We start on a busy city street downtown. Traffic bustles, as do the hordes of pedestrians up and down the streets. We hold outside a tall building, labelled by a huge sign outside as "WANING BROS. RECORDS." As we hold, a black limousine drives into shot and screeches to a halt. The rear passenger door facing us swings open, and Martyn is thrown out to land in a heap on the pavement. The door slams shut and the car speeds off.

Martyn is 23, slim, 5' 12" with spiky brown hair, and a little unkempt looking from his hit with the pavement, dressed in the kind of clothes someone without a big wardrobe wears to try and look smart. In his hand he clutches an open and empty CD case, with "DEMO" labelled in marker on the front. After a beat, another screech of tires is heard O.C, and a CD rolls slowly past him to land at his feet. With a resigned sigh, Martyn picks it up, places it back in the box, and turns to look up at the tall building in front of him.

We follow Martyn as the credits roll around him. He crosses the busy road and bounds up the steps leading to the outside of the building. The security guard eyes him warily as he enters, before talking into his radio.

The receptionist returns to her call. Martyn heads for the elevators. We ride with him to the tenth floor. As he leaves the elevator, we hold on a small security camera positioned in the lift, its red light blinking like a tiny evil eye.

We cut to the security office, where a guard before a wall of TV screens is watching Martyn leave the elevator.

Martyn heads for the office. At the door, he is about to knock when the door flies open and another MUSICIAN, dressed surprisingly similar to Martyn, storms out of the office. He turns in the doorframe to yell back into the room.

A CD labelled "DEMO" with black marker pen flies out of the room, striking the Musician squarely in his forehead. He hits the deck like a sack of potatoes. As Martyn watches, shocked, two OFFICE WORKERS pop up from their cubicles, sigh, and walk over to drag the unfortunate musician O.S.

Martyn jumps as a gruff voice calls him from inside the office. He peers round into the room. BARRINGTON sits behind his desk. Despite his position of power, Barrington is not dressed like a typical executive. He has long, wavy black hair, a lip ring and a jet black suit on with a tasteful red tie. Barrington is tall and well built. He blows a puff of cigar smoke out and motions for Martyn to enter.

Martyn races into the office and hops into a seat opposite Barrington. The door behind him swings slowly closed all by itself. As it slams, Martyn jumps again.

Barrington takes the CD and opens the disk tray on his stereo, which sits beside him on top of the desk. He presses play. We close up on the machinery of the stereo working - the laser glides into places, the CD begins spinning, and we follow an electrical pulse through to the speakers and back out into the office. Two seconds of music are heard before Barrington pauses the CD.

The CD continues. We hear two more seconds before Barrington stops it. Martyn looks a little confused.

Barrington points O.S. We follow his finger to a HUGE pile of CDs that fills one wall almost to the ceiling. It looks extremely precarious, stacked in random piles and heaped on top of one another. One slides out and hits the floor as we watch, a plain CD case labelled "DEMO" in black marker.

Martyn breathes out, looks a little more relaxed.

Barrington stands and begins to pace back and forth in front of the windows in the back wall of his office, waving his hands as he talks, explaining his great vision.

Barrington leans across the desk and offers Martyn his hand. He shakes it, standing himself.

Martyn smiles, so does Barrington. He turns and leaves as another OFFICE WORKER runs into the room past him.

Martyn steps outside the office as the worker swings the door shut.

The door slams. There is a cry of terror and then the sound of hundreds of CD cases labelled "DEMO" in black marker sliding from the wall and burying the unfortunate worker. Martyn shakes his head and walks away with a smile. As he reaches the end of the open plan area, Barrington forces the door open and sticks his head out into the office.

Martyn steps out of the elevator and back onto the ground floor, where he is immediately grabbed by a bunch of security guards. He struggles as they drag him across the lobby towards the front doors.

Martyn looks down. He is holding his demo CD. It is cracked from when it was thrown from the car earlier. He looks up at the guards again, whose steely eyes mean trouble.

We cut to a worm's eye view of the outside of the building as Martyn is thrown into the air by the guards. He sails past the camera with a shout, his arms flailing, until he lands O.S. with a thump. After a beat, his CD flies past after him. There is a thunk as it hits him.

Martyn heads back home to the Wavelength HQ, which is an average flat in an average neighbourhood. He greets various people as he heads up the stairs to the fourth floor. Sounds of various instruments being tuned up and cranking out warm up riffs can be heard up the stairs. Martyn gets to the top and heads for the door to room 401, unlocking it and stepping inside.

