Original subtitles

(jazz music)

JOHN: No, David, it doesn't matter

if you're in the forest.

The phrase isn't, "If a tree falls in the forest,

‐can David hear it?" ‐Yeah, it is.

If a tree falls in the forest, can you hear it?

That's me. They're talking about me.

"You" could be anyone.

In fact it doesn't even have to be a human.

I can only be me, John. You know that.

Excuse me. Are you John Hunchman?

‐I am. ‐Uh, my name's Jenna.

I got your name from Kristen Mills,

my best friend.

You found her missing pom‐poms.

Ah, the mystery of the dumbest cheerleader of all time.

‐Sorry? ‐Uh, nothing.

Uh, how can we help you?

My parents make me take piano lessons and‐‐

BOTH: You want us to murder your parents.

‐Uh, I'm afraid we can't. ‐No.

‐I want to take piano lessons. ‐What?

(laughs) Then you're dumb.

I think the man my parents hired

isn't a real piano teacher.

‐Go on. ‐His name is Royce Delorax.

JOHN: Mm‐hmm.

‐(piano keys clunking) ‐Doing great, buddy.

JENNA: He makes me do all this weird stuff to the piano.

(clattering)

This is amazing. Seriously.

You outdid yourself.

JENNA: MY parents don't care because he told them

it's "avant‐garde."

Well, what do you want us to do?

I want you to find out if it's real music.

If it's not, I want my parents' money back.

Hmm, of course. We'll take the case.

Excuse me.

Uh, we'd better get those CDs to go.

(exciting music)

♪♪ ♪♪

So how can we figure out if Jenna's teacher is legit?

You know, I know a lady who could help us,

but we would have to bring a lot of singles.

Singles? Why?

Are we going to Players After Dark?

‐DAVID: No. ‐JOHN: Crotches N' Company?

‐DAVID: No. ‐JOHN: Wet Spots on Sixth.

‐DAVID: No. ‐JOHN: Jay O'Staynes?

‐DAVID: No. ‐JOHN: Lumps Unlimited?

‐DAVID: No. ‐JOHN: Liquid Temptations.

‐DAVID: No. ‐JOHN: Squirt City?

‐DAVID: That closed. ‐JOHN: Dehumanizers!

Or one of the other local strip clubs that I've read about?

No, just bring dollar bills, all right?

Hmm, I always wanted to go to Dehumanizers.

David Purefoy, you've grown.

Are you keeping up with your piano lessons?

No, ma'am, I was seduced by another mistress:

Lady Electric Guitar.

‐Hmm. ‐JOHN: Miss Lee,

I can't believe you taught David piano.

Barely.

What was that awful song you wanted to learn how to play?

Oh, "Shredded Humans" by Cannibal Corpse?

Can you imagine?

I'm teaching Mozart and he's talking about,

"I wanna learn Cannibal Corpse where they sing like"...

[mimics roaring]

Yes, his taste in music is problematic, and guess what?

He still hasn't learned that song.

DAVID: I will, though.

Well, how can I help you boys?

Miss Lee, is there a tradition of musicians

doing unusual things to pianos?

Hmm, John Cage put nails and screws in the strings.

He called it "prepared piano."

[laughs] Uh‐huh.

As in, "Be prepared to hear some fucked up piano?"

‐David! ‐Sorry.

‐(sighs) ‐Give me a single.

Oh, you know Stockhausen wrote concert pieces

where the performer punched the piano.

‐Of course! ‐Whoa.

A public transgression of norms surrounding high culture.

Oh, but mind you,

those composers knew their fundamentals.

Scales, music theory.

Remember Proverbs 1:7?

Fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge

but fools despise wisdom and instruction.

Bible boom.

‐You give me a dollar. ‐Uh‐uh!

Wisdom and instruction must come

before all that other craziness.

What would you have done if you had caught David

‐hitting your piano? ‐Oof.

Oh, dear.

She definitely would have kicked me in these nuts.

(groans)

And may I presume one dollar for each nut?

