Blue Noise

by Debra Oswald

  After The Speech, things started to get better at home. Slightly. Of course, her parents wanted to talk about the whole thing a few more times. She knew they were secretly hoping she’d come to her senses and apply for the Con or at least go back to piano exams. Erin could see her mother’s face was tight and twitchy, but she didn’t say anything too bossy.

  Erin didn’t know if everything would be cool. She wasn’t certain she was making the right decision. Maybe going to the Con was the best thing and she would always regret not taking that opportunity. At least Erin had said what she wanted to say – well, most of it – and they had listened. That felt good.

  In the first few days after meeting Christine De Sousa, Erin had gone into a frenzy of songwriting. She completed four new songs and wrote parts of another three. She wasn’t sure whether the songs were any good but that didn’t matter. She was following Christine’s advice: write heaps of material before letting Critical Erin look at it.

  Later, she could unleash Critical Erin – the anxious, self-loathing demon girl in her head who automatically thought everything she wrote was rubbish – to take a tough look at the songs and decide if they were good enough to show to the band. If they were crap, no one would ever have to see them. And even if she wrote some rubbish songs, that wasn’t the end of the world.

  Back in Sydney, Erin and Ash had finished working on ‘Mandawarra’ together. They emailed the lyrics back and forth to each other, then tidied up the music one lunchtime at the piano in the music room.

  Because Erin’s brain had been fizzing with song lyrics and melodies, she had started getting behind with schoolwork. She couldn’t afford to let that happen. She couldn’t afford to give her parents any evidence that the band was making her lose the plot with school stuff.

  So the first weekend after the Mandawarra festival, Erin bunkered down at home to chew through assignments. She was deep into some history home work, researching Mayan civilisation, when a message from Ash popped up on the computer screen. He wanted her to check out the Blue Noise MySpace page.

  There was a new comment posted on the page.

  ‘Hi guys – love the tracks you got on here. Great to meet you in Mandawarra. Keep on making such good music.’

  The comment was from Jimmy Nicholls. Charlie had pushed a Blue Noise card and CD at Jimmy Nicholls who, amazingly, had followed it up. A blues legend had heard their music and bothered to write a friendly comment.

  Erin sent Ash a message. ‘Ahhhhh!!’

  He messaged back immediately. ‘I know. I’ve looked at JN post 20,000 times. Can’t stop looking at it. Might never be able to leave house again.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Ash didn’t take off the blue wristband from the Mandawarra festival when he got home. He didn’t want the fantastic high from that weekend to fade away. He wore the wristband for two weeks until it finally got too ragged and faded.

  Not long after Mandawarra, Ash went to his school locker to get some books. When he swung open the metal door, a piece of paper sprang out of the locker and into his face, like a prop in a magic trick. There were identical brochures sticky-taped onto every surface of Ash’s locker.

  Guitar Heaven was advertising a massive sale. There were a couple of ‘Doorbuster Specials’, advertised with photos framed by bright-yellow stars. One of those specials was the guitar Ash wanted. The shop was offering the Butterscotch Blonde Fender for such a low price Ash thought it must be a mistake.

  Of course it was Charlie who had picked the lock to Ash’s locker and filled it with the flyers. He popped up right behind Ash, who was still staring at the flyers, confused.

  ‘Lush, isn’t it?’ said Charlie. ‘Lush’ was one of Charlie’s new words.

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t get it,’ mumbled Ash. ‘This price must be a misprint. Why would they sell that Fender so cheap?’

  ‘Let me explain it to you, my son.’ Charlie liked to feel he was canny about how the world worked. ‘Guitar Heaven want to sell a lot of stuff to boost their cash flow. So what they do – this is their sneaky plan – they pick out a few items as super bargains. See where it says “Doorbuster Special”? That lures people into the shop. Like offering tasty bait to fish. Once the customer fish swim inside the shop and the doorbuster specials have sold out, Guitar Heaven can sell them the other stuff. Get it?’

  ‘Oh right, I guess so.’

  ‘But don’t worry your little head about it, man. The point is, this is a lucky break for you. The guitar you want is one of those doorbuster specials. We just have to make sure we’re there to bust down those doors and get our hands on the special before any of those other desperate guitarists.’