The other members of the band are all here: SARAH, who is performing vocal warm up exercises by the apartments window, and is 25, same height as Martyn with wavy black shoulder length hair, wearing a floor length black sparkly dress; STEVEN, sat cross legged on the floor next to a guitar amp and a stack of effects units, fiddling around with a large circuit board that appears to be part of one of the units, who is 24, average height, wiry frame, with neck length parted hair and a pointy moustache/beard combo, wearing an obscure industrial band's t-shirt, combats and a baseball cap; JOHN, who is loading things into his keyboard stand while absent mindedly flicking through channels on the TV, who is 23, tall, well built with shorter parted black hair, wearing a NIN hooded top and combats; NEIL, who is restringing his bass guitar, the youngest at 21, 5' 9" but very thin, with big brown eyes and slicked parted black hair, but smartly dressed in expensive looking black trousers and a grey shirt; and JIM, whose drum kit sits in several pieces around him as he plays furiously on the Playstation in the other corner of the room, who is 23, 6', well built with a floppy brown hairdo and big, mischievously glinting eyes. Jim wears a pair of faded jeans and a plain red t-shirt. The apartment is sparsely furnished but it is all these guys need - guitars, keyboards, amps and drum kits take up most of the space. The floor is bare except for odd patches of rug, and there are two large, squashy sofas. The general detritus of six twentysomethings living together covers every available surface - magazines, food wrappers, videos, CD cases and the like. As Martyn enters they all stop their fiddling and turn to look expectantly at him.

They all turn to look. Martyn holds up the (now pretty battered) demo CD.

Dissolve as Martyn explains things to the outside of the Waning Bros. building, accelerated time photography to fast forward two and a half hours. As night falls, the building and those around it gradually light up for the night, and a stream of people head inside - the other bands and their entourages. The accelerated time shot stops as we watch the Wavelength tour bus, a plain black minivan with the band's logo on the side, pull up at the entrance to the underground parking lot at the side of the building. A security barrier and guard stop the bus at the entrance, and Martyn winds the window down to address the guard.

The barrier lifts and the bus drives inside. Inside the tour bus, we see that the six members are quite cramped with their equipment squeezed in as well, but are upbeat and chatting about what to expect. Martyn parks the bus next to a line of similar minivans, and the band slide the side doors open and climb out. Two uniformed Waning Bros. staff come over to help them unload. A large elevator can be seen about ten metres away, and the lift doors are just closing on another band, five guys looking like rockers. The skin on their drum kit can be read, and it says "Southern Voodoo."

One of the show's organisers, a thirty year old brunette woman called MADELINE, walks over. She is tall, slim and dressed in expensive jeans and a CK top - your standard outfit for a suit in "casuals." She holds a clipboard and takes down the details of the band. As she talks to them, an old, beaten up bus coughs and splutters its way in and parks up next to the Wavelength bus. Martyn and Steven walk round to see who the other band is, but the van's panels are blank. The engine backfires a few times then comes to a stop, and the van's doors are thrown open. Smoke pours out from the inside, and the members of UNDERDOG step out, coughing and trying to waft away the fumes.

Alex is the same height as Martyn but a little stockier, with short spiky black hair and glasses, wearing all black. Simon is tall, wiry and sporting a brown closely shaven head, with the bombed out look of someone whose nervous system has seen better days. Simon wears a brown leather jacket with a blue t-shirt and black jeans. Ian is short and thin, with closely cropped black hair and glasses, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Rob is Martyn's height, pretty skinny, and dressed in a garish clash of t-shirt, long sleeve and bermuda shirt. Matthew is short and of average build, with very curly blonde hair and a big baggy jumper on over his jeans.

As if to compliment him, the Underdog bus groans once and then collapses down as its wheels fall off. The bus seems to sag visibly, its spirit leaving once and for all.

The unloaders come over and help Underdog get their stuff out, before the two bands and their equipment are helped into the lift and sent up to the stage floor.

The doors open and we are greeted with a large room and a stage at one end roughly six feet off the ground. There is a dazzling array of lights bathing the stage in several different colours as the technicians play around and test things out, and there is a buzz of voices and activity as the six other bands sort themselves out. Two EXECUTIVES, trying to dress smart and official, yet still "trendy," walk over. The first, BLACKSHAW, wearing a Pearl Jam "Ten" cap on, shakes the hands of Alex and Martyn enthusiastically. The other, PETE, looks on with a roll of his eyes at his colleague and greets the other band members.

