I spent a lot of time on it without much progress. I don’t know … maybe the song hit a little too close to home. But I was also distracted because I could hear music from the club through the floor. Not much, but enough to make it hard to work on a song.
So I gave up and was just lying there, zoning out, when I gradually realized that the singer in the club sounded a little like Brad. And the more I listened, the more it sounded like him.
I headed down. Sure enough, Brad was onstage singing “Burn This City,” by Cartel. The band—two guitars, bass, and drums—seemed pretty competent, but Brad was nailing that tune with so much energy and stage presence that the other guys just disappeared. He was prowling back and forth like he was in front of twenty thousand people, and every eye in the club was on him.
The rest of the Bad Habit crew was sitting off to the side, so I pulled up a chair. When the song was over, I said, “Wow. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him from out front—pretty impressive.”
“You’re not kidding,” Glenn said. “He’s amazing.”
We kinda nodded in unison. I was thinking, Yup, and with some great original material to work with, we could really go somewhere. And I had a hunch Glenn was thinking something similar.
Brad stepped off the stage as the band started into some Neverland song. As I sat there listening, I felt someone lean up against me. “You wanna dance?”
Before I even turned, I could smell perfume. And booze. It was this drunk lady, in her thirties or forties, and she was majorly pressing herself up against me. “Uh, no thanks.” I almost added ma’am, but I didn’t want to get bitch-slapped in public. “I’m just here for the music.”
She frowned and stumbled off, looking for some other poor bastard.
“Hey, it could’ve been your lucky night,” Amber said with a grin.
“Yeah, and she could’ve been my mom.”
“So?” She ruffled my hair, then made cat claws at me. “Rowrrr … Cougar bait!”
“Very freakin’ funny …”
Q: WHAT DO YOU CALL A BEAUTIFUL GIRL ON A DRUMMER’S ARM?
A: A TATTOO.
“So where ya’ll from?”
“We’re from Los Robles,” Brad said. “West Coast, between L.A. and San Francisco.”
“Whoa, dudes … California! We’ve always wanted to play Cali.”
“Cool. We’ve always wanted to play Monti and Wyo,” Danny said with a straight face.
We were talking with the other band after they’d finished playing. They called themselves Bowl Patrol, and they were from Oklahoma. And as it turned out, they used the same booking agency we did. Corey wasn’t their specific agent, but this was their third tour with the agency and they knew all about him, so we sat around and swapped Corey stories for a few minutes until a group of guys and girls came along and swept the band away with them. “Hey, we’re up in three-twelve!” the drummer yelled back over his shoulder as they left. “Swing by!”
“Hey, check you later,” Danny said in a perfect Corey imitation. They didn’t get it.
We hung for a while, until Brad got up and said, “I’m going to go visit our esteemed colleagues. With a name like Bowl Patrol, I’m sure they know how to throw an after.”
Right, I was thinking, but are they sparking up a bowl or puking into one? Either way, we all followed along.
Turns out Brad was right—by the time we got there, the after-party was in full swing. Instead of getting a few smaller rooms, these guys had opted for one large suite … basically a couple of bedrooms off a big, open living room and kitchen area. Perfect for four dudes. But at the moment the place was occupied by more like forty, which was probably double the fire-code limit.
The drummer—I think his name was Lars or Larson or something—was by the door as we walked in. “Yo, Cali dudes! Drinks in the kitchen, smoke in the shitter only, okay?”
We just nodded our thanks and looked around. It was like a scene out of a movie … a bunch of wannabe-rock-star-looking people standing and lounging all over the place—and all over each other—music blasting, and beer cans everywhere. We made our way to the kitchen, where I looked for a coke among all the booze. No luck. I shrugged and grabbed a Coors. As we stood there, taking it all in, the bathroom door opened and three or four guys spilled out, coughing and laughing.
