The Hush Society Presents...

by Izzy Matias

  Even as I reach one of Beverley’s many parks—a place where I’m in my own world with only my guitar—my shoulders slump further. The crisp forest air usually lifts my mood, but after a full day at the factory yesterday, I’m absolutely knackered.

  There are dead flowerbeds and decaying leaves amid the lush greenery around me. The wind blows a big chunk of my dark hair and for a moment, it covers my left eye. I sigh.

  I’m almost at the station when I spot a bushy bob of ginger hair bouncing towards me.

  "Alex?" I say, looking up from the ground.

  His pale thin face lights up. "Oi, Cameron!" He slaps my back.

  "Aren’t you supposed to be in London?" I ask. He’s two years older than me. The last I’d heard of him was that he’d moved to London. Amazing how he did that, really. It’s where musicians go to make music their career. What’s he doing back here?

  "Took some time off to visit the folks. It’s been hectic lately."

  "How so?"

  "The band just got signed!"

  I cry out in shock. The band I left two years ago, when we all decided to call it checkmate, got signed? Only Alex and the drummer voted to save the band. Apparently, they did.

  My chest tightens, as if the crisp air suddenly turned to smog. Ever since I saw Benji’s dad perform an epic guitar solo on stage for a reunion tour when I was nine, I knew I’d found my home. My parents bought me a second-hand guitar after that—and it wasn’t even my birthday or Christmas. I’ve been obsessed with the guitar ever since.

  Face to face with Alex and his news of success now, I know I should congratulate him, but all I can think is five bands later, I’m still in the same place I’ve always been: nowhere.

  "That’s…that’s great!" I finally say.

  "Well, I’ve got to go. Folks are expecting me now," he says, grinning ear-to-ear. "See you around!"

  "Yeah…" I reply. But he’s already walked away.

  The second I step inside URadio’s HQ, I'm greeted with chatter and a jazzy guitar riff playing in the background. Judy is at the control booth. As the song wraps up, she slides her headphones down on her shiny, straight black hair that complements her tan skin.

  "That was our playlist breakout of the week. Vote for it if you want it on this week's countdown!" She looks up from her laptop, and waves as she sees me.

  "Look who dropped by the station today, folks." Nate, her co-host, cracks a mischievous smile. "DJ Cameron." He pushes the applause button.

  I was at URadio so often during my third year of College, volunteering and assisting the crew with bookings and special guests—even picking out fresh tunes—that they eventually let me stay. At first, I was an intern. I never saw myself hosting a radio show, but the previous station manager, heard me debate and goof off with Nate and Judy and asked if I could guest at one of their shows. Next thing I knew, I'd been offered my own slot.

  My program isn’t for another couple of hours, but with the way things are back at home, I’d rather be here.

  "Before the break, we were discussing about how we want to leave our mark in this world," Judy says.

  "Woooh!" Nate yells into the mic, his Boston accent thick. "It's a philosophical topic, but really, that's what our station aims for. To probe the minds of our listeners and get them thinking about the stuff that matters."

  "Or give our listeners a major headache," I joke.

  I don't think I can be heard on-air, but Nate laughs. He spins his chair to face me and pulls the arm of my chair towards the booth.

  "What's your take on this, Mr. Evans?" He pushes the broadcast microphone towards me. They love to put me on the spot. "How do you want to be remembered?"

  I say the first thing that comes to mind. "I want my music out there. Make a difference, maybe save a life... You know all that pizzaz that comes with being a musician."

  "So, what's stopping you?" he asks.

  I give him a blank look.

  "You say you want to be a musician. You should be out there exposing yourself and writing songs…not stuck in here talking about it," Nate says.

  "Are you telling me to quit my job on-air?" I laugh.

  Nate knows I was working on a few songs with Lewis. He also knows Lewis cut the cord on me.

  Judy's dark brown eyes stare.

  "Damn you, Nate! I’m a frustrated musician, what can you do?" I shove him and he laughs.

