Wired For Sound

by Cherime MacFarlane

  Glen nodded. "Yeah. She seems to be feeling better. I had a call from her today in fact. The connection was lousy. She said she was doing O.K. though. Guess she needed to go home to her mother and get a liberal dose of what the Brits call cosseting. Whatever she caught had her down. Flu or whatever it was, wasn't going away. Actually, she had me worried for a while. Come on in. Let's go on back to the studio. I want you to meet an old friend of mine."

  Glen led the way through the hall to the back of the house. What may once have been a family room was now a studio. Rows of rack cases lined one wall. Clusters of red and green lights lined the shelves indicating various signal processors were powered up and idling.

  Glen introduced Lori and H.M. to a sallow complected man, who had been listening to something through headphones when they entered the room.

  "Mike Dodds, meet Lori and Heavy Metal MacGrough. Whatever you do Mike, don't mention he doesn't look like the MacGrough from Bushmaster. I've already been snapped at for bringing it up. Just take my word for it, he's the real thing."

  Dodds shook H.M.'s hand. "I'll know who he is the moment he starts playing the keys. You've got a distinctive style, MacGrough. I've always wanted to jam with you. This is going to be a real pleasure. You don't have any objection to playing a DX7 do you? I've got the newer model around here, somewhere in the mix, but I hardly ever play it. I like my old board better. Habit I suppose."

  "No bother ah t'all. What other instruments do you have?"

  Lori wandered over to the open French doors which led out to a patio and pool area. Lights placed here and there in the shrubbery cast a soft glow over the pool.

  "Would you like to swim?" Dodds turned to Lori. "There's a cabana across the pool," He pointed it out. "You'll find suits, towels, a shower and stuff in there. Use whatever you like. I'm sure you'll be bored with us after a while."

  "Thank you, Mr. Dodds. I would enjoy a swim. But, I won't be bored with your jam session, I love music. I enjoy listening to H.M. create things. I like to hear their evolution."

  Lori walked through the doors to stand on the flag stone patio. Turning, she reached out to close the doors, but Dodds shook his head.

  "No need to close them. There's nothing but miles of hills behind us and no other houses for a mile down into the canyon. It's a nice night; we might as well have a breeze."

  Leaving the doors open as he suggested, Lori walked out into the warm night air. The pool did look inviting. Squatting down, she put a hand in the water and found it lukewarm. Trailing her fingers through the liquid helped her decide. Rising, she walked to the cabana in search of a bathing suit.

  H.M. took off his sport jacket and hung it near the door with a couple of other jackets on a coat rack. Dodds stood next to a three tiered keyboard stand.

  "I've got the DX's, Korg T3 workstation, Korg Sampling Grand and a Kurzweil. What would you prefer to play?"

  "I learned on ah piano. How about tha samplin grand. I might try out tha others later on." H.M. saw the Korg on a single stand beside the big rack. Taking a seat at the keyboard, he ran through a few warm-up exercises to get the feel of the board. Switching into a composition of his own, H.M. began to play. Dodds and Glen stood silently to one side of him.

  When the last note died Glen spoke. "I liked that. Is it going to be on the new album?"

  "Aye, it will. What kinds of things are you tryin tae work out. You mentioned some originals a while ago."

  Glen nodded, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I've really wanted to play these things for you for a long time. I chickened out 'cause I was afraid you wouldn't like my stuff."

  He picked up his bass and turned to Dodds. "You get on the drums Mike. Here, this is the bass riff."

  He demonstrated to Mike what he was going to be playing, then walked over to H.M. "I think I want the melody to go something like this."

  Glen one-fingered the melody line on the keyboard for H.M. "You got it?"

  H.M. nodded. "Let's have ah go at it. I'll count us in."

  With a nod to Mike, he began to tap his foot on the floor. "One, two, three, and four."

  Glen started the bass run, Mike kicked in the drums. H.M. felt the beat for a moment before starting to comp to the rhythm. He experimented with different things before settling into something he liked on the second verse.

  They finished the song with Glen's flourish on the bass. "Yeah! That's what I wanted to hear! Oh yeah!"

  H.M. turned around on the stool and smiled at Glen's enthusiasm. "Ye should have played it for me ah long time ago. I like it, 'tis catchy. What else have ye got?"