The two bands lug their equipment over towards the stage, glancing around at the crowd of people in front of it as they pass. The other six bands are formed into separate groups, and then there are twenty or so executives and office staff milling around and chatting to the bands. From the equipment cases and drum skins, we see SOUTHERN VOODOO again, then four goth chicks who are HAIKU, next to four long-haired metalheads called SPITBOX, followed by five glam rock types called DABROWSKI, then three punks who are HAIL TO THE KING, and finally two girls and two boys who all look like very out-of-place trendies, called REVOLUTION BABY. Underdog and Wavelength dump their stuff down and begin taking guitars out of cases, setting up keyboard stands, etc. Scanning around, Martyn catches the eye of one of the girls from Haiku, who smiles as her bandmates talk around her. Martyn grins back and waves. She waves back. She is short and pretty, slim with long, curly blonde hair. Dressed like her bandmates in a mix of blacks and reds, she looks good. Martyn keeps his eye on her for a beat, but then he is tapped on the shoulder by Steven, and the two of them help Jim unload his drum kit. Martyn glances back, but the girl and her band are now busy talking to one of the executives. Blackshaw and Madeline step onto the stage. Blackshaw taps one of the three microphones set up, causing a feedback whine which makes everyone wince in pain.

Blackshaw waits for the applause. After a long beat, the suits get the message and start clapping, followed by the bands. Blackshaw sighs with relief.

She points, and we follow her aim to a long row of tables against one wall. Lots of plates of food, beer and drink are set up there. Without a second's hesitation, every member of the other bands heads for the free food and beer, leaving only the executives in front of the stage. They look at one another for a second, then head for the food too.

Wavelength plug in, tune up and let rip, playing one of their songs. We cut over to the refreshments stand, where the other bands, armed with their free stuff, are leaning against the tables and watching the band play. Everyone looks impressed apart from Dabrowksi and Southern Voodoo. Wavelength finish and Underdog step up, playing their main song. Again, Dabrowksi and Southern Voodoo look bored. They want to show the execs how good they are and show up the other bands. Wavelength and Underdog both get a round of applause when they finish. Blackshaw calls all the bands back over.

The other bands manage a round of sporting applause as Voodoo take their guitars up and start playing. We watch one song of each band, dissolving from one to the next and playing about a minute of each. Voodoo play a bouncy, RATM style number that goes down well. Dabrowski play a painfully waily heavy indie song that almost gets booed. Haiku hit out with a rocky goth song, punctuated by excellent guitar solos. Spitbox thrash out a fast speed metal tune which isn't bad, but a bit too extreme for what the executives want. Revolution Baby, looking very uncomfortable, turn out a radio friendly Transvision Vamp-esque number, which is met with very weak applause afterwards. Hail To The King get through three songs in five minutes flat, 100% pure punk. Underdog's U2 style song is a big hit, as is Wavelength's NIN sounding tune. When all the bands have finished, they take up positions before the stage again as Blackshaw and Madeline take to the stage again.

The crowd of musicians head back to the free food as the suits huddle and talk to each other, with Madeline and Blackshaw making marks on their clipboards as they talk. After the marks have been made, Madeline takes the stage one last time.

Haiku whoop with delight and are congratulated by the other bands, except Dabrowski, who sulk and start loading up with the rest of the free food and drink to compensate themselves.

Cheers. Applause. Spitbox, Revolution Baby and Hail To The King are gracious in defeat. Southern Voodoo look smug and pleased, like this was just a formality. Alex and Martyn congratulate each other.

The bands pack up their stuff. Martyn manoeuvres himself so he can bump into the girl from Haiku he was smiling at earlier. She is hefting up the bass drum from her kit into its bag when Martyn nudges her. She almost drops it, but he helps her grab it.

Kate waves with a quick, shy glance up. She's a lot more covered up than the other girls, and doesn't say much either. Kate is short and a little stocky with curly ginger hair, dressed in black and not showing too much of her pale skin. Emily, however, is hot and knows it. Dressed to kill in a PVC miniskirt and bust-flattering black and white top, her shoulder-length black hair floats from side to side as she whips her head round, keeping an eye on everything. Jesse is tall and another redhead, in a short black leather coat and a long skirt underneath.

