To John “Jay” Fedigan I owe much of my ability to compose music. I had studied theory, and certainly knew far more music theory than he; indeed, I played quite a few instruments, and he played only the guitar, and didn’t understand the theory and notation for the instrument terribly well when we met (at twelve years old). He, however, wrote his own songs. My efforts to write music to that point were stilted, restricted by some idea about how a song ought to be constructed that had no connection to anything except perhaps Bach chorales and church hymns, in which chords changed with each note. In essence, I apprenticed with him in the art of songwriting, and came to understand much about writing music from watching how he did it. (I mentioned him in this connection some years back, in talking about The Process of learning creative endeavors, for exactly this reason.) On top of that, he had the sort of mellow voice to which people like to listen, and he became a very good guitarist over time. We went our separate ways, largely because he attended the Catholic schools and I the public ones, so we didn’t see much of each other after a while. I always thought he was an excellent musician.

I picked up with Arthur Lee “Artie” Robbins, a very good bass guitarist as eighth graders go who also dabbled in guitar and wrote a few songs. We collaborated on quite a few compositions, and played at pre-teen parties and such for a while, and were quite good friends. Eventually, though, we split up, in this case because I and a good part of the band wanted to move into Christian rock, and Artie was Jewish. We were always close friends, though, and had a great deal of respect for each other as musicians. In fact, when the high school chorus went to Romania just before our senior year, he came along as bass guitarist to my guitar, and did some dazzling things on the instrument.

I never worked with Jim Furey. I was in voice class with him, though, and heard many of the songs he wrote. He could do things with finger picking of which Earl Scruggs probably would have been proud, and made that twelve string of his sing. Jim was strange, but everyone knew he had talent, musical ability and a comic stage presence that made him a natural performer. I remember seeing a number of Catholic Youth Organization shows in which he was featured in comic skits and songs. He had talent.

One day, when none of us had had any contact with each other for longer than we could remember, someone who was to me a complete stranger gave me a call and invited me to play in a band. He was a drummer, and he had access to sound equipment (a big deal in those days). He wanted Jay Fedigan on lead guitar and lead vocals, Jim Furey on rhythm guitar and backup vocals, Artie Robbins on bass, and me on keyboards and backup vocals. He would provide the keyboards (I played, but usually just looked for a real piano if I needed one). Of course I was eager to see what such a band of four of the best musicians I knew (perhaps immodestly including myself, but then, when a complete stranger calls and asks you to be part of a band, you figure he’s got a reason) could accomplish.

We got together. We played a few songs, and they sounded great. We talked a bit about what sorts of things we looked for in a band, what kind of equipment we had and what we needed, and where we would perform. We kicked out some of our own material for consideration, and praised each other’s work to some degree.

Then we went home, and never got together again. To this day, I am uncertain why. Everything had gone well, or so it seemed; but the drummer who had brought us all together apparently decided it was not worth pursuing further, and never called us again.

I’ve watched musicians try to create bands. There seems to be an inherent problem in the effort. Most of those who are good enough to be great have great egos, and have correspondingly great difficulties compromising their vision for the band, the songs, the arrangements–ultimately bands of the best of the best tear themselves apart, unless there is one member whose fame and skill overrides all other egos in competition. Thus the great band with three to six incredible local musicians usually dissolves into three to six mediocre bands each founded and directed by one great musician. Most of the best musicians you knew in high school didn’t make it big not because they weren’t good enough, but (among other reasons) because they couldn’t work with others who were good enough.

A character party is in many ways similar to a band. You bring together several characters who are adventurers, good at what they do. However, unless one of them is so clearly the leader that no one would question this, the party has an inherent instability: each member believes that his ideas are best, that the group should adopt his methods, follow his guidance, go his way. At least, if they are all excellent adventurers, that’s what they think.

The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is from this perspective unlikely. Captain Nemo and Alan Quartermain would have great difficulty working together for any length of time, as both are accustomed to being in charge, giving orders, not taking them, having people follow their lead without question, not having to follow the lead of someone else. The other members of the team are not team players. They are individuals who do what they want, not what someone tells them, because they are accustomed to the notion that their ideas are going to be the best. So as not to pick on one work, it should be noted that The Justice League America should have had similar problems, being a collection of heroes each of whom is quite capable of acting alone and has had very little practice cooperating with others. There is a reason why the All Star football team isn’t made up of all quarterbacks, and it’s more than that not all quarterbacks are good pass receivers or linemen. It may well be that the best football player on nearly every team in the league (particularly in high school) winds up the quarterback, but only the best of the quarterbacks make the All Star team and the rest of the positions are filled with players specialized in each, because the team needs people who can follow the quarterback’s direction.

I noticed with Dungeons & Dragons that eventually the player characters become lords, patriarchs, guildmasters, and other leaders of men. I wondered how, once they had castles and temples and armies and followers, they could continue getting together to go on those simple adventures from which they began. The answer is, they can’t. Maybe you can bring them together for something unusual, something particularly different and special, but those who become leaders and heroes do not make good followers thereafter, and leaders need followers.

In this connection, someone once mentioned to me that it was very difficult to have two cavalier types in the same party. There was something about the design of the class itself that encouraged rivalry, and the characters, and to a degree their players, tended to try to outdo each other. It occurred to me that I had been the party leader of a party that contained two–a samurai called Sheegoka Noar and an anti-paladin by the name of Malacon the Shining Legacy–and that it had not been a problem. Yet on reflection, there was a lot of competition between those two characters, each of whom tried to outdo the other. The great example was undoubtedly the slaying of a fleeing hobgoblin who was first skewered by the charging cavalier’s lance then sliced from it by the samurai’s katana, as each attempted to get the last of the enemy as his kill. One cannot now but help seeing John Rhys-Davies’ Gimli saying to Orlando Bloom’s Legalos regarding the downed Oliphant, “That’s still only one.” Some characters have to compete, and sometimes they have to compete for leadership. That competition can ultimately tear a party to shreds.

There are ways to mitigate this. Hierarchical party structures, in which leaders are also followers of greater leaders, can give each sufficient authority and autonomy to keep the whole functioning together. That, I think, is why my Noar and Malacon did not destroy the party, as my character, a kensai, was a strong leader of the group and gave each of them defined authority as lieutenants. That may be why Legalos and Gimli are able to work together, as there is never any questioning Aragorn’s leadership.

In the main, though, I would expect that the high-level party would go the way of the best musicians band, as each member leaves and forms his own group, in which he can be in charge because all the other members recognize his superior claim. It may well be that the best band, whether of musicians or adventurers, is that one made of all the best individuals; but the one in which those best individuals feel their talents are best recognized is the one in which no one else approaches their abilities.

Next week, something different.

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M. Joseph Young is co-author of Multiverser and Vice President for Development at Valdron Inc. His many contributions to online literature are indexed for convenience, and he looks forward to discussing these things by e-mail or on our Gaming Outpost forums.