THE COMPOSERS A narrow lower middle class kitchen in suburban New York. SR there is a refrigerator facing SL.

DS of fridge is a counter with an oven. SL is a counter with drawers and a microwave on top of it. A sink with a rag in it is DSL and a bowl of dog food is on the ground DSR. Scene takes place at 9:47 AM. Enter BIRD and STEVE, two composers, from USR with iPods. BIRD's iPod is raised to his ear. The hallway they entered by is narrow, and they separate upon entering the kitchen. Bird stops SR. STEVE sets his iPod on the counter USR but then walks SL, turns on the faucet and begins to wash his hands. Bird is trying to listen to music over the sound of the water. He is looking upwards and furrowing his brow. Three times he glances over to the source of the offending sound. He then walks over to the counter and turns off the faucet with his free hand, his other still at his ear. He does not make eye contact with STEVE as he returns SR. STEVE dries his hands on the rag. BIRD opens the fridge and looks inside, hands on his hips and leaning back slightly for a moment before closing it. STEVE walks US of BIRD SR and taps him on the shoulder to get his attention. BIRD does not react. STEVE repeats the action. BIRD swats his hand away without turning around. STEVE: Hey, Bird. Beat. Bird. BIRD: Shut up, Steve. STEVE: You shut up. Short pause. Then, STEVE begins tapping BIRD on the shoulder again. BIRD walks away CS, looking down. STEVE stops prodding him. BIRD (not loudly): This music is all wrong. STEVE: Bird. I have a question, Bird. BIRD: What?

STEVE opens the fridge and takes a tall carton of milk out, then bringing it to the counter SL. At no point do the two make eye contact. STEVE: What do you think of my song? STEVE reaches overhead and takes a bowl out from one of two cabinets. He lifts it open with one hand, takes the bowl with the other, and lets it fall shut. BIRD: I'm trying to listen to it. STEVE bops the bowl between his two palms while he speaks. STEVE: Good, so what do you think of it? He loudly places the bowl on the counter US of the milk. He reaches over the microwave and grabs a box of cereal. He shakes it to check how much is left and then places it next to the bowl and un-scrunches the plastic bag inside. BIRD: Shh! STEVE pours cereal in the bowl. STEVE: Bird, what do you think of it? BIRD looks at his iPod briefly to pause it, drops his hand, and faces STEVE, who isn't looking at him. BIRD: What?! STEVE puts the cereal back. STEVE: What do you think of my song? BIRD finally looks over at STEVE. BIRD: Your song? STEVE opens the drawer and takes a spoon. STEVE: Yes, my song. You just told me to write it! You didn't help. BIRD turns to face STEVE. BIRD: No, I mean You wrote this? This is the song you wrote for the TV ad?

STEVE gestures with his spoon. STEVE: Yes. You told me to write a jingle, and you didn't offer to help, so I did it myself. STEVE shakes his head and puts the spoon by the bowl. BIRD: I know I told you to write a jingle. STEVE opens the milk carton. BIRD: This just isn't what I had in mind. STEVE looks over at BIRD and begins to slowly pour the milk. As he speaks, the milk pours faster and glugs vehemently. STEVE looks over his shoulder at BIRD. STEVE: Well then what the hell did you have in mind? STEVE spills the milk. Pause as he attempts to clean it up. He wipes up milk from the counter and floor with a paper towel. BIRD: Not this crap. The bowl of cereal is soaked in milk and STEVE gives up wiping it clean as he only spills more, on his clothes this time. Little milk is left in the bowl. He places the cereal bowl in the sink and turns on the faucet. BIRD: This crap is not what I had in mind. STEVE walks to CS to BIRD, US hand up and reaching for the iPod. STEVE: Give me your iPod. I need to show you the ending. BIRD walks SR. BIRD: I already heard the ending. STEVE: No, you didn't. You never actually listen to my stuff. BIRD faces STEVE again. BIRD: You've got to be kidding me. I was even going to listen to it a second time, to give you a second chance, but then you had to be obnoxious with the water.

