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I am flying high over Tupelo, Mississippi, with America's hottest band and we are all about to die.
"We shouldn't be here!" shouts Stillwater's effusive lead singer, Jeff Bebe, his drink splashing across his purple shirt. Bebe, 24, was just last night in front of a sold-out crowd at Carnegie Hall in New York City. Now, with the band aboard a plane instead of its normal tour bus, his friendly face exudes nothing so much as pure panic. The airplane takes another dip. Hail pounds the wings.
The members of Stillwater look at one another, their words now taking on a truly black nature. Like the sky outside, everything threatens us in a menacing way. I have been on the road with the band for a week, seven days of fun and chaos and music. But now all of that is the furthest from this newly successful band's thoughts.

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Corporal Punishment said:

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Outstanding.

"Rock 'n' roll can save the world"? "The chicks are great"? I sound like a dick!"

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