Road Rash

by Mark Huntley Parsons

  “Back in the garage …,” he repeated, like it was a mantra.

  “Yup, back in the garage—fat, dumb, and happy.”

  I nodded across the stage to Glenn, and we went into our only cover song of the set. Glenn started playing his own unique version of “Are You Gonna Go My Way?” while I pounded out that snare and hi-hat groove, and after four bars the bass slid down the neck and joined in with a very simple but solid pattern. So far, so good.

  I kept it fairly sparse with no flash, concentrating instead on just locking in with the bass. Our little chat seemed to have helped. He was still playing it smart at the top, basically hitting the root on the quarter notes to define the pulse. And that worked great. But as he got more comfortable with it, he added more grace notes on the bass and made the whole thing drive along even better. And by the end, when we had the breakdown section where Glenn usually played the opening riff by himself again, the bass played along with the guitar riff in absolute unison. It was smoking hot, and Glenn looked over at him with a huge grin.

  That broke the tension, and from then on it was a total pocket party—just slammin’ away in the groove and busting out a cool fill once in a while when appropriate, but never losing track of where the almighty one was.

  The next song was that slower minor-key thing Glenn and I had first worked on back in West Yellowstone. It pulled the energy level back a hair, but that was perfect—you can’t keep everything turned up to ten all the time, or pretty soon ten becomes the new five. I was actually able to relax and look around a little by then, and as I gazed out at the huge crowd, the thought that went through my head wasn’t Oh-my-God-look-at-the-crowd, I don’t know whether to crap or go blind. It was actually something a lot simpler: This is where we belong.…

  It wasn’t the easiest thing I’d ever done, making contact with him when we got back, but somehow things were different now. (Hell, three months ago I wouldn’t have even bothered.) And it had nothing to do with the gig. In fact, I didn’t even discuss it at first, because that would have been too easy. It’s like some guy approaching a girl he likes and mentioning right off the bat that he’s a multimillionaire. Yeah, she might agree to go out with him, but was it him or his wallet? He’ll never know for sure.…

  Anyway, at first it wasn’t even about music at all. We had some unfinished business as friends, and that was the priority. If we could get along, I knew the music would be fine. And if we couldn’t, then I wasn’t really interested in working with him no matter how well we played together.

  He answered the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hey, man, it’s Zach. How’s it going? I’m back in town.”

  “I’m good. Yeah, I heard. From Kimberly. What’s up?”

  He didn’t sound real excited. But oh well … at least I had to make the effort. “Nothing much. I just wanted to see if maybe you’d like to get together. We haven’t talked in a while.” No kidding …

  But he actually surprised me with his enthusiasm. “Hey, that’d be great! What about this afternoon?”

  “I don’t know. Let me check my calendar. Hmm. I’ve got band practice, and … Oh yeah, I forgot—no band. But then there’s my job … uh-oh, looks like no job, either. What do you know—I’m free.”

  He laughed. “Your calendar sounds just like mine.…”

  We met down at Land of Lights. Which might seem kind of weird, considering, but he picked it and I went along. What the heck—shouldn’t really matter to me, right? At least that’s what I thought, until I went inside and saw the Sock Monkeys’ gear on the stage. But then I looked at it and realized that without Kyle’s amp up there, it was now completely different from what we used to use. Different drumset, of course, and Justin’s new stack and that big JBL sound system. And now there was a new Ampeg SVT bass rig up there, too. With the massive 8 × 10 cab and everything.

  “Holy shit,” Kyle said when he walked in and saw it.

  “You’re drooling, man,” I said. “But don’t feel bad—that was the same thing I said back when I first saw Josh’s new drumset.”

  “That’s about three grand worth of bass amp sitting up there,” he said.

  I had to laugh. “And that was pretty much the second thing I said.” I thought for a minute. “I noticed when I saw you guys with Josh that everyone had shiny new gear. Except you.”

  “Yeah. They offered to buy me a rig like that, but I told them I just wanted to use my old stuff.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to feel like I owed them.”