STEVE: You never told me to turn it off. STEVE turns and walks back to the faucet, turns it off with his wrist so as not to touch it with his milky hands, and pulls the drain plug. He takes the bowl out and briefly rinses his hands with one more spurt of water from the faucet. He reaches for the rag, but seeing that it is covered in milk, he shakes his hands out. He flicks water at BIRD, who flinches. STEVE wipes his hands on his pants. BIRD puts the iPod on the dry SR counter and looks down at it for a moment while he speaks. BIRD: I don't get how writing this kind of song takes you two days. STEVE: I'm not going to settle for something that isn't my best. BIRD looks up at STEVE again. BIRD: Well if you're going to make everything a huge time investment, why don't you just use the computer? STEVE: I don't care how great your program is. I write my scores by hand. It just looks right. BIRD: Looking 'right' obviously isn't worth it if the price is music like this. STEVE: You're just getting more and more critical of the song. The song is not the problem. As he speaks he walks SR to his iPod. BIRD bars his way. STEVE attempts to nudge BIRD aside, but BIRD does not budge. BIRD: You're right, Steve. You're the problem. STEVE: I'm the problem? STEVE nudges BIRD again, who takes a step US this time and lets STEVE take the iPod from the counter. STEVE:

Steve, I've written about twice as many jingles as you have. I know the Musician's Union appreciates your digital prowess, but that doesn't mean you can claim to be above handmade music. BIRD: Just because I use a computer doesn't mean it isn't handmade. I'm just trying to make it easier. STEVE: There's no easy way out. STEVE waves the iPod in BIRD's face. STEVE: Technology won't make you more creative. BIRD speaks with increasing agitation and exasperation. BIRD: You're not listening! I don't care how creative I am, as long as I can write something better than this! STEVE: You don't care. Well that's good to know. Maybe I don't care what you think about my jingle. BIRD: We're submitting an entry as a team, Steve. You can't just not care. STEVE: If you don't have to care about creativity, why should I care about teamwork? BIRD: Because teamwork makes money. That's what got us here. Everything. From teamwork. Creativity? Creativity got us THIS. This song. STEVE: I'd rather have this song than anything teamwork's ever gotten me. BIRD yanks the iPod from STEVE's hand. BIRD: Well, that includes the iPods. We bought those. STEVE attempts to take it back. STEVE: You've made your point. I am opting to ignore it. BIRD is no longer talking but shouting. BIRD:

There are some things you can't just defy. STEVE: I'm not defying. I'm ignoring. Give it to me. BIRD: Shut up, Steve. Go on my laptop and write a song. You can even keep the title of this one. The title's fine. You just can't make a jingle for a drum company that doesn't have any drums in it. STEVE: It has drums! You just didn't listen to it! BIRD: No it doesn't. BIRD plays the song from the iPod. STEVE: Don't you hear that? It's not exactly a great speaker, but those are drums. BIRD (miming timpani): Steve, those are timpani. STEVE (miming timpani, emphasizing the drumming motions): Bird, timpani are drums. BIRD: But this isn't a symphony! This is supposed to be TV jingle! STEVE: 90% of music on TV is classical. BIRD: I don't care. Go write a less old-fashioned song. STEVE: Why don't you? BIRD: I have to Beat. BIRD (unapologetically): Well, I was listening to this. But if we're not using that, then I can help you write another. STEVE: You make it sound like it wasn't your decision to not use it. BIRD:

It wasn't. It was just so bad that STEVE: I don't want to hear this. I'll write you a goddamn timpani solo, how's that sound? BIRD: That sounds wonderful. Go do that. STEVE: And in the meantime, you'll be listening to this? BIRD: No. I'll write my own. STEVE: How? We only have one laptop. BIRD: I guess I'll take the laptop then. You can record on your iPod. BIRD passes STEVE his iPod. STEVE: My iPod's full. Let me use yours. STEVE reaches for BIRD's iPod on the counter. BIRD blocks his hand. BIRD: No, it isn't. It won't be full if you delete that song. Beat. STEVE: No. BIRD: Fine. Don't. STEVE: Let me use yours. BIRD: No. STEVE: Then we're using this song for the ad. BIRD (shouting): No. You're writing another. By yourself. One that's going to win. You're going to finish by the time I get back from walking Tracy, and that won't be hard because you're going to write it with my computer. And the lyrics are not going to be about suppressed creativity, unless you want to live on the streets.

STEVE: I'd rather write a song with a machine than you. BIRD: So you'll write it. STEVE: No. STEVE begins to exit, stuffing his iPod in his pocket. BIRD walks SL with his iPod. He places it US on the counter but DS of STEVE. He turns on the faucet to gets his hands wet. He turns it back off and flicks water three times at STEVE who is bent over putting on shoes USL. Upon impact STEVE stiffens and does not un-stiffen or flinch until he finishes tying his shoes and turns around. He walks past BIRD, picking up the iPod from the counter. BIRD: Are you deleting every song you ever wrote from my iPod? STEVE does not answer. He puts the iPod under the sink and turns the faucet on. BIRD stares. STEVE leaves the faucet on and walks out the door USL.