After a few minutes of this Jamie said, “Amber and I are out of here—see you guys tomorrow,” and they took off. I was thinking similar thoughts when one of the guitar players came up to us and bumped fists with Brad. Well, he tried to bump fists. He missed. But hey, a fist is a small target—I’m sure people miss all the time.
“Dude! You were awesome!” he said. “You frickin’ rocked, man. You ever get tired of these guys, you give us a shout and we’ll make a place for you. Totally, man!”
Brad was lapping it up. “Thanks, bro. You guys sounded pretty hot yourselves. Give me your email before you head out, okay?”
“No problem, man.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “Hey, you wanna catch a smoke?”
Brad looked back at us and raised his eyebrows in question. I shook my head and Glenn did likewise. I looked around but I couldn’t see Danny anywhere.
What I did see—among other things—was a girl over in the far corner, where she was, uh … servicing these two guys. A small crowd had gathered, and someone was getting it all on video.
“Hey, look, a star is born,” Glenn commented as Brad wandered off toward the bathroom. “I think I’m gonna head back to the room, maybe get some stuff done.”
“Sounds good,” I said. He held his hand toward the door like, After you. As we were working our way through the crowd, a couple of girls came up to us.
“Hey, aren’t you guys in the band?” the taller one said, talking loudly to be heard over the music.
Glenn shook his head. “Nope.”
She looked us over. “Okay, maybe not the one playing here tonight, but you two are in a band, aren’t you?”
Her partner nodded. “Yeah, Lacey, look at them. Totally.” She turned to me and smiled. “So, what do you play?” She looked me up and down. “Drums, right?”
I was amazed she got it right, and to be honest, she was kinda cute. But before I could open my mouth, she took the beer out of my hand and killed it with one long swallow, then tossed the empty back over her shoulder without looking.
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled, then she beckoned me closer with her finger. “C’mere. I wanna ask you something.”
As I leaned in to hear her over the noise, she put her hand behind my neck and kissed me. Okay, it wasn’t my idea, but I didn’t exactly fight it, either. I mean, it was this totally beer-and-cigarette-drenched, spontaneous, nasty-ass, rock-and-freakin’-roll kiss. What’s a boy to do …?
When I finally came up for air, I saw that the other girl was evidently trying the same tactic on Glenn. “Sorry,” he was saying, “not interested. And the only thing I know how to play is the radio. Thanks anyway.”
She was clearly annoyed, and more than a little drunk. “What are you—gay?”
He just laughed at her. “I guess that’ll be a mystery to you forever, won’t it?” He turned to me. “You coming, or should I send out a search party in the morning?”
The girl was still hanging on me. I glanced at her. Man, she was ready. And willing. And I was certainly single. Big sigh. “Thanks for sharing,” I finally told her, “but I’ve gotta go.”
She stepped away, more confused than angry. “Whatever …”
She and her friend headed off the way they’d come, and Glenn and I eventually made it out the door. Once we were in the hallway, where it was quieter, he said, “Man, you’re smarter than I thought.”
“You know, smart is the last thing I feel right now.”
“Don’t I know. But you’ll feel it tomorrow.”
I was beginning to wonder if he’d snuck into that bathroom after all, but I let it go. “So, why the big secret about playing music? I m
ean, it’s not like we don’t want people to know who we are, and maybe even show up at our gigs.…”
He looked over at me. “Women who are only interested in you because you’re in a band are the worst kind of trouble.”
He didn’t elaborate. And I didn’t ask.
29
“No Woman No Cry”
“We’re going to take the Bad-Mobile and go cruise the park,” Danny said. “You want to go?” It was a little before ten and I was in the breakfast area, polishing off a plate of pancakes.
We’d gotten up and dragged ourselves back over to the Western Star half an hour before, and just like she’d said, Donna had given us three rooms that had opened up. I’d dropped off my stuff and headed down to find some food when Danny, Brad, Jamie, and Amber had shown up, ready for a little day trip.
