Defibrillator, written and read by me, Alex Capraris.I didn't know Big Jamesy that well.He hung about with Macpherson, my flatmate.I'd met him on Christmas Day, when I worked a shift at the 13th Note.He sat on the end of the bar, drinking and drinking,until he threw up over it, watery spew dripping onto the pint glasses on the shelf below.Christmas Day.Thanks, Jamesy.Macpherson was the star of the Glasgow Easy Listening Revival,spinning Klaus Wendeluch and Peterson Lee records in a kipper tie and polyester suit,smelling of Oxfam and Brut for Men.Let's get a band together.It'll be great.Big Jamesy can play guitar.He's really good.Okay.I'll ask Baldy Keith to come down and play.He's got a van as well.So I was back in the basement of the 13th Note, with Big Jamesy, Macpherson and Baldy Keith.We didn't have a name, any songs, or any idea of what we were going to do, other than it was going to bereally heavy.Big Jamesy looked like one of those late Ramones.You know, those guys that came in to play the drums, or the bass when Dee Dee had gone off to rap.Leather jacket, black bowl cut, surly stoop, and malnourished frame.And on drums, it's Benny Ramone!Instantly identifiable, but completely anonymous.We'd set up our gear.Baldy Keith's parents had bought him a huge ostentatious kit with too many toms and one of those backwards cymbals.Macpherson's bass was a beautiful Paddy's Market semi.That shrieked when any amp was turned up over two.I was going to sing, and Big Jamesy brought out his Charaval and plugged it into a luminous yellow Dodd Metal Maniac pedal.Then turned every dial on the Peavey Tranny amp as far to the right as it would go.Then he started.Oh shite. He's a shredder.Shredders are found in every guitar shop across the world.From the age of about 13, they become consumed by World of Warcraft, a fear of females and the desire to move their fingers as quickly and loudly across the fretboard of an electric guitar as is inhumanly possible.Jamesy shredded.Shooting bursts of angry stuttering noise like jets of frustrated spunk from the speaker.Macpherson joined in.Of course he did.He was the most enthusiastic guy I'd ever met.Life's a joke, so let's make sure it's a good one.An ironic knowing good one.He dropped his head and randomly whacked his thick strings.And Baldy Keith went for it.Rolls and rolls and clunky rolls.Complex patterns taught by a ten-pounds-an-hour drum tutor, each ending in a triumph.He was the most enthusiastic guy I'd ever met.A confident blow to the backwards cymbal, each completely disconnected from the bass, which in turn had no way of connecting with the chaos of Jamesy's shreds.At that time I was into Noel Coward.I was the only guy in Glasgow singing with a thirties received pronunciation as a suicidal act of contrary twattery.So I rasped.A feat of witticisms only I would ever appreciate over the sound of insanity at a hundred and forty decibels.Eventually Baldy Keith dropped his sticks and grabbed four cans of Red Stripe from behind the bar.Macpherson was, unsurprisingly, exuberant.I thought there were some great moments in there.All we need now is a name.Big Jamesy had unplugged his lead.But it seemed to him that there was no need for a name.His fingers still shredded.His left hand a malevolent grey spider,skittering to and from the pointed headstock.Defrabulator.What's that, Jamesy?We should call him the band Defrabulator.That's great!What made you think of that?The Santa.The dead Santa and the Defrabulator.You know it.The guy that stays in the bed set up the stair.The Santa.The old guy with the big white beard.Likes a drink.I killed him with my guitar.You know he's always moaning about my practising.Banging on the flair.Pure moaning all the time.Anyways.So I'd been playing for a couple of hours the other daywhen I realised I was just banging on the door.So I goes to open it and he's standing there.His big fat Santa face.Bright red and bits of spit in his beard.Pure *.Just shouting at me.How he's gonna give me a doing.This guy's a total Santa.Must be 70 or something, man.Anyways, like I said.He's totally in my face and going off on onewhen he falls flat on his *.Starts having this mad epi fit.Pure shaking on the floorlike a big fat spazzy Santa.You can't say spazzy, James.It's ignorant.Aye, right.So I didn't know what to doso I just clapped my hands.And I closed the door.And I rolled a spliff and I smoked it.And then I reckoned I shouldmaybe call an ambulance.So I got 10pand it goes to the phone box.But you don't need 10pbecause the 999 calls are free.Anyways.So they tell me to stay in the room.So I go back.But I panic a wee bit.And I think they're gonna find my stash.So I'm hiding my stash when all these guys arrivewearing their bright suits.I watch Santa's shirt open.One guy's blowing in his mouth.The other guy's pumping up and doing on his chest.Totally frantic, man.Totally frantic.Then they get out the machine.The defibrillator.That thing is mad, by the way.I've got it on his chestand pure firing 5000 voltsof electricity through him.Totally mental.Anyways.I think that would bea magic name for a band.Because it would be likewe were totally firing5000 voltsof noise into the earsof the audience.But what happened to the guy, Jamesy?Oh, the Santa wasdead. Took him away.But check this out.Jamesy had his hands in his pocket.When they were blowing in his mouth,he had to take his falsers outand left these behind when they took him away.Jamesy opened his hand to reveal a complete setof pink and white dentures.Everyone agreed thatdefibrillatorwas a magic name for a band.But we neverpracticed again for some reason.You have been listening to Late Night Talesmusic and stories withstaying up for.