‐For each of these nuts, yes. ‐All right.

So when Royce Delorax has his students hit pianos,

he could be operating within the western tradition

‐of experimental music. ‐Oh, please.

He's telling these bougie parents

that he's gonna make their kids cultured

and then they just sit around slapping pianos.

I bet he doesn't even know how to play piano, man.

‐He's goofing off. ‐Wait, wait, wait.

David, goofing off, or maybe getting off.

(groans) What?

David, it's time we talked to our mystery pianist.

‐(chuckles) ‐No, don't.

‐I know. ‐But dude,

you know what pianist sounds like, right?

Yes, I know what it sounds like.

It sounds like... ♪♪ Penis ♪♪

Yes, you don't need to tell me.

‐The best word to say. ‐I'm a‐‐I'm a grown man.

Okay, you're right.

It is time that we talked to our mysterious penis.

Yeah, good. Let's go.

‐Our mysterious penis. ‐Yeah, I heard it.

I heard it.

Penis mysteries from the planet Zorkon.

Excuse me. Royce Delorax?

Um, who are you?

I'm John Hunchman, Hunchman Investigations.

This is my associate,

‐Mr. Purefoy. ‐What's up?

Hmm, sorry. I don't talk to cops.

Well, we're not the police.

I mean C. O. P. S. Creepy old pieces of shit.

‐Whoa. ‐It's an acronym.

I have a facility for wordplay as well as music.

Hmm, IRW. I respect wordplay.

Hmm, well, if you'll excuse me, I have a lesson.

‐You're in my way. ‐No, I'm not.

(groans) Yes, you are.

‐No, I'm not. ‐Move, asshole.

‐I shan't, asshole! ‐Stop it, both of you!

Mr. Delorax, W. A. Y. T. Y. S. T. D. P.?

‐Whoa, what are you‐‐ ‐Oh, did you miss that one?

Why are you teaching your students to defile pianos?

‐Oh, wordplay boom! ‐Defile?

Spoken like a true philistine.

‐Picture it, David. ‐Okay.

A young woman sits down at an immaculate piano

and slams her fists into the keys,

slaps it,

then dumps a bunch of junk into it like John Cage.

Treats a Steinway concert grand

like a common filthy garbage can.

Mmm.

You're crazy, the both of you!

Now, leave me alone!

That was weird.

David, what are you doing on Wednesday night?

I'm watching the game 'cause we're playing Gonzaga.

Wrong. We're going to a cage match.

‐JOHN: A John Cage match! ‐DAVID: Holy shit!

She's a beauty, ain't she?

‐How much? ‐Just 60 bucks.

‐Real hickory handle. ‐60 bucks?

‐Goddamn! ‐Whatever.

I have my mom's card.

Oh, sorry. I meant 75.

Say, didn't you buy a hammer from me a couple months ago?

Yeah, my mom told me to get a new one

for the piano recital.

‐Are you building a piano? ‐Smashing it.

Oh, this is a great hammer for smashing.

A steal at $90, which is the actual price.

Please disregard all previous prices.

You know, you seem pretty chill about letting Mr. Sutton

overcharge you for that hammer.

You know why my mom wanted me to get a new hammer?

‐ Mm? ‐ No.

Because she was at the tennis club

and Mrs. Colefax was bragging about how she bought Laurie

a new hammer for the recital.

Huh, a classic case of hammer envy.

Oof.

My mom is worried Laurie Colefax

will have a nicer hammer than me,

and then people with think the Colefax's realty business

is doing better than my dad's, and then he'll lose clients,

and we won't get invited to the mayor's pig‐pick,

and everyone in town will hate us.

So we gotta go back in time and kill Mrs. Colefax.

No, David, there is no time travel.

Yeah, there is. I saw one.

All I wanted was to learn how to play 21 Pilots!

Is that so bad?

‐Yes. ‐We get your point.

I gotta get home so my mom can post a picture

of this dumb hammer on her Facebook.

Right, we'll see you at the recital.

Oh, you know tickets are $20, right?