  "We'll give Mr. Evans more thinking time and move on to our next song, one of my favourites, ‘Naïve’ by The Kooks."

  On cue, the song fades in, a perfect transition from Nate's words. The Kooks’ infamous funky pop guitar intro comes on.

  Judy and Nate turn their microphones off, and face me.

  "Tsk, tsk! Cussing on air. Have I thought you nothin’?" Nate gives me what he calls a bro hug: a half-hug accompanied by a back slap. I'll never understand his American ways.

  "You taught him all the wrong things," Judy says.

  "Don't listen to the Filipina." He clasps his hand over her mouth and tackles her to the floor.

  "Very discreet, you two!" I point out, but turn my head the other direction.

  Their banter is a quick distraction—a momentary shade to the glaring sun. What is stopping me from looking for a sixth band? Nate’s words echo in my head as I realise that since Lewis kicked me out I’ve been stuck. Sure, The Hush Society is inspiring and all, but I haven’t exactly done anything about it. If I try again and everything hashes, it’ll just be another reminder that the only thing I’m ace at is being mediocre.

  #

  Once a week, Judy and Nate’s radio segment allows our listeners to decide between two outrageous dares. The winning dare is done during the show, and afterwards uploaded on URadio’s social media wall. This week’s winning dare is binocular soccer—it’s a football game where the players have to wear binoculars. They saw a video on YouTube and thought it would be a fun dare.

  Nate and I head back inside URadio as we wrap up the dare. With a grumble, he pushes the frosted door.

  Judy pulls him in and pinches his face. "My sore loser."

  "Humbug!" I yell, sink into one of the chairs and pull the microphone to my face. "If you two are going to snog all day, I might as well take over the show."

  Judy breaks apart from Nate, who looks like he needs the fresh air. "No! I’ve got a special announcement to make." She pushes him aside. He stumbles and falls on the couch behind us as she checks the timer in front of us.

  The song, Foals’ "Inhaler," is nearing its end. She grabs the microphone and turns it on. I do the same and give her a cheeky smile.

  "And, we’re back, folks," Judy says. "Before we launched into that outdoor spectacle, we were talking about the things that make our souls sing."

  "Light as a peach," I inject.

  "Weeell, I've got a big announcement that'll get you into a state of entropy," she says and looks at me. The first time I’d heard her use that word, I had to ask her to explain it to me a couple of times. What I’d got out of it was it was about disorder. A riot.

  "In other words, we're going to start a riot," I say. "Brilliant. It’s definitely time for a cuppa!"

  "During your little shenanigans outside, Callum Ford—bassist of The Gramophones in case you didn’t know—tweeted about a gig tonight."

  WHAT?!

  Nate curses in shock. I almost fall out of my chair.

  "No swearing on air!" Judy chastises him. "We have a credibility to uphold."

  "Do you mean to say that The Gramophones have gone off hiatus?" I ask, louder than intended. "The Gramophones are back?"

  The question hangs in the air, building suspense. I tap my fingers fast.

  Four years ago, The Gramophones almost ceased to exist, when all but one of their members left the band. They were known as Likely Strangers then. Lead singer, Josh Ford, was devastated and thought it was the end. But a few weeks later, he met Harry and Luke at a music festival. Apparently, they were all from the same Uni and kept bumping into each o
ther during the festival. Turns out they all liked the same bands and all felt they were outcast musicians. Josh recruited his younger brother Callum and The Gramophones were born. They’d been touring Asia and North America before they’d gone on hiatus. No one knows exactly why.

  In the last year, there have been rumours of their disbandment, but I never believed a word. After wanting to make it in the scene for so long and finally achieving it at such a massive scale, why would they throw it away just like that?

  "Woman, are they back?" Nate's voice rips through my recollection.

  "That is the debate exploding all over the Internet," Judy says, making a reference to a classic The Gramophones song entitled "Explode." "None of the other members have said anything. Even their official accounts have been on radio silence."

