by Andrew Fish
just an excuse and you know it.’
‘It’s true though, isn’t it?’
A bass guitar was laid down on the table. Keys looked at it, recognising it as Vid’s by the earlier bullet-hole. ‘Will I do?’ a voice asked.
The robots looked up to see Karl looking at them.
‘I’d have thought you’d want us to quit,’ said Keys. ‘Hal tells us that you feel overshadowed.’
‘Of course I feel overshadowed,’ said Karl. ‘Who wouldn’t feel overshadowed when they share a stage with you guys: we’ve had people come to our gigs in the afternoon just so that they could choose the best seats to see you in the evening. The point is that Vid wouldn’t have wanted you to stop just because of him.’
Keys sighed. ‘He never started out as a musician,’ he said. ‘He only came along because of me. If I’d stayed at home…’
‘He came along because he wanted to be with his friends,’ said Hal, ‘but he stayed because he loved the music. You saw how much he practiced that bass – he put everything into those performances. Do you want all that to just fade away?’
Riff finished his pint and looked up at Karl. ‘Can you play the way Vid did?’ he asked.
‘I can try,’ said Karl. ‘I can’t promise that I can do exactly what he did, but I can try.’
‘In that case I think you’re right – we’ll do it.’ He placed his glass firmly on the tabletop and rose to his feet. ‘Guys,’ he prompted. Keys and Hal joined him and the party made their way to the elevator.
‘By the way, Emil was looking for you,’ added Karl. ‘He wondered if you wanted to go back to Ezra.’
‘Ezra. Why?’ Keys asked.
‘Apparently he’s just acquired some properties over there,’ said Karl. ‘The council seized a club for non-payment of rent and he took it over and he’s got hold of a recording studio too.’
‘That’d be nice,’ said Keys wistfully, ‘but I can’t go back to Ezra.’
‘Why not?’ asked Karl.
‘The electrical store,’ Riff explained. ‘His owner will expect to get him back.’
Karl shook his head. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.
Keys looked at the human quizzically. ‘Why not?’
‘That’s one of the properties that Emil’s bought,’ Karl explained. ‘Apparently there’s been a lot of crooked assets seized in town and Emil’s got a lot of them at discount.’
‘Crooked?’
Riff nodded. ‘Tony had his fingers in everything,’ he said. ‘I wonder why he’s losing so much property. Do you know which nightclub it was?’ he added to Karl.
‘Some low dive,’ said Karl, ‘but Emil plans to do it up and make it a music club.’
‘It wasn’t The Turret, was it?’
‘You’ve heard of it?’
‘You could say that that’s why we’re here.’
There was a subdued audience for the evening’s performance – the sad news of the loss of Vid had reached out and touched the many fans who had returned for the tribute. As a mark of respect to their friend, the robots had decided that the first half of the concert would not involve any kind of light show or other theatricals and the stage was simply bathed in white light.
Riff stood at the mic and looked out over the audience; a number of banners were being waved with mottos such as Miss You Vid, Shine on You Crazy Robot and It’s not over, as well as a number in the native Fadoran tongue, which Riff assumed expressed the same sentiments.
‘A couple of nights ago, Vid played me a tune,’ Riff began, feeling more nervous about public speaking than he had ever felt about performing. ‘Now Vid, as you know, didn’t write many songs, but what he did write was extremely special to us. The new tune he played me was unfinished and had no words, but I thought that it was one of the greatest tunes I’d ever heard. As a tribute to Vid, Keys and I…’
At this point Keys strapped on the portable keyboard and moved to the front of the stage.
‘…would like to play you our idea of how the tune would have been finished. In respect to Vid, we won’t add any words, but if you listen to your thoughts I think you’ll know what Vid was saying.’
He nodded to Keys, who began to tap out a gentle arpeggio on the keyboard. Riff adjusted his foot pedal and picked out a short, ringing scale, letting the final note submerge into feedback. There was an expectant hush from the audience and then Riff began to play a melody. It was simple, almost to the point of banality, but Riff bent the notes and added tremolo in a way that gave the tune life and brought a lump to the throats of the listener. As the tune progressed, Keys added chords to the arpeggio, enriching the sound and used a third hand to add a bass part, consciously imitating the gentle, swinging style that Vid had brought to songs such as Listening to Nothing or Rooms by the Hour. When the song finished, the room was in utter silence for almost a minute and then applause took its place.