  “Good for you” was all I said about that. “Did Kimber tell you why I’m back early?”

  “Are you kidding?” He laughed. “Dude, you’re all she talks about!”

  “Is that going to be weird? I mean, that Kimber and I are going out …?”

  “Man, so many weird things have happened lately that that’s no biggie.” He shrugged. “And when you think about it, she could be going out with someone like Toby or Kevin. So actually, I think it’s pretty cool that you two are together.” He grinned. “And now we know why she wasn’t into anyone we tried to set her up with.…”

  “Hey, thanks. So, what happened with you and the band?”

  He glanced at the floor and shook his head. “It just wasn’t doing it for me anymore. We spent a ton of time in the studio, but everything ended up sounding like some really well-recorded demo. The production quality was amazing—man, you should see that place—but if it’s not played right …” He let it hang there. “And the gigs were the same deal. There was no pocket to our party.”

  “Well, I saw Josh do a couple of pretty technical things at that backyard gig. I couldn’t have played those licks.”

  “That’s just SARKS,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “Spoiled-Ass Rich Kid Syndrome. You have the best toys, and all the time and money in the world, so you just stay home and get really good at doing some show-offy crap. And then you get with a band, and you can’t actually play music.” He laughed. “Trust me, I know all about it.” Then he got somber. “Look, here’s the reality—it’s sucked since you left.”

  “I didn’t actually leave,” I said quietly. “I was, uh … invited to go.”

  “Yeah, and that sucked, too.” He paused. “Look. That whole thing was wrong. I don’t care if Josh’s dad was Sir Dave Grohl or something, it doesn’t matter. I should have gone with the right vs. wrong angle with those guys, instead of just insisting that you were better than Josh. Because even if you weren’t, it was still wrong.”

  I held up my hand. “Hey, it’s okay.…”

  But he shook his head. “No, it isn’t. You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to go back in time and tell those losers, Hey, if Zach goes, then I go, too.”

  “But you did leave. And now you don’t have to deal with them anymore.” I held up my coke. “And neither do I. So, cheers.”

  He stared at his glass but he didn’t raise it. He went on like he hadn’t even heard me. “You know, that’s what I told them when I left—that I should have walked the day they canned you.”

  God, he really did feel bad about that whole thing. “Thanks. Really. It’s okay.” And it was. “We’re good, man. Seriously.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  He looked at me, then let out a deep breath. “Good.” He seemed hugely relieved.

  “Besides,” I said, “it was all for the best, anyway.”

  “You serious?” He seemed doubtful.

  I thought about everything I’d learned being on the road. And the people … I thought about Glenn. And Jamie. And Danny and Amber, and even Brad. And Kimber. Especially Kimber. To say nothing of all the music that came from it—and all the music yet to come from it.

  “Yeah, I’m serious.” I held up my glass again, and this time he returned the toast. Clink.

  I grinned at him. “You’ll see.…”

  “Woo-hoo, that drummer’s hot!” a Girls Gone Wild–type voice yelled from the crowd between songs.
But I didn’t let anything get too big, because I was pretty sure who it was. Sure enough, there was Kimber, smiling and waving. I waved back.

  Probably the best part of the whole thing was that we’d each gotten four killer comp seats, front and center. I gave mine to my parents and Alicia and Kimber, and I’d joked that Glenn and Kyle ought to give theirs to Bad Habit and the Sock Monkeys. God, wouldn’t that be funny …?

  And actually, Glenn sort of did—Danny and Amber were right there, next to Kimber. I’m also pretty sure he offered one to Jamie, but I sure wasn’t going to ask him about it now. We’d see how that played out soon enough. Kyle gave his tix to his parents and Sarah, as well as Ginger, who was on the other side of Kimber.

  So yeah, it was nice to have our own little cheering section right up front, but we were getting pretty good vibes from the whole crowd. And that picked up when we did our one “hit” near the end of our set.

  “Hey, how about a shout-out to Wild 107 for sponsoring this!” I said into my mic. There was some applause. “Here’s one you may actually have heard before, thanks to them. It’s called ‘Every Day.’ ” At the mention of the song title, the applause actually increased. Okay, so it wasn’t a standing ovation or anything, but hey, that was the first time that’d ever happened to us, on any level.

  We dove into that tune and just tore it up. This was only the second time it had been played in public, but if anything, the response was even better than when we did it that night back in Butte. The song may be totally unknown elsewhere, but it was getting pretty good airplay on the Central Coast, and it showed. And the loudest of all was Danny, on his feet, waving and screaming wildly when it was over. Yeah, he’s a clown, but what a guy, huh?

  There was only one song left, and now it was my turn to be seriously nervous. And not just because I carried the primary vocals, although that was bad enough. Have you ever set something up that seemed like such a great idea at the time, but at the moment of execution you had major second thoughts?

  But here we were, and there was no going back now.

  “This is our last song,” Glenn said to the crowd. He looked back at me and grinned. “Here’s a number that Zach wrote this summer when he was suffering from a serious lack of love out there on the road. So let’s all show him a little love.…”

  As the applause died away, he went into the quiet, hypnotic intro, and Kyle joined in on the bass after four bars. I was supposed to come in on the drums and vocals after four more bars, but instead I just played that little chick sound with my hi-hat pedal and waited. I didn’t hear anything at first and I was beginning to get worried, then finally I heard this haunting female voice creeping up in the mix and filling the stadium. Man, it gave me chills just hearing it.…

  Pray for rain …

  Pray for rain …

  She kept singing as she walked up from backstage and clipped her mic into the waiting stand, next to my drums. Once the mic was in place, she played tambourine on the backbeats along with my hi-hat as she sang, and I joined in, singing under her part. I was too busy playing and locking in with her to be looking around at that point, but I heard Glenn’s voice in my monitor doubling my part, just like it was supposed to. So whatever was going through his mind at that moment, he was still a total pro. It sounded great to have both of them behind me, as well as the percussion, as I went into the verse.…

  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.

  And then all three of us hit the chorus strong just as Glenn’s big guitar part busted loose.

  Pray for rain …

  Pray for rain …

  Pray for rain …

  Pray for rain …

  Wow. In a perfect world I suppose I would have arranged for Jamie’s keyboard to be up there, too, but this was enough. Totally. Our three voices, on top of the massive groove Kyle was laying down, just sounded huge.

  The next two verses were just as strong, if not stronger, then we went into this extended instrumental ending we’d come up with, which built higher and higher each time we went through the chord progression.

  Rhythmically it was mostly driving eighth notes, at least for the bass and drums, but Kyle and I made the most of it as we just locked in and freakin’ slammed. By the middle of that section he was back by me, and he had his foot up on my kick drum so he could feel the pulse as well as hear it, and we drove that bus all the way home.

  “Whoa,” I said to no one in particular as we stood backstage during the gear change-out. When we’d finished that last song, we’d gotten some serious applause.

  Kyle was excited, too. “Did you hear that crowd, man?”

  “Pretty damn good,” I agreed. “Especially considering they came to see Neverland. They didn’t even know who we were.…”

  “Well, they sure do now,” someone said. I looked over. It was Jeremy Castille, the lead singer for Neverland. He stuck his hand out. “Great show, guys. You rocked.”

  “Wow … thanks!” I took his hand, and he gave me that rock-star-hug thing. I couldn’t help it—I was grinning like a fool. And so was Kyle.

  “Hey, do you guys know ‘Long Walk Home’ …?” Jeremy asked.

  I almost said, Are you kidding—I’ve played it every damn night on the road this summer, and we just saw you do it in Vegas last month. But I didn’t want to come off as more of a fanboy than I already was. “Sure do,” I said.

  He nodded. “Awesome …”

  There was a spread set out in a big pavilion tent backstage between the motor homes, and I found Glenn and Jamie at a table, deep in conversation. They glanced up as I approached.