  "A lot, man. Am I gonna have a blast tonight!"

  Lori dove into the pool. She heard them as she adjusted the bathing cap. This was good for H.M. and Glen as well. It would be a good session. After doing a few laps, she found a rubber raft to float on.

  The sky was clouded over, she was unable to see the stars. The air was warm and a faint breeze occasionally ruffled the leaves of the trees. Lori sprawled out on the raft letting everything drift along. The music drifting out of the house sounded good. Some tunes had a driving rhythm, others were ballads. The bass and drums were steady beneath the melody lines.

  Hamish varied the sounds, and she enjoyed listening to the lead riffs he layered over the rhythm. Picturing his fingers flying over the keys, she smiled as the plastic raft lolled in the blue water of the pool. Later, when she was tired, a nap on one of the loungers by the pool would work.

  1The music filtered out onto the patio where Lori lay with her eyes closed. She had taken off the bathing suit and cap and hung them from the shower curtain rod in the dressing room.

  After putting on her jeans and tee shirt, Lori wandered out of the cabana to find a lounge chair. The evening breeze had diminished leaving the night air warmer. All indications were the following day would be stiflingly hot.

  Perhaps it was a good thing she and Hamish were up so late tonight, they would sleep through a good portion of the coming day. H.M. didn't care for temperatures much above seventy five degrees Fahrenheit. She knew it came from living in a cooler climate. The British Isles were often cooler than the mainland as they were swept by ocean breezes daily.

  Her years in Brighton had evidently altered her ability to withstand warmer climates. She often found herself agreeing with H.M. when he declared anywhere but home was too hot. The latest song, a ballad, had a soft lilting melody, which was soothing. Lori drifted into sleep as they played.

  The three of them, H.M., Glen and Mike, played for hours, sometimes spending almost hour on one song. They polished up the tunes by altering an awkward turn around, smoothing out a key change or inserting a bridge into the music. When they all felt the song was working, they would make a final recording on Mike's eight-track reel to reel recorder. It was Mike who finally suggested they take a break for a while.

  "Listen, I've got some stuff in the fridge. Anybody thirsty or hungry?"

  H.M. needed a drink of something cold and wet. He wasn't particular, beer or a soda would do. First, he needed to check on Lori. Hamish found her asleep on a deck chair near the pool. She didn't stir when he gently shook one shoulder.

  Placing an arm under her legs and the other under his wife's shoulders, H.M. rolled her up against his chest. Turning with Lori in his arms, he carried her into the house, planning to place her on the sofa.

  Glen smiled at them. "Looks like our audience just didn't have what it took."

  Mike put down the headphones that were clasped in one hand before brushing past Glen. Beckoning H.M., the other man started down the hall. "This way. I've got a spare bedroom for the times when my kid visits. You can put her in there."

  Dodds led the way down the hall, opened a door and flicked on the nightlight. H.M. laid Lori down on the twin bed. With a sigh, she turned on one side and snuggled into the pillow. Both men left the room.

  Leaving the door partially open, he followed Mike into the kitchen where Glen was already inspecting the contents of the fridg
e.

  "How about a beer?" Glen called out from the depths of the refrigerator.

  "What sort?" H.M. walked over and stood behind him.

  "Carona, Lowenbrau and Killian's Red." The bottles clinked together as Glen riffled through them.

  "I would like ah Red, please." H.M. pulled out one of the stools clustered at the counter behind him.

  "I've got some burritos in the freezer we can nuke. Anybody want a snack?" Mike took out a beer for himself.

  "Sure." Glen opened the freezer door. He pulled out a handful of assorted frozen burritos.

  "H.M., you want a couple?"

  The Scotsman settled himself on the barstool and hooked his heels over the rungs. With a nod, he unscrewed the cap on the beer bottle.

  "One or two Mike?" Glen inquired.

  "One is fine. There's the microwave. Give those puppies about four minutes on high. That ought to do it." Dodds took a long swallow from the bottle he held in one hand.

  "That was great! It's nice of you to help us with Glen's material. Frankly, I've been trying to get him to put together his own band. At first I thought I had him convinced, but for the last few days he's been talking about going back to Europe. Guess Francie has better powers of persuasion. Anyway, she's prettier."