Riff adjusted his fingering, ready to play the opening to Listening to Nothing, but there was a commotion from the edge of the stage: Karl seemed to be talking to someone in the wings. Oddly, he then took off Vid’s bass and handed it to someone behind the curtain. Keys and Riff exchanged puzzled glances and the guitarist poised, waiting for some clue as to whether it was safe to begin.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ came a familiar voice. Ben walked onto the stage, adjusting the strap on the bass as he came. He smiled wanly at the puzzled tableau. ‘What are we waiting for?’
‘You apparently,’ said Keys, putting an arm around Ben and embracing him gently. Riff waited until the two had disengaged, then tapped his foot to count himself in and began to play the intro to the song. As the last note of the intro gave way to the first note of the verse, Ben brought in the bass to join Riff’s guitar, Keys began to play the keyboard and all three joined their voices to sing. Hal, steadily drumming at the back of the stage, wiped his face with his spare hand and nodded to Karl.
‘Sometimes I wish I could cry,’ he confided to the bassist.
Karl wiped his eyes and nodded. ‘Sometimes I wish I couldn’t,’ he replied.
46
Break-ups and reunions are like divorces and marriages – the former attracts lawyers in much the same way as a decaying cow attracts flies, whilst the latter attracts well-wishers and photographers in much the same way as an unattended sweetmeat attracts the flies who haven’t heard about the cow. For an established act, either event attracts publicity and some bands have become so notorious for their continual splits that the public perception is of a band that has spent more years sorting out their differences than actually performing.
The various line-up changes of the Sirian Peanut Troupe have already been covered in some depth, but the lack of distinction between one monkey and another in human terms has given this a somewhat less marked effect on the group’s public image than would normally be expected. Similarly, the range of changes which punctuated Preston Biscuit’s career have had little effect beyond confusing their fans, and in some cases, convincing them that there are at least four bands which share the same name.
For a true picture of the reunion game at its very best we have to look at the folk duo Jimmy and Albertine. Neil Jimmy and Joe Albertine were long-time friends who grew up in the same neighbourhood as each other, played together as children and ultimately attended the same high school. Swept off their feet when the music craze hit town, the two formed a duet and had a minor hit under the name Ignatz and Krazy.
Although this provided a great deal of extra pocket money it didn’t make them rich enough to retire overnight. Despite several follow-up singles, further success eluded the pair and after school they went their own separate ways, with Jimmy taking jobs in the music industry, whilst Albertine adopted a more conventional career in banking.
After the passage of ten years, Jimmy had built up a reasonable name on the folk club circuit and invited Albertine to join him and form a duet. Albertine accepted the offer and the union bore fruit in the form of a string of catchy, yet artistically inte
lligent songs with a sound so harmonious it could reduce grown men to tears. This new burst of success was more enduring than that of the Ignatz days and the band had a string of hit albums.
Unfortunately, fame can be almost as damaging as failure. Despite being only a harmony vocalist, Albertine began to regard himself as a celebrity. Smelling the lure of his name in lights, he abandoned sessions for the duo’s latest album – provisionally titled Bridge of Sighs – and embarked on a film career. Jimmy finished the album then embarked on a solo career, the bitterness of the disintegration providing enough material for his first album to be a double.
Absence, as it is perennially noted, makes the heart grow fonder. Ten years passed with Jimmy’s star middling in the firmament and Albertine’s film career in the dumpster. Show promoters persuaded the duo to reform and give the big time another go. They agreed and, after a reunion concert, they turned their attention to a new record. During the sessions the old arguments resumed and they split up again.
Five years after that, they got as far as the reunion concert where, after a single verse of their first number, they had a public argument and split up on the spot. As the pair are now approaching retirement age, there is a great deal of speculation about whether there will be a further reunion attempt and, if so, how long it will last. The bookmakers currently have the odds at 3-1 for a reunion and 15-1, the most favourable odds, are on