Back with Underdog, Alex and Ian wander over to meet the Southern Voodoo boys. Lawrence is a little taller than Martyn and well built with it, with short, curly brown hair and the kind of good looks that leaves babies all over the world. Lawrence is dressed in the ever-vague "smart casual" way, with a swish leather jacket and smart trousers and a shirt on. Jeffries, average height with very pale blonde hair, is in sports gear, brand name tops and tracksuit bottoms. Bill is tall at 6' 3" and powerfully packed, dressed plainly in a tight-fitting t-shirt and jeans. Mike is shorter than his fellows but you can tell he works out. As classically handsome as Lawrence, he dresses like an extra from Goodfellas. Rich is a physically unattractive ginger guy, in the band to make his bandmates look more visually appealing. Tall and stocky, he shares Jeffries's taste in sports gear.

Back with Southern Voodoo, packed up and enjoying a post-gig smoke.

Cut to the conference room. A long, rectangular table with three chairs at its head and a map of the States on the wall behind it. Framed photos of the company's big name artists and their platinum records adorn the walls. The four bands file in and take their seats, admiring the rock and roll heritage on display. Martyn and Alicia end up opposite one another, grinning like schoolkids as they chat to their bandmates. The doors open again as Barrington walks in, followed by BLAKE and KENNY, the other two Chief Executives. The bands quieten down as the three suits take their seats. Blake is tall and thin, while Kenny is short and dumpy.

The bands exchange satisfied looks with one another. Blake and Kenny bring up manilla folders and start passing them down the table to each of the bands.

Barrington stands and paces around the room, behind the chairs, smoking a cigar as he talks.

Nods and murmurs of assent. Everyone seems satisfied.

The bands get up and shuffle out of the room, chatting to one another and shaking hands with Barrington and the other two suits on their way out. When they have all left, the three suits sit down again and relax.

Dissolve to a nightclub, and a big party. The four winning bands have been joined by Hail To The King and Spitbox, and they are all tearing the place up. Rock music blasts out of the places speakers as band members dance, drink and try to get their hands on any ladies (or guys, in Jesse's case). Martyn is trying to speak to Alicia but they can't hear each other over the noise. He gives up, and motions for the two of them to head outside. Steven and Jim watch them go, then Jim laughs as Steven shakes his head and hands over some money - clearly the bets are already on.

Outside, Martyn and Alicia sit on beer crates outside the club's rear entrance. It is halfway down an alley, and we can see the street at the far end of it. Alicia smokes, both are drinking bottled beers.

They smile at each other. The air of flirting gets a lot more intense all of a sudden. There's an obvious, mutual attraction between these two. Alicia stubs out her cigarette and eyes Martyn up, looking like she wants to kiss him, when - BEEP BEEP BEEP! Her beeper goes off, killing the moment. They both laugh at the irony of it all. Martyn stands, helps Alicia to her feet.

She swigs the last of her beer, throws her bottle O.S. with a smash, then jogs down the alley back out onto the street. Martyn goes to head back inside, but stops in the doorway to watch her go. As she gets to the end of the alley, she turns, sees him, smiles, and blows him a kiss. Martyn catches it and goes inside.

Inside the club, the music has slowed down a little. Most of the musicians are now very thoroughly wasted, slowdancing with whoever is in reach or propping up the bar. Martyn rejoins his band members, sat at a table against one wall except for Sarah and Steven, the group's couple, who dance over on the dancefloor. Martyn sits back down and is passed a beer by Jim.

Neil is slapped good naturedly by the others. Slow fade to:

Morning. Wavelength are tucked up in their beds at the B&B, dozing quietly. Martyn and Jim are already up, sitting out on the room's balcony watching the sunrise, sipping from huge coffee mugs. We cut to see them from outside the balcony, then pan across the other rooms. All the bands are on the same floor. Underdog are next door, then Voodoo, then Haiku. Underdog are all asleep, still blasted from last night's partying. Voodoo are all up, getting ready for the meeting back at the record company. In Haiku's room, Alicia and Kate sit out on the balcony, sipping coffee like Martyn and Jim. We cut between the two balconies as the conversation flows.

The girls laugh and carry on drinking their coffee, before Emily calls them and they go back inside. Back to Jim and Martyn.

They go back inside. Lawrence, in the room next door, pokes his head round the balcony as they go.

The parking lot of the Waning Bros. building. The bands are assembled in various states of alertness, with Underdog looking the worse for wear, clad in sunglasses and displaying messy bedhead hairdos. Haiku are neatly turned out, as are Southern Voodoo. Wavelength look relaxed, joking with members of Underdog as they wait for the record company staff to arrive. They are standing next to four minivans and their trailers, each displaying the logo of the band they serve - black for Haiku, blue for Wa