  "What were Callum's exact words?" I ask, ready to dissect the meaning and solve the puzzle.

  "‘Tonight at nine. Be on the lookout for coordinates. Hashtag THS,’" she reads aloud, showing it to me.

  "That could mean anything," Nate says, scrolling online.

  THS. The Hollowing Sound? That was the title of their last studio album, but it would be weird to promote that one after being on hiatus for two years…unless they had new material with the same initials as a sort of tribute.

  "How do you know it’s a gig? It could be anything!" I say.

  "The lad’s got a point," Nate says. "A very clever point."

  "Because his previous tweet said ‘Gig-time. Not Marmont,’" Judy sighs with exasperation. "Sign-up for a Twitter account, would you?"

  I make a face and she sticks her tongue out. "Classy," I say.

  "‘Location will be unveiled three hours to show time!’" Judy reads Callum's latest tweet.

  "Talk about seizing the night," Nate says. I hand him the microphone, and zone out as I scramble to send messages to Benji and Eric.

  But both of them have beaten me to it.

  Benji: R THE GRAMOPHONES BCK!?

  Eric: There's a last-minute booking @ The Verve tonight. Update you when I get more details.

  If this really is the comeback show of The Gramophones, we must be there. I return Eric's message: Guest list us?

  In less than a minute he replies: You know it.

  The perks when one of your best mates works at The Verve.

  "Why did they go on hiatus the first place?" Judy asks. She's a recent convert to the band. "They were on a roll, or so you boys keep telling me."

  I stare at the signed Gramophones poster on our memorabilia corner. The walls are actually white, but only the windows overlooking the view outside are evidence of its true nature. It looks like flyers and posters exploded on the rest of the walls.

  "No one really knows why," Nate continues. "After their label cut them, they released an independent record that sold over five hundred thousand copies. They were at their peak, then they went dark."

  "How does a label fire you?" Judy asks. "I didn't know that was possible!"

  "Their producers wanted them to sound a certain way to make more profit, but they refused."

  "It took a lot of balls to say no to a major label," Judy says.

  I know The Gramophones' story by heart, but hearing Judy and Nate discuss it out loud…Josh Ford never gave up on his dream, not even when everyone deserted him—and not when a major label was standing in his way. But I've tucked mine away because of the bitter aftertaste of my played-up projects…

  I think about how I have to endure Uni for the next three years just so I can land a desk job I can’t even see myself in. A lot of people bank on Uni as their ticket to the ideal life—earning loads of money at a proper, stable job—but what if that’s not what I want?

  Nate’s question loops in my head.

  If music is what I want, then what is stopping me from trying again?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  We have four hours until show time. Inside The Verve, cables, cords, and instruments are sprawled everywhere. People rush in and out of the hallways and doors, hauling in more equipment. I love the pre-show madness. Excitement and stress linger in the air.

  The Verve used to be an official concert venue that decided to become a pub. Benji and I are hanging out in one of the dressing rooms whilst Eric runs around sorting out the last minute details for tonight’s event. I haven’t seen any of the bands yet—I don’t even know who’s organising this gig. The show’s so secretive that nobody outside The Verve knows who’s playing tonight.

  Eric won’t let Benji and me in on the secret—which is saying a lot—since he’s such a loud mouth. "It’s worth the wait, trust me," was all he’d tell us with a cheeky smile.

  Benji and I are seated on plastic chairs with our instruments on our laps. We’ve been bouncing song ideas off each other for the last hour. Give and take, yeah?

  "What if, instead of continuously strumming that last part, you play one chord at a time?" Benji suggests.

  The door opens. Eric peeps in. "I need a breather," he says as he plops on the empty plastic chair beside us. He listens to the melody Benji and I have been toying with.

  We play the song from the beginning to let Eric in on the process and stop at the bridge where we’ve hit a block.

  Eric puts up a finger signaling us to wait, and comes back with a Cajon—it’s like an acoustic guitar for drummers. He sits on top of the box-shaped instrument and nods—a signal for us to begin.