  “Hey, man,” Glenn said. “From now on I expect to see you with a bare ass, wings on your back, and a little bow and arrow in your hands.”

  I winked at Jamie. “I learned from the best. But actually, I’m here with some bad news. For both of you.”

  They looked up, serious. “What’s the matter?” Jamie said.

  “We’re not done yet.…”

  Watching a big concert from backstage is way different from being out front. For one thing, you see that there’s a lot more than just the band involved. Man, people are everywhere, tuning guitars, mixing monitors, even diving low across the stage behind the drummer to rescue a fallen floor-tom microphone right in the middle of a song. And every one of them is wearing a black T-shirt.

  And the sound backstage is better than you might think, too. These guys had huge side-fill monitors that were basically a PA just for the stage and the wings.

  By the time their set was over, all fifteen thousand people in the audience were on their feet, singing along, with their hands in the air—just like in Vegas. As the band came offstage, the crowd noise only got louder, if that was possible. Underneath the general roar a chant was building. Ne—ver—land! … Ne—ver—land! …

  After he’d grabbed a water bottle from a nearby cooler, Jeremy turned around and looked at us. “You guys ready?”

  We nodded.

  “Cool. No need to get fancy—just sing the melody on the choruses.”

  Kyle raised his hand, like a kid in class who has to use the restroom. “Uh, I don’t really sing.…”

  “No sweat,” said Zeke, their drummer. He tossed him a tambourine. “Just stand back from the mic and mouth the words and hit this on the backbeat.” He laughed. “If something sucks, our sound guy’ll pull you out of the mix. No harm, no foul. But don’t worry—you guys’ll sound great.”

  They kinda hung for another minute while the crowd roar got even louder. I was trying to figure out how they could be so relaxed when this skinny dude with a headset came up to us and said, “Time.”

  “Thanks, Nigel,” Jeremy said.

  The band took off for the stage with us close behind, but Nigel grabbed us and said, “Not yet. You four
wait here until I give the word.”

  We just nodded, and I guess he could tell we were pretty nervous. “There’s one critical thing you absolutely must do onstage for this to work.”

  “What’s that?” Jamie asked.

  “Smile, dammit.” He demonstrated with a big toothy grin. “How often do you get to sing onstage with Neverland …?”

  That loosened us up. The roar from out front hit a peak, then stopped. Jeremy’s voice came booming over the PA. “We’ve only got time for one more … Zeke’s been smelling that meat all night, and if he doesn’t get some soon, he’s going to hunt something down and kill it!”

  The crowd roared at that—this was like the barbecue capital of the free world, and the smell of wood smoke was thick in the air.

  “You guys have been awesome,” he continued. “Awesome! So thanks for giving it back. We’re going to get a little help on this one from our new friends, Killer Jones.” There was a little applause at that, then he went on. “Here’s one I think you might know.…”

  As the slow opening chords to “Long Walk Home” rang out, the crowd recognized it and went crazy, and Nigel gave us a push toward the stage. “Now get out there … and smile!”

  He didn’t have to tell us twice.

  41

  “Right Here, Right Now”

  “Venti half-caf three-pump white mocha. Nonfat, no whip, extra-hot. And a venti Americano, with room …”

  I’d gone half of June and all of July without saying that once. (Well, unless you count my Freudian slip back at that little indie coffee joint in Butte …) And there were times in there when I thought I’d never be ordering that again. Ever. So yeah, it still felt good to be giving that goofy order. Especially tonight.

  I got our drinks and headed back to the table.

  “Thanks,” Kimber said. “So, have you come down yet?”

  I laughed at that. “Honestly? No. Give me a few more hours. Or maybe a few days.”

  She took a sip of her drink. “Mmm …” Then she swapped to this gossip-girl-from-hell voice and leaned forward. I swear, I could almost see her ears flare out. “So … what did GT think about Jamie coming onstage? Are they, like, an item now? Is she, like, in the band now? Are you guys going to make a record? What was it like, meeting the guys in Neverland? And how about—”