  Ash did a quick calculation, adding up his bank balance, the money in the Milo tin and the pay he’d earn on Wednesday. He had almost enough money saved up for the Fender at the reduced price. But not quite enough.

  Not surprisingly, Charlie had the solution for that. ‘What you need to do is sell your old guitar the day before the Guitar Heaven sale. Then you’ll have enough cash.’

  Ash nodded slowly, getting his head around this idea.

  ‘Think about it, Ash,’ said Charlie. ‘Of all the hundreds of instruments in that shop, the exact guitar you want is on special. This is a sign from the blues gods. It’s a sign that the time has come for you to have that Fender.’

  On the Saturday of the big sale, Ash’s mobile phone alarm went off at 2.30 am. He hauled himself out of bed and felt around on the floor in the dark for some clothes. He was due to meet Charlie outside Guitar Heaven at three so they could be among the first customers at the door when the shop opened at nine.

  Ash felt spacey in the head and queasy in the guts as he cycled along the dark streets. It was weird getting up after only a few hours asleep. He wished now he’d just stayed up all night watching DVDs and not tried to sleep at all.

  Ash reached the shop and was chaining up his bike just as Charlie arrived. Charlie didn’t have to be there, didn’t have to wake up at this shocking time and wait for hours on a cold street. But he wanted to keep Ash company and he loved the drama of the whole bargain-hunting business. Whatever the reason, Ash was grateful to have Charlie there.

  Not that they were the first tragic musicians to turn up and wait outside Guitar Heaven. Even at 3 am there was a line of people along the footpath. Charlie and Ash became the fifteenth and sixteenth guys in the queue.

  The footpath was mighty cold and hard but Charlie and Ash were equipped for conditions like that: they had the warm padded jackets they’d bought at the op shop for their nights outside the Carlisle Hotel gigs. They made themselves a little nest with their puffy jackets and sat down to wait the six hours until Guitar Heaven opened.

  To start with, most of the people waiting were bundled up, some in sleeping bags. They nodded hello to Charlie and Ash but were more interested in trying to sleep than socialising. More bargain hunters continued to show up, until the queue stretched further along the street and around the corner.

  Charlie and Ash chilled out, backs flopped against the wall in the dark, in a zombie state. They snoozed for a bit and then talked quietly, sorting out which numbers they should work on next and other band business.

  A little later, Ash found himself explaining to Charlie the situation at home. There was something about the dreamy, weird state of sitting there in the middle of the night that made Ash let his guard down. He talked about his mum’s psychological problems and about his mongrel of a father who’d racked off years ago. He described Luke’s life as a useless, socially crippled, unwashed, computer-addicted hermit. He tried to convey what it was like to live inside the black hole of the Corrigan house, where no one spoke for days at a time. Some of it shocked Charlie and some of it he’d already guessed.

  ‘That’s tricky material you have to handle,’ said Charlie. It was so different from his own family and anything he’d ever experienced that he wasn’t sure what to say.

  ‘I mean, I don’t want to badmouth my mum and my
brothers to other people,’ said Ash.

  ‘I know that,’ said Charlie.

  ‘I dunno, I guess I want you to understand how things are.’

  Charlie nodded, in a way that gave Ash permission to keep talking or say nothing more.

  ‘My brother Ben – he was always the one I could really connect with, you know?’ explained Ash. ‘But now – I don’t even know – now I’m scared he’s gonna turn into some kind of scumbag if he doesn’t watch out.’

  Ash described the mess Ben was in – the gambling, the debts, yelling at their mother, guilt-tripping her into giving him money, how he talked a lot of crap but never kept his word.

  ‘Sounds like a bit of a con artist,’ commented Charlie.

  ‘Reckon,’ agreed Ash. ‘Oh, but I don’t want you to think Ben’s some terrible – I mean, he’s a great guy – he used to be. He used to be such a –’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Charlie. ‘From stuff you’ve told me, he sounds like a decent guy. I mean, for a start, he taught you to play guitar. He used to be into music. So he must be a fine young man deep down, yeah?’ He grinned and made Ash laugh.

