Sometime in 2009
The judge rifles through some papers on his bench for the case of Satriani v. Coldplay. The bailiff is motionless against the wall. The court clerk and reporter sit patiently, fingers on typewriters. At the desk of the defendants sit the members of Coldplay with their record companies legal team. At the desk of the plaintiff sits just one man, guitarist Joe Satriani.
Judge: Mr. Satriani? Your closing statement, please.
The entire courtroom is hushed. Reporters from the media, who occupy nearly all of the gallery except for the section immediately behind the defendants (where Gwyneth Paltrow, actress and wife of Coldplay frontman, Chris Martin, sits at the edge of her seat next to her children), remove small notebooks to transcribe Satriani’s statement.
Satriani gets up slowly from the desk. Behind him is a guitar case and amplifier strapped to a red hand truck. He brings the hand truck to the open area before the jury, who watch him with some confusion. Satriani quietly unstraps the items and sets them up. With his amplifier on and guitar strapped to him, Satriani address the court.
Satriani: Thank you, your honor and members of the court. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury:
Satriani begins shredding and noodling upon his custom guitar.
Ten minutes pass. Satriani continues to shred/noodle. The entire courtroom looks on in amazement.
Five minutes pass. Satriani is still shredding and noodling. Sweat pours down his bald head and face.
Another five minutes pass and Satriani, after a four minute, fifty-nine second crescendo, ends his playing. He sets down his guitar, turns off his amplifier, walks back to his desk, removes a towel from the briefcase that sits open on the desk, and wipes his head and face. He then throws the towel back into the briefcase and addresses the court.
Satriani: Thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. The prosecution rests, your honor.
The entire courtroom explodes with laughter. Satriani looks at all of the malicious grins and fingers pointing at him.
Satriani: No. Oh god, no. Not again.
Joe Satriani awakens. He sits up in his bed, looks at the copy of Franz Kafka’s The Trial, which is on the nightstand, and wags his finger disapprovingly. It seems that it was all just a nightmare.
Or was it?
The clock radio which has been on, plays “Viva La Vida” by Coldplay. Something about it grabs his attention. He begins to listen closely and, to his horror, notes similarities to his own song, “If I Could Fly”.
“No. Oh god, no. COLDPLAY! NOOOOOOOOOO!!!”
Guitarist Steve Vai awakens and begins to laugh hysterically at the dream within a dream he just had.
“Hahahaha! Fuckin’ Satriani! Hahahaha! That asshole!”