PUSH THE ORANGE BUTTON TO PLAY MUSIC.
01 Shiva_The Antlers by Supac
The strains of the keyboard, guitar and drums entered the space, empowering the three men who were creating the sounds wafting through the air. The trio, visually different in size and coloring, pushed out a polished and united sound. Two sat in front of their instruments. One at a drum set, and one in a chair. In his chair, his body was hunched over a guitar and his face was parallel to a high quality microphone borrowed from a reputable place of music production. The second shifted his weight easily in front of his drums. He held his pale, wooden sticks gently, and tapped out the pace of the song. The third was standing at a keyboard and his long, lanky frame took up most of the vertical height in the small apartment. They assembled in this routine for the past six months, writing, practicing and recording, and finally they were starting to sound right.
(lyric 0:39)
Suddenly every machine stopped at once
And the monitors beeped the last time.
Hundreds of thousands of hospital beds
And all of them empty but mine.
Sang the dark, curly-haired man in a small room lined with foam to limit the diffusion of the sound waves beyond the apartment. His eyes were closed as he sang. An image of the woman who was the subject of the song entered his head. His eyes widened and the image erased when he heard a warbling pitch emanating from the keyboard. His bright blue eyes shifted behind him to his keyboard player, a long-haired blonde whose tall frame was now bent over the keys like an exotic African tipping bird. When their eyes met, the blonde bird knew what adjustment to make and lifted his right hand to the controls as his left hand continued to play the simple core melody of the song.
Gabe nodded at long-haired Adam after the warbling disappeared, and his eyelids re-closed, covering his electric blue eyes. The image re-appeared. He couldn't concentrate on that. He opened his yes. His gaze floated along the walls of the small studio apartment in Williamsburg.
It wasn't his. He didn't really have a place to live anymore, other than his parents' place in Connecticut, which he bounced back and forth from when he couldn't find a couch to crash on. The walls were filled of pictures of the blonde Adam and his girlfriend. It was their place. Some of the pictures were of them in the apartment -- happy, smiley pictures.
The words to the song were coming out on autopilot. He closed his eyes again. Seeing the happy, smiley pictures just made him long for the image that he often tried to shake out of his head. The gentle laps of the cymbal and rim of the drum kept him on pace with the melody. His head began to sway with the beat.
Jack, the drummer, was wedged in a corner of the room with his seat half in the hallway closet. His steady hand calmly continued the pace. His close-shaved head had little droplets of sweat that reflected the light of the sunny, fall afternoon. It was a long day of recording for the group.
(lyric 1:40)
You checked yourself out when you put me to bed,
And tore that old band off your wrist.
But you came back to see me for a minute or less,
And left me your ring in my fist.
My hair started growing, my face became yours,
My femur was breaking in half.
The sensation was scissors and too much to scream,
So instead, I just started to laugh.
* * * *
Music streamed through Michael's earphones as he spliced the footage from a show with the boys last week. He sat in his office a few neighborhoods away, hard at work trying to create ample buzz around his band of friends. On his screen he hit the zoom button to and got a close up of a skinnier more sallow version of Gabe's face.
"He looks better with each week," Michael thought. "It's been almost a year."
He sighed.
"Now if they can just finish the fucking EP, maybe we can get him busy enough with shows to distract him from the madness of the past year. Poor son of a bitch."
(lyric 2:47)
Suddenly every machine stopped at once
And the monitors beeped the last time.
Hundreds of thousands of hospital beds
And all of them empty but mine.
The music faded out to a gentle applause in The Living Room, a small bar and music venue in the Lower East Side of New York City.
Michael hit the Command and Save button on his Apple Powerbook and iMovie responded with a progress bar to save the footage. He opened a new tab in his browser and typed "youtube.com" in the bar on top. He navigated to where he could upload the video, and began the simple process. He filled in the video details and waiting. As he was about to open another tab in his browser, a Gmail alert floated up in the corner of his screen.
"Replacement Opening Act needed for The Dark Keys," it read.
"No fucking way," Michael said. "Bookings don't work like this."
His curiosity beat his incredulousness. He clicked on the floating alert and the message opened in front of him.
Hey Michael,
We need a new act to open for The Dark Keys. Long story. Some people think your act my work with them. The band has a crazy Benefactor that needs to vet the opening act before the tour and the group we had slated is out. When can you get to London? If it works, the Euro tour would start in two weeks. Call me as soon as you get this. I can't remember what time it is in New York.
Jon
Michael just blinked at his screen. He scanned his email inbox for the 'just kidding' follow-up, but there were no new bolded conversations since the last one arrived. He immediately picked up the phone and started to hit 001 to call London.
"Jon, it's Michael."
"Took you long enough to see the email," Jon replied, gruffly.
"It just came in!" Michael said. "Why can't you get your time zones straight? Why didn't you call?"
"I thought you'd believe an email more."
"Speaking of, is this for real?"
"It's real if you guys want it. The Benefactor caught a YouTube video of your guys' set off the label's channel and that's all he can talk about."
"Benefactor?"
"Yeah that's what he likes to be called. The original deal was that he backs the band and wouldn't interfere, but he's been interfering."
"This sounds ridiculous."
"Yeah, but what better shot do you have? Or any of us? I know your guys are living with their parents or your girlfriends. At the very least it's a free trip to London. You'll play 10 shows in four weeks, including a week in front to get tuned up, if you can make it here."
"Interesting."
"I know that Gabe is still in some shit emotionally, otherwise I'd be all about this. But to be honest, if you need convincing, this is it. I have to deal with enough shit from the Benefactor."
"Hey Jon, I get it," Michael replied, trying to soothe the ruffled Jon. He actually was surprised to hear him so off-kilter. "I'm just trying to do some background research here. Things don't happen this way."
"Who says?" Jon shot back. "The industry is in shambles. Your label is working out of a basement. This may be the only profit-positive thing you do for a long time. All you boys need to do is get yourselves and your equipment over to London."
"What's the damage for the flights?"
"We have seats reserved for the four of you in two days. We foot the bill. Flights, lodging, food, etc. You want them. They're yours. Otherwise, I'm calling the next band. I'm pushing for Plants & Trees, but the Benefactor has issues with Canadians."
"This guy sounds out of whack."
"What's your answer?"
"Can I talk to the guys first?"
"Call me back in an hour."
Then there was a dial tone.
