I got tickets for their next show the following week, but it did mean the added expense of travel and accommodation in the next city. It was worth it though, this was the first tour they’d done since their second album came out and I loved every song.
Critics lambasted them for not staying true to their roots, referring to the acoustic tracks that were in there right alongside the standard squealing electric guitar solos that one would typically expect from a rock band. I thought it showed great depth though, an ability to slow the pace right down when the subject matter called for it. In my opinion it made their heavier stuff all the more hard hitting and meaningful.
If sales and downloads of albums mean anything, and they do, then the listening public disagreed very strongly with professional opinion. The three piece rock band known as Bareback were fabulously rich, ludicrously talented and taking the world by storm.
I was desperate to meet them, especially guitarist Noah Pierson. He was the reason I first started learning to play guitar back in high school. When I first listened to that first CD, with the cover songs, I had already heard the originals but it was obvious to me that Bareback had a unique style, and they made every track their own. At that early stage the singer, Ethan Sanders, was still trying to sound like the original artists and it’s really difficult to differentiate yourself as a drummer, so Dan Winchester sure had his work cut out for him.
Noah Pierson sounded like he’d been born with a guitar in his hand, though. Probably in the middle of a spirit-lifting solo that would have had the doctor raise his hand in a devil’s horns sign and the nurses rip their shirts open so he could sign their breasts. Before Ethan and Daniel found their ‘voices’ Noah was already a rock star waiting to happen. It’s safe to say I was pretty star-struck by him.
A few previous a couple friends and I had started a cover-band of our own, specialising in Bareback songs. We called ourselves Barefront, parody names are pretty common in the cover-band industry, and this name along with glamorous pictures of us three girls for the promotional posters had ensured pretty good turnouts for whatever gigs we had been able to get.
There was one song on their latest album ‘Remember Laughter’ that I couldn’t figure out how to play. I wanted to see if Noah would tell me the secret to this song, talk about life in a new band and the struggle to make it into the big time. I never in a million years thought he would be at all interested in me.
My friends and I got to the club early, real early. The club Bareback was going to wouldn’t be known to many people ahead of them arriving, but once they were there it was only a matter of time before the word spread. The line outside would go around the corner, maybe around the block, and entrance fees would go up out of my meagre budget. We walked in with an appreciative head to toe scan from the doorman and secured ourselves a little booth with a table, waiting for more people to arrive before letting off some steam on the dance floor.
This club didn’t usually hit its stride until 1a.m or so. I hoped the band would arrive before then, when there was still a remote possibility of the chance to talk to them. We waited, we drank, we flirted with the few guys who approached us. Perhaps we flirted a little too effectively. By the time midnight rolled around, my friends were both ‘dancing’ with some, admittedly, pretty cute guys who had laid the charm on pretty thick.
I said ‘dancing’ but I really meant ‘grinding’. Debbie, the lead singer in our band, was lip-locked with some ‘tall dark and handsome’ who had one leg between hers, pushing her short skirt up. I was sure she was rubbing her pussy on his thigh as they swayed vaguely in time with the music. The guys were cute, it couldn’t be denied, but they weren’t Bareback! I managed to resist the advances of some local for long enough that he eventually gave up.
That did leave me alone and looking like a bit of a loser with a booth and table but no friends. I checked the time on my phone and sighed. Had the tip from my friend been wrong? My question was answered almost immediately as a crowd of people surged in the door, the kind of surge that meant a group had bypassed the usual inspection by a doorman and payment of an entrance fee. VIPs in other words.
I scanned the new arrivals, trying to see if it was Bareback or just somebody with a lot of money and a rent-a-crowd. The first person I made out dispelled all doubt from my mind, the huge frame of Grant Preston in the midst of the throng was clearly visible. Grant stood at nearly 7 feet tall and was no beanpole. He doubled as the band’s manager and occasionally in various security roles. His intimidating presence was probably largely responsible for the great deal Bareback had with their record company, as well as why they had never had any major security incidents in their entire history of touring.
Now sure the band was somewhere in there, I scanned the group even harder. The first member I spotted was Dan Winchester who had a stunningly beautiful piece of arm-candy at his side, a big breasted young blonde in a skirt even shorter than Debbie’s. She looked a little wobbly on her legs as if she’d drunk too much or had some good sex, I wasn’t sure which.
Next I saw Ethan Sanders, each of his arms draped over a girl and his trademark old school sunglasses parked over a smile that stretched almost from ear to ear. I couldn’t see Noah anywhere and began to panic a little. Bareback had a reputation for bringing back the good old days of rock ‘n’ roll, partying hard and trashing hotel rooms, but Noah was said to occasionally skip the after-show festivities that his band-mates would never miss.
At last I saw him, looking distant and hardly paying any attention at all to the three girls who were trying to gain his favour. He tapped Daniel Winchester on the shoulder and raised two fingers, paused in thought, and then raised three fingers. Daniel laughed and nodded while Noah headed towards the stairs that led to the VIP balcony.
I had to act quickly, there was no way I’d be let up those stairs if I let him slip past. I hurried across the room as fast as I could, silently cursing the heels on my fuck-me-boots. Thankfully Noah was slowed down by some random fan presumably asking for an autograph, which Noah declined to give. The guy appeared to be getting agitated until Grant Preston stood next to Noah and crossed his arms. That was enough, the guy left, and I arrived in front of Noah immediately afterwards.
“No autographs, sorry,” he said, paying me about as much attention as he had to the girls he arrived with.
“I don’t want your autograph. I want your help.”
“Help?”
“Yeah, I play guitar… uh… not as well as you do.”
That was probably a superfluous comment to add seeing as very few people, living or dead, played the guitar as well as Noah Pierson. On the bright side, it did seem to bring his attention to the here and now. And me. His eyes met mine and I saw the force of will he was putting into not giving me the entire-body-scan that guys can’t seem to stop themselves from doing. Noah Pierson may have been a rock-god, but I was gratified to see he was only human in that regard when he was finally unable to resist looking at my body.
“What kind of help were you looking for?”
“Well, there’s this bit in the solo for ‘Remember Laughter’…”
“I know what you’re talking about… that’s a secret, that is.”
“No fair! Every video clip I’ve seen cuts away from you whenever that part plays. I’ve listened about a million times, everything I’ve tried just doesn’t sound right. There’s nothing like it in any of your other songs.”
“Play a lot of our songs, do you?”
“Yeah, I’m in a band. Just a cover band for now, actually, we’re called Barefront.”
I clamped my jaws shut with a click suddenly worried about what original artists think about cover bands making parodies of their names. I was mortified at the possibility of having offended him and stared with wide eyes to try and gauge his reaction. His brow furrowed and I was about to blurt out an apology but then the creases cleared and he smiled for the first time since entering the club.
“I thought I recognised you.�
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“You recognised… me?”
“Yeah, Grant here has got his finger on the pulse. In the world of music, if he doesn’t know about it then it’s probably because it didn’t happen. He knows about all Bareback cover bands that are worth knowing about. Shuts down the ones that hurt our image.”
“How can you shut them down?”
“Grant… has his ways.”
“That’s easy to believe. You don’t mind our name then?”
“Barefront? I tell you what, I like it a lot better than the band Grant shut down last month. ‘Bare Sack’ they called themselves. Performed nude. Performed shit.”
I laughed and Noah joined me, way up in the clouds even Grant Preston was wearing a wordless smirk.
“I wanted to get you guys to open for us, you know. Thought it’d be good to have a local band for tonight.”
My jaw dropped at the idea that my small-time-probably-going-nowhere-band had apparently been close to getting a charitable boost from the hottest act currently active in rock.
“W-what happened to that idea?”
“Ah, Grant here said no. He’s the business-brains of this outfit. Canny as fuck, like.”
“Sorry, love,” the giant boomed above us.
“I kept your poster though, got it on my wall back home,” Noah said.
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“You never!”
“I… always?”
I felt like my feet were a good three inches off the ground and almost toppled over in a squealing heap of giddiness. Instead I stood there smiling like an idiot.
“So, Natalie…”
“I didn’t tell you my name… oh, the poster.”
“Yeah. You’ll get used to that. You’re really good, I reckon you’ll go places.”
“That’s the dream. We’re doing OK at the moment, but only as a cover band. You should see the dance floor clear when we play an original song, it’s fucking disheartening.”
“Yeah, I’ve been there.”
“I was really hoping to meet you tonight, wanted to pick your brain about when things started to get really successful for you guys. As well as that solo in ‘Remember Laughter’.”
“It’s a bit loud for a real conversation here. Hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but would you like to head back to my hotel to talk?”
I hoped to all the gods of rock ‘n’ roll that my face was remaining at least a little bit calm. Inside my stomach was churning and I wanted to pump my fist in the air and yell ‘Yes!’ Instead, I tried to play it a little bit cooler.
“You don’t want to celebrate with your friends?”
“I’m not really feelin’ it tonight. There’s always more celebrations.”
I looked to the dance floor, trying to pick out my friends. With the Bareback group having arrived and the surge of people beginning to pile into the club in tow, I couldn’t spot them. I didn’t want to leave without saying anything but on the other hand I was pretty sure they’d understand. Looking back to Noah I nodded and smiled.
“We can sneak out the back or go out the front, all guns blazing. Which would you prefer?” he asked.
“You wouldn’t mind being seen leaving with me?”
“Not if you don’t mind being seen leaving with me.”
“Yeeha,” I pointed to the front doors.
“Could we get a car sorted, Grant?”
The huge man had been peacefully looking down at us with a nonchalant look on his face. At the request he rolled his eyes good-naturedly and made a dramatic formal bow.
“My liege,” he said and pulled out a phone.
Noah looked back to me. “I bet he’s had a few cars on standby since before we arrived, the guy is incredible.”
“Seems like a good man to have on the team.”
Just then Daniel Winchester arrived with his bleach-blonde companion still firmly attached. Between them they were carrying a dizzying array of drinks. Dan carefully handed over three shot glasses to Noah, glanced at me, away, and then did a double-take.
“Hey, isn’t that Natalie? The one you’ve been raving about?”
Noah appeared embarrassed and shot Daniel a look that could have killed.
“Er, I mean the guitarist from Barefront? Hey, you can fuckin’ shred, man!”
“Thanks… I didn’t know I had any fans at all.”
Noah handed one of the shots to me and one to Grant Preston.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Rock ‘n’ roll,” Noah said and downed it.
I did likewise, coughing and sputtering at the harsh kick of tequila. Somewhere above us, Grant was looking at his phone and drank the shot like it was a thimble of air. A message apparently came through, because he leaned down and said something to Noah that I couldn’t hear. The point towards the front of the club was unmistakable though, the car must have arrived already.
Noah extended his hand in the direction of the door, gesturing for me to lead the way. I felt like I was in a dream and that at any moment I’d wake up and find I was late to catch the bus too my soul-sucking office job. I considered pinching myself to test the theory. I didn’t do it.
I walked out the door and was met by a blast of cold air and the determined faces of several paparazzi, who looked at me as if it was my fault for not being famous. Their expressions soon changed when Noah stepped out behind me.
At one of our shows in a small local club I remember the low budget version of a strobe light they had, which consisted of having the kid who washed dishes flick a light switch on and off. The blinding flashes of the cameras were beyond comparison. I stopped dead into my tracks until Noah’s fingertips found the small of my back and gently pushed forward as he walked alongside me.
The merest touch of his fingers felt like some pleasurable mixture of a tickle and an itch being scratched. I looked sideways at him, partly so I wasn’t looking directly at the bright bursts of light and partly so I could verify that I was really leaving a club with Noah Pierson. I was, it was really happening.
At the kerb a limo was waiting with a driver holding the rear door open. I stepped inside feeling like some mistake had to have been made. A group of friends and I had rented a ‘limo’ for our prom but it was a piece of crap compared to this one. Whereas the vehicle of a couple years ago looked a bit worn out, this one almost looked as if it had been constructed especially for this journey. Everything was spotless, new and high-class, right down to the expensive Champaign sitting in a bucket of ice.
I sat facing backwards and Noah sat opposite me. The door closed and I tried to think about what to say. All the questions I’d thought of previously I’d either forgotten or decided they sounded stupid when actually confronted with speaking them to the greatest guitarist in the world. Thankfully, Noah seemed much less affected by nerves and reached for the bottle.
With a huge ‘pop’ and a surge of bubbles the cork flew upwards and smashed one of the lights softly illuminating the rear section of the limo. Noah shrugged.
“That’ll probably come out of the deposit.”
Looking around, he flipped open an arm rest and pulled out two glasses, handing them to me so he could pour. When done, he placed the bottle back in the ice and accepted the glass I offered him.
“To chance meetings,” he said.
I bit my tongue about the ‘chance’ part, but happily drank to the ‘meeting’ after clinking glasses.
“You’ve got a long way to go as a guitarist,” he advised.
“Uh… well, I would think so. I mean, I’m only nineteen, I practice all the time…”
“I don’t mean that as an insult… sorry. Hey, trust me, you’re better than I was at nineteen.”
“I doubt that…”
“I’ve been deep, deep, into music for a long time. I’d like to think I’ve got a good ear for this kind of thing.”
“Well… thanks then. I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“I listened to your
whole album. Well, I guess it’s really our album, but I listened to your version of it. Eighteen tracks and you, you personally, nailed two of them.”
“That’s all?”
“Don’t get me wrong, the rest of them are competent, but you didn’t convince me that you had really immersed yourself in the music. I didn’t feel your own passion in the way you played your guitar.”
“Ouch.”
“Don’t worry about that though, Natalie. Most guitarists, even some making the big bucks, I wouldn’t say are as competent as you. The two that you nailed though, I really wanted to speak to you about them. One of them, you play just like me. The other one is totally different, you changed the whole meaning of the song without changing the lyrics, the beat or even the basic melody.”
I knew the song he was talking about and felt a lump rise in my throat. That was one topic I certainly hadn’t ever considered bringing up. I stared down at my glass and blinked away the tears that I felt threatening to well up.
“Little Castles,” I croaked.
“That’s the one. We made it as a happy-go-lucky little number. Good fun. You turned it into a dirge. Why? Tell me what it means to you.”
I took a deep breath. It had been five years, and I still couldn’t play that song without shedding a tear. I looked back up at Noah, expecting to see either the cool and collected rock star he always appeared to be on television interviews or the hard partying rock star the tabloids always spoke about. Instead I saw a guy leaning forward in his seat waiting with rapt attention on me, a person who spoke to the world with his music and whom, apparently, my music had spoken to in turn.
“My Dad. H-he loved your music almost as much as I do… but he died when I was fourteen. I played that song at his funeral. I’m not sure if I actually hit any of the right chords, I hadn’t been playing long by then. I probably damn near electrocuted myself, I was crying so much.”
Noah was nodding, and his eyes had a glassy sheen as if he might be close to tears too. With yet another deep breath I continued.
Take All of It September 2019 Page 58