My first instinct was to say Hell yeah, let’s go! But then I took another look at them. And I didn’t see four of my bandmates. I saw Danny-and-Amber and Brad-and-Jamie. Heck, Danny and Amber were holding hands, and Brad and Jamie might as well have been. Talk about awkward …
“I don’t know,” I replied. “What’s Glenn up to?”
“We asked him to go,” Danny said, “but I think he’s gonna stay and work on some music.”
“I think I’ll do the same.” I grinned. “Maybe I can keep him from writing something too corny. But thanks for asking. You kids have fun.”
“Bye, Mom!” Brad called from the doorway. They all laughed, and then they were gone, just like that.
My phone went off. Kyle. I stared at it through all eight bars of “Can’t Stop,” but I didn’t even want to deal with him now, so I let it roll over.
I went back up to the room and found Glenn just lying on his bed with his hands folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling. God, he looked whipped.
“You eaten yet?” I asked.
He didn’t even look over. “Nope.”
“They stop serving any minute now.”
He just shrugged.
Wow. “I’ll be back in a few. Don’t go away.” Not even a smile …
When I returned, he was exactly where I’d left him.
I dug in his dresser and threw some shorts and a T-shirt at him. “Get changed. We’re going.”
“Going where?”
I held up my new basketball. “Out.”
“No thanks—I’m pretty lousy company today.”
“Yeah, no kidding. Which is why we’re going. Get your ass dressed.”
When he finally got up, we went over to the park they’d told me about at the sporting-goods shop.
I passed him the ball. “There’s this girl …”
He nodded as he dribbled. “Yeah, I think I recall. Your old bass player’s sister, right?”
He’d actually listened. “Yup. You’d said it was a given. Did you mean it was a given for guys on the road, or it was just a given, period?”
He took a shot. “Both.” Swish … “The road just makes it worse.”
“Man, you got that right.” I gave him the CliffsNotes version of the deal with Kimber and Kevin Flanders.
“But what really pisses me off,” I continued as I tried a three-pointer, “is that this smooth bastard’s feeding her a line of crap that I can smell all the way up here, but she’s giving him the benefit of the doubt.” I missed.
He laughed. “You’ve just described the entire male-female dynamic in one sentence.”
“I could straighten it out in five minutes if I could just talk to her in person.”
He passed me the ball. “Maybe. If you’ve got enough cred that she’ll buy your story over his.”
Ouch. “Okay, that’s an issue. I’m trying to work on it. With her, with the band, with everything.” Jumper … good for two.
“Cool.” We just shot without saying anything for a minute. “You know,” he finally said, “Jamie told me about you lobbying for me.”
Oops. “Sorry. Sometimes my mouth has a life of its own.”
“Don’t apologize, man. I appreciate the effort.”
“Well, I just think you guys would be good together, that’s all. So I tried to point out that the things that she might see as negatives, like your passion for music or whatever—”
“She calls it an obsession,” he piped in, going for a layup.
“Whatever. My point is, that same sort of dedicated, stubborn, stick-to-it quality is a good thing in a relationship.” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I felt like an idiot. I mean, I couldn’t even keep a stupid email relationship going for more than a month. “In all my vast experience, that is,” I said with a laugh.
“No, what you said makes sense, and I’m sure you’ll apply it someday.”
I just stared at him for a second, then shot him a chest pass. Hard. “God, Jamie said the same damn thing to me the other day. And that wasn’t the first time I’ve caught you guys spouting the same thoughts. You two seem so in sync.”
“Yeah, well … not about everything.” He lined up for a free throw. “It’s sort of like that thing with your bud’s sister—sometimes there’s just no accounting for taste.” Air ball. “I think Jamie feels like she’s invested a lot into something, and she wants to hang in there for the payoff.”
“Even if it’s a bad deal?”
He didn’t say anything, and I felt stupid for prying. The whole idea was to relieve some stress, not add to it.
“Okay,” I suddenly said, “Celebrity Deathmatch, Portlandia edition! The Shins versus the Decemberists. Who wins …?”
“Hmm …”
And on we went. As we talked, we played Around the World and H-O-R-S-E and a little one-on-one. We didn’t even really keep score—we just played until we were both soaked in sweat, then we started back.
The day was warm and sunny, and it just felt great to be outside. Like some of our troubles had come out of our pores along with our sweat and evaporated on the breeze. Magic …
“Here, check it out.…” I clicked play on my computer, and my rough demo of “Pray for Rain” came over my little speakers. I let it run for a minute, then stopped it. “See what I mean? I’m okay with the chorus, but the verses just aren’t happening.”
“They’re not bad …,” he began.
“Time-out. You’ve gotta be honest, or this ain’t gonna work. If you’ve got a better way, I want to hear it.”
“Okay, here’s what I think … I think you have a great concept, with a killer groove. Really strong chorus—I love the way it drones along. And I happen to think the verses aren’t bad.” He held up his hand to stop me. “But I’d like to hear those lyrics sung over a different section. The changes under the verse vocals are a little generic.”
“Yeah, I hear ya. You got some chord ideas?”
“No, but you do. Can you take the chorus groove and loop it? Nothing fancy.”
“Sure, gimme a second.” I grabbed four bars and looped them, making a quick track a couple of minutes long … just bass, drums, scratch guitar, and the line pray for rain, over and over.
“Cool. Now pull the original chorus vocals way down, and try this—let it run four times, then sing the verse over that.”
I wasn’t sure I understood. “Sing the verse over the chorus?”
“Yeah, except it won’t actually be the chorus during that part. It’s just backing vocals under the verse, and we’ll differentiate it with another guitar part.”
“All right, let me try it.” I played the chorus loop and tried to sing the verse over it. I had to change the melody slightly and it took me a few times to get it right, but I had to admit it worked pretty well.
“You know, I think it’s got potential.”
He grinned. “Like this young smart-ass once told me, you’ve gotta learn to trust my judgment. Now let me put down a guitar part over that.”
I nodded. “Okay, it’ll take a minute to rig up a mic.”
“Cool. I’ll grab my gear.”
So I set up a microphone while he got his S
trat and his little Fender practice amp. He dialed up the perfect tone—dark, dirty-sweet, drenched in spring reverb, with a little tremolo added, set to pulse in time with the eighth notes. He played a simple riff on the lower strings that said desert … hot … dry … Like the soundtrack to some dusty old western.
He had me start recording the overdub from the top. He came in with full chords during the actual chorus riff at the top, then he dropped back to that pulsing single-string thing during what would become the verse. Then he hammered it back up again after eight bars of verse to make the chorus pop out. Hearing this gave me a better idea of what he’d had in mind.
“That sounds great,” I said. “Let me try a verse over it.”
I put on headphones so the instrumentals wouldn’t bleed into the vocals, then I routed the mic to a new track and hit record. I let the loop go for four bars, then I sang the first verse over the chorus groove.…
You want her with you
But she’s miles away,
Don’t know if she’s coming back.
You reach the station
And you’re out of breath,
But the train’s already down the track.
Then I went into the actual chorus.
Pray for rain … Pray for rain …
That sounded good, so I shrugged and kept going into the second verse.…
You’re just prayin’ for rain
On a hot dry day,
Without a cloud in the sky.
Fall to your knees
In an ocean of sand,
The water fills your eyes.
Then back to the chorus …
(You’d better) pray for rain …
“Let me try some backing vocals on that,” Glenn said.
I handed him the phones and moved so he could stand in front of the mic, then I started recording. On the verses he doubled the phrases if she’s coming back and already down the track, then on the chorus he harmonized on the pray for rain parts.
We listened back as I did a rough on-the-fly mix. Very cool, in my opinion. Very, very cool.
Road Rash Page 19