  Glen put the cellophane wrapped packages into the microwave, set the timer and pushed the start button. "I've been worried about Francie lately. She had a hard time shaking that cold. That's why I sent her home to her folks. I want to be with her, I'm not going to deny it. Besides, I can pursue a career in Europe or Britain for that matter, just as well as in L.A. Lots of people make records there you know."

  "O.K., O.K. You're going back and I can't talk you out of it." Mike shook his head. "Women. They always seem to throw a monkey wrench into things."

  "Look for tha woman." H.M. laughed. "That's what tha Frenchies always say. Often, they're right."

  "Is that what happened to Slaughter? Was there a woman involved?" Mike asked.

  The microwave's shut off bell was unnaturally loud in the sudden silence in the kitchen. The three men ignored it.

  Glen banged his beer bottle down on the counter. "Look man, we're not supposed to talk about it! I don't even want to talk about it. You weren't there. It was a shitty way to die. Let's drop it."

  "Sure. Whatever you say. Look, the nuked stuff is done. Let's eat." Mike slid off his stool and went to an overhead cupboard next to the microwave. After removing three paper plates, he turned to lean back against the counter.

  "I think ye should consider putting together ah band." H.M. told Glen as he toyed with the label on the bottle. Finding a loose edge, he worried the paper from the glass with one fingernail.

  "Yur material is basically good. Ye could find good musicians in London an start touring. With tha Bushmaster name behind ye, ye should be able tae get things off to ah very nice start."

  Glen pushed his bottle to one side. He leaned forward. "You really think this stuff is good? I'm amazed. I've never been sure. There were times when I thought it had potential,"

  Spreading his hands out on the counter top, Glen continued. "Other times I thought I was just fooling myself. It was Francie who convinced me to show it to you. She said you would give me a fair critique. That's what I need. Tell me where the weak points are and give me some hints as to what I can do to fix them."

  H.M. nodded. "Your rhythm is good. I like tha melody lines. They were rough, but I got tha basic idea. You need tae refine tha bridges an turn arounds. Tha things we've done tonight should give ye ah head start. I have no idea if ye have lyrics. Ye never were ah fantastic singer, but yur're adequate. Do ye have lyrics or just tha instrumentals?"

  Glen grinned at H.M. "Vocals. That's where I really feel insecure. That's why I didn't do any of the lyrics. I figured getting you to listen to the instrumental part was enough for one session. Yep, I've got lyrics. They just roll right off the top of my head. If I can get the music, the lyrics are easy."

  Mike put a paper plate in front of each of them. "It's aglow. Eat up fellas."

  He passed out plastic forks before returning to his stool. "I told him he ought to sing the tunes before you got here. Can't figure why he is so shy with you, after playing in the band for the last two years."

  Mike began to pull his burritos apart with the fork. "Old Glen here can be weird sometimes. I've known him for years and it never ceases to amaze me, what a nerd he can be."

  Glen looked at his beer bottle, picked it up and casually poised it over Mike's head. "Nerd? This nerd thinks you need a little cooling off. Maybe a beer bath will give you an attitude adjustment."

  Mike pushed his hand away. "Hey! Chill out. Just kidding. Eat this junk, if we have to nuke it again you'll be able to drive nails with the things."

  They finished their food amid good natured teasing between Glen and Mike. After about an hour in the kitchen, the three of them went back into the studio.

  H.M. seated himself at the keyboard then spun around to look at Glen. "Sing them. I want tae hear what ye have here. Modesty doesnae sell records. Get on with it."

  Mike launched into a drum roll. "Alright! Get out the lead sheets, man. Told ya."

  The next few hours were spent in playing each song through complete with lyrics. They shut down at about four in the morning. H.M. was yawning and his fingers ached. It was time to think about getting some rest. Hamish went to wake Lori. When he was sure she was moving around, he went back into the studio.

  "Glen, would ye care tae ride back to tha hotel with us? It could be difficult enough getting one taxi up here without tryin for tae. We're all going tae the same place."

  "Sure." Glen closed the latches on his bass case. "The bass can ride in the trunk. That should leave enough room inside for the three of us."