  Ash had been worried he might cop a lot of Charlie Novak blah blah and theories about the Corrigan family. But Charlie didn’t mouth off with a bunch of opinions. Mostly he’d just listened, quiet and respectful, while Ash said what he needed to say. Not a lot of people do that, really listen properly.

  ‘With a loser family like I’ve got, do you think I’m doomed?’ asked Ash.

  Charlie made a jokey show of scrutinising him. ‘No, I don’t,’ he said. ‘I mean, what would I know – but I don’t think you’re doomed, my friend.’

  It struck Ash that Charlie was really the best friend he’d ever had. Separate from Ash’s secret wish to be adopted into the Novak family, his friendship with Charlie had become very important to him. Ash had quite a few good mates but Charlie was in another category.

  As it got closer to what you might call the morning, the people in the queue started to liven up and talk to each other. The guys waiting there were all fellow music fiends, of course, so the atmosphere was friendly, with a lot of chat about sound gear and what bargain they were lining up to buy.

  Several people had brought instruments with them – acoustic guitars, harmonicas, a violin, bongos – and began playing them as they sat there in the street. As it started to get light, the queue outside the shop turned into a loose jam session.

  Ash would’ve liked to join in the jam but he didn’t have a guitar with him. In fact, he didn’t own a guitar at all, as of the day before. He and Charlie had taken his old guitar down to Neville’s Music Exchange, a grubby, jumbled shop that traded second-hand instruments and gear. Charlie had bargained ferociously with Neville and got a surprisingly good price for the battered old guitar. Ash had added that money to the savings he’d withdrawn from the bank and now had a plump roll of fifty-dollar notes in the inside zip pocket of his jacket. Ready to buy the Fender.

  At 7 am, a takeaway place across the road opened up. Ash minded their place in the queue while Charlie made a dash for food. He brought back bacon-and-egg rolls and big cups of sugary tea. After four cold hours sitting in the street, it tasted mighty good.

  Breakfast was enough to get Charlie recharged and buzzing. He worked the crowd waiting outside the shop, handing out Blue Noise cards.

  ‘Check out our MySpace page. Have a listen to our stuff.’

  The Guitar Heaven mega sale was due to start at nine, but because of the major queue they didn’t just fling the doors open. To avoid having a crazy stampede, the shop guys said they would let in twenty people at a time. Luckily, that meant Ash and Charlie made it into the first batch of treasure hunters.

  There were only two of the Butterscotch Blonde Fenders available on sale. As soon as Ash got in the doors of Guitar Heaven, he zigzagged between the amps and racks of other stuff to the spot where the Fender had always been on display. Ash knew exactly where it was in the shop, since he’d prowled past the thing so many times.

  He was only three metres away when he saw another guy get his hands around the Fender on the stand. This wasn’t a surprise. It was an amazing price for that guitar and there’d be a lot of people who’d jump at it. It was gone.

  But then he heard Charlie’s voice from the other side of the shop.

  ‘Got it!’

  Charlie was holding up the only other Butterscotch Blonde Fender. He’d found it in a corner and got his paws on it instantly.

  Goatee Guy and Skinny Guy were working flat chat, serving at the counter, when Ash took the guitar over to pay. Those two guys seemed pleased to see Ash get the Fender.

  ‘Congratulations, mate,’ said Goatee Guy.

  As Ash and Charlie walked out of Guitar Heaven, there was still a long queue outside. When the guys waiting saw Ash with the guitar, they cheered, glad to see that someone who had queued half the night was now marching out of that shop in triumph, with a musical trophy.

  Later that day, rehearsing with the new Fender in Lester’s back shed, Ash couldn’t stop looking at the guitar in his hands, at its smooth caramel outline and the glossy black pickguard. Everything about it – the weight, the pick-ups, the strap – was perfect for him. And to Ash’s ears, it sounded as if he was playing way better. Maybe that was just his imagination, maybe not.

  The last time he’d had the Butterscotch Blonde in his hands was months back, on the day he first met Charlie Novak. He hadn’t realised then that jamming in Guitar Heaven would be the beginning of something so amazing. It felt good to be playing that guitar now.

