, whoa. No way. You can't do that.

But they started it. I have to get back at them, give them a piece of my jazzy, jazzy mind.

Today, on Shorten Curly, pay back.

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