  The four of them stood in the doorway waiting for the taxi. With the lights on in the hall, as well as outside, the driver might not be too nervous. The car pulled into the driveway slowly. It almost idled up to the door as the driver eyed them carefully.

  Finally, he stopped the car and got out. The bass was loaded into the trunk. Goodbyes were exchanged as the taxi turned around in front of the garage before leaving the house.

  H.M. leaned forward to speak to the driver. "Is there any sort of twenty four hour cafe on tha way there?"

  "Sure. There's one real close. You could walk to the hotel if you wanted to. It might be safer to call a cab though."

  "How about breakfast?" Hamish asked Lori and Glen.

  "Why not. Kinda like giggin again." Glen replied.

  Lori nodded in response.

  Hamish asked the cabbie to take them to the restaurant. Once out of the canyon, they got on the freeway. In the early morning hours, the traffic was light. They reached the general vicinity of the hotel rather quickly. Soon, they were seated in a booth in the restaurant.

  A couple of early risers sat at the counter. Glancing at the menus, they made their selections. The waitress pushed the coffee pot she was carrying onto the end of the table, before taking their orders.

  Relaxing into the padded benches, the three of them sat back to wait for the food. Hamish and Lori sat together. Glen and the bass shared the other bench.

  H.M. decided to take the opportunity to discuss their present situation with Glen. "I realize ye dinna want tae talk about Vince, but I do need tae discuss this with ye."

  Removing his hands from the table, Glen put them in his lap. "I didn't want to talk about Vince with Mike. He was just fishing for information. I don't think he would say anything to anyone, I just can't be sure. What bothers me the most, is being stuck here while Francie is in London. Vince's death bothers me too. I don't like the questions surrounding the whole situation."

  He placed his hands back on the tabletop. Pulling the napkin from under the silverware, Glen began to fold the corners up. "We're all suspects, aren't we?"

  "We are." H.M. agreed.

  "I'm asking everyone tae try an recall our last night in Seattle.
It has tae be tha place an time tha modification was made tae Vince's amp. The general consensus of opinion is tha crew party covered tha individual's movements."

  Glen shook his head. "You know, I feel somewhat like an outsider. I've only been with the band for a couple of years, I feel like fingers are pointing in my direction. I couldn't have done something like that." Dropping the napkin, Glen twisted his fingers together. "I didn't have a reason to knock the bastard off."

  "Surely, ye realize yer relationship with Francie could be considered ah possible motive. Especially after what happened tae Francie."

  Glen looked up, eyes blazing. "Leave her out of this! Did you tell the pigs about her and the bastard?"

  With a sharp look at Glen, H.M. leaned back in the booth and put both hands on his thighs. "As far as I ken, nae one has told them anything. Since tha incident happened in London an Francie has gone home, only ah few people know about Vince's cowardly method of disposin of her. I doubt tha polis will find out anythin. I dinna feel she needed any more problems from Vince, alive or dead. He was ah bastard tae Francie an she dinna deserve it."

  Glen's hands were shaking as he drew back from his confrontation with H.M. "It was you who got her out of there afterward. I'd almost forgotten. I tried to forget the whole thing. I had to, or I would have beaten him until all that was left was a greasy spot on the floor. How could he have done something so filthy to Francie? She really cared about the asshole. I know she doesn't love me the same way she loved him. Maybe it's better for the both of us. She doesn't look up to me like I was a god and I don't want that from her anyway. After what he did, she needed counseling. Did you know that?"

  "I suspected as much." H.M. looked into space somewhere off Glen's left shoulder. "I'm glad she got help. She was highly distraught that night. I almost invited Vince out myself. I kept silent for Francie's sake, not Vincent's. It was ah despicable act. I wondered how ye could cope with bein on tour with him."

  Glen leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "It wasn't easy. I think Francie's medical problems stemmed from the stress of being in the same place with the bastard. That's why we always took a room in another hotel. Warren was great about arranging everything. He never asked any stupid questions, he just took care of it. Francie never came to sound check. She and I looked things over during set-up, she cleared out afterward. Maybe she saw him two or three times during the tour, but always at a distance. As long as she could keep away from him, things were all right. I hated him. I can't deny it. What do you want from me MacGrough?"