Whoa, there's a cover charge for this thing?

For everyone. We have to pay, too.

You have to pay to play in your own recital?

Where does all the money go?

Royce says it goes into an artistic integrity fund,

whatever that is.

‐Hmm. ‐Okay.

Well, see you.

Parents are really judging each other over whose kid

has the most glamorous hammer.

This is a new world, bro.

When we were young,

parents just judged each other

by how well their kids played piano.

Exactly.

Can you play the notes on this piece of paper or not?

And if you can't, you are a fraud.

Exactly. David, that's it.

It is?

(piano notes clanging)

♪♪ ♪♪

(applause)

Jasmine, ladies and gentlemen.

Wasn't she exquisite?

Next up, Jenna.

Go on, Jenna! Show them your hammer!

This is ridiculous.

I don't want to.

Jenna, damn it, I paid for those lessons!

‐JOHN: Jenna, don't do it! ‐(all gasping)

I'm sorry we're late.

He wanted to watch the game, and I don't drive.

Oh, um, well, well, well.

If it isn't Inspector Fudge It and Magnum B. O.

(sniffing)

You're interrupting our recital.

WOMAN: Yeah!

FATHER: Now, did they buy a ticket?

Oh, I apologize.

Why don't you play, Mr. Delorax?

Oh, tonight isn't about me.

It's about my students.

Oh, but these good people paid $20 a ticket.

I'm sure they'd love to hear the maestro.

‐WOMAN: Yeah! ‐MAN: That sounds important.

Oh, fine.

Um, this, uh, is, uh, "Study in J‐Minor Fifth"

by Johan Megonzaga.

(piano notes clunking)

(applause)

LEE: What about your fundamentals?

FATHER: Now, did she buy a ticket?

Young man, can you play a scale?

Oh, shit!

Um, erm, well, I will do something better.

(strokes piano keys)

That happened to be all the scales.

‐(all oohing) ‐(applause)

MAN: I'm convinced.

LEE: How about this? Can you play this?

Um, of course I cou‐‐ oh, finger cramp!

‐Call 911! ‐Ladies and gentlemen,

this man doesn't know how to play the piano.

What? Now I don't know what to believe!

And so we are left with two possibilities.

Either he's sexually aroused by young women

‐defiling pianos‐‐ ‐(all groaning)

WOMAN: Yikes.

A fetish he films and distributes online,

which I can't confirm yet because the Wi‐Fi

on my house boat is spotty.

That's too dark. What's the other possibility?

Or he's exploiting your ignorance to make money

by pretending to teach your kids avant‐garde music

and trusting you're too dumb to figure it out.

‐MAN: Wow. ‐Whoa.

So you're either a creep or a scam artist?

MAN: If you're both, I hope you run for president.

These men are lying!

They're TFOS! Totally full of shit!

Ah, yes.

Your facility for word play? (chuckles)

Royce Delorax, now that's a weird name.

Did you know it's also an anagram for Corey Axelrod?

And Corey Axelrod has outstanding warrants.

Wire fraud,

and for ejaculating into a baby grand

in a San Diego piano showroom.

‐MAN: Nasty. ‐Homeboy jizzed on a Steinway.

Oh, I guess my name wordplay was TCBH.

Too clever by half, yes.

Wordplay usually is.

Now we call 911.

(cheers and applause)

‐(indistinct radio chatter) ‐(crashing)

Thanks, guys.

Now maybe my parents will pay for real piano lessons.

‐Arch your fingers, David. ‐My fingers are arched.

Ah, Miss Lee, why don't you teach Jenna?

(gasps) Please?

Mm‐mmm. I'm retired.

‐Plus she's a total fascist. ‐Shut your fucking mouth!

‐Oh, ow! ‐(piano keys clunk)

I owe you a dollar.

In this episode you saw footage of a prepared piano

modified under professional supervision.

That's right, David.

Kids, do not attempt to modify your own piano.

You could damage it.

Remember, if you damage a piano,

Billy Joel will kill you with a dart dipped in divorce.

It's happened.