  He carried the Fender home from Lester’s place and stashed it in his room, then headed to the lounge-room computer to check his emails.

  ‘Hiya, little brother.’

  Ash was startled. He didn’t expect to see Ben around the house at that time of day. Ben was sprawled on the couch, in the almost-dark of late afternoon.

  ‘Oh. Hi,’ said Ash. ‘Practically forgotten what you look like.’

  ‘Yeah, we haven’t had a catch-up in ages, eh. Looks like you’re match fit and feeling fine.’

  ‘Yeah, I am,’ said Ash.

  Ben didn’t look match fit. He looked terrible.

  ‘Good to hear,’ said Ben, nodding slowly. ‘Good to know you’re not a stupid idiot like me.’

  Ash wasn’t sure what to say. Was he supposed to argue back and say Ben wasn’t an idiot?

  Ben remained slumped there on the couch as if every scrap of energy and hopefulness had been knocked out of his body. He shook his head, laughed.

  ‘I’ve lost a lot of money in the last few days, little brother. Got myself in such an almighty mess, I can’t even think about it. It’s so bad, you just gotta laugh. Don’t ever be a stupid mongrel like me if – nah, no need to even say it. You’re too smart. You’ll be right.’ Ben was laughing but he sounded so sad and beaten that Ash felt really bad for him.

  ‘You know, if there was anything I could – I mean, I’d lend you some money but I’m broke at the moment,’ Ash explained.

  ‘Thanks, mate, but don’t worry. It’s way beyond that,’ said Ben and then he suddenly sat up with a little spark of life in him. ‘Oh yeah, that’s right. Mum told me you invested all your money in that Fender. Got a good deal, I believe.’

  Ash grinned. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is it sweet?’ asked Ben. ‘I bet it’s sweet.’

  Ash took Ben into his room to show off the guitar. He planned to get brackets so he could hang it on the wall but for now the guitar was propped carefully in the corner.

  ‘That is a champion instrument,’ said Ben. ‘Let me hear it.’

  Ash plugged the Fender into the amplifier he had on long-term loan from Lester. To begin with, he just mucked around a bit on the guitar so Ben could hear how it sounded.

  Ben was suitably impressed. ‘That’s a nice sound.’

  Ash couldn’t resist putting on a bit of a show for his big brother. He played some of the blues riffs he’d l
earned or written for Blue Noise. He did some slide guitar. Ben had never got round to playing slide, and Ash realised he was showing off something shocking. He wanted to demonstrate how much better he’d become in the last few months, boasting to the brother who’d taught him to play guitar in the first place. It was probably a childish thing to do.

  Ben didn’t mind that. He was impressed and he said so.

  ‘Ash, that is great. Wow. I mean it. You are such a good player. I love that last riff. And I love that slide stuff.’

  Ash enjoyed hearing his brother say that. Ben cuffed Ash around the head, like a grizzly bear play-fighting.

  ‘How come you got so good at the guitar, you little maggot?’

  ‘Wanna have a go?’ asked Ash.

  ‘Ohh … you sure? Jesus, I don’t even know if I can play one of these anymore.’

  But Ash could tell Ben was itching to have a play, so he held the guitar out to him.

  Ben picked out a few notes and then stopped. He played a few more notes. Every now and then, he shook his head and sighed.

  ‘Oh, it feels good to have a guitar in my hands again. But weird. It’s weird,’ he said. ‘I’ve forgotten so much. It’s like my fingers remember some bits but then I get lost.’

  He played some more and every time he stuffed up, he’d curse at himself, but laughing. He was definitely rusty and sometimes straight-out crappy, but you could hear that Ben was still a good guitarist. Ash wondered why his brother had let the guitar drop out of his life. The guy had a natural talent for playing and it was a thing he loved to do. Why give it up? It was as if he had been given a fantastic gift and then chucked it in the bin.

  The two brothers sat in Ash’s room for over an hour, mucking around on the guitar. Ben asked Ash to show him a few basic slide techniques. Ash liked doing that.