  Eric slaps his hand on the wooden box, and counts down. I strum the guitar in my lap, and Benji plucks out notes to accompany my string of chords. It’s a simple version of a metal song we used to jam a lot to back in during our first few years in College.

  The full-blown melody plays in my head, complete with electric guitars and a piano. It’s a totally different take to the edgy original, but that’s the fun part about playing around with a song and tweaking it to sound to what we like.

  "Eric! We’re two heads short," says a familiar female voice on the other side of the door. "We need more technicians on stage—now!"

  Eric stops mid-chord and looks to Benji and me. "Fancy lending a couple of your hands and ears for the afternoon?" He jumps up.

  "Yeah, why not?" I say and shrug.

  "Do we really?" Benji says, pretending to be irritated.

  After stashing our equipment aside, we enter the well-lit hallway. It has this perpetual smell of leftover vomit that’s been peppered with freshener. I’ve witnessed many people missing the bathroom door by a couple of meters.

  "Who was that whining at you?" I ask Eric, snickering. "Sounds like your mum!"

  "You’ll wish you didn’t say that in a minute." Eric gives me a cheeky grin.

  "Where’s Callum?" Benji asks for the nth time. I wonder if Callum’s already here. He was so vocal about a secret show earlier on Twitter. And I wonder if this is going to be a secret comeback show of The Gramophones. That would be wicked.

  "What am I? His bodyguard?" Eric snaps. "I told you. He hasn’t been in here today."

  We pass the archways that lead back to the pub. There are booths on each side of the walls, but tonight the tables in the middle have been cleared.

  Awesome.

  There are at least five guitar cases at the side of the stage and more equipment is in the process of being hauled in.

  A couple of men circle the stage and plug amps and cords.

  "They need tuning." Eric points to the guitar cases that have been left open on stage.

  "On it!" I say, and Benji grabs another one. We’re sat on the stage floor, side by side. Eric hands me an electric tuner. I turn the pegs, and compare them with the blinking orange light. We then plug the guitars in the amplifier to test them out.

  "Eric, would you mind tuning the drums?" one of the crew hollers at him from the other side of the room and Eric does as told.

  "Play something," Eric instructs me.

  I strum a couple of chords and begin with a song I’ve been working on for a couple of days now. It starts off with a soulful melody�
�me plucking a couple of chords. Once I start strumming, Benji comes in with his guitar and adds the filler the song needs.

  We’re only supposed to tune the instruments, but I continue my strumming. Then the snare kicks in.

  I whip my head around, grinning. Eric smiles behind the drum kit. His eyes mirror my excitement.

  I let the vibe of the melody take over and close my eyes. I forget about where I am and imagine where I could be: at a lonely bar, a crowded pub or a sold-out arena. The only thing that matters is the music. My lips brush the microphone and I start to sing. Benji and Eric catch my melody and transform it into something else completely—something I’ve never thought it could sound like: indie rock with soul.

  When I open my eyes after the first chorus, a couple of people are staring.

  I put on a goofy grin and shrug.

  "You again?" Her silvery voice resonates around the pub.

  I stop strumming to locate the voice. "Missed me?" I tease and glance at my mates.

  Two men hang a backdrop behind us. It’s the same hand-painted one I saw about a week ago.

  "Hi Cassie," Benji says, smiling. His eyes dash from her to me. "Nice to see you again."

  "You too, Benji," she says, and then looks at me. "Are you lot following me?"

  "To the grave," I say.

  She laughs.

  Eric leaves the drum kit to assist the two men with the backdrop.

  "Any chance The Gramophones are playing tonight?" Benji asks, placing the tuned guitar back in its case. I do the same with my guitar.

  "You’ll have to wait and see," is her answer.

  "Is that a yes, then?" I say and jump off stage and meet her face-to-face.

  "Callum’s been tweeting about a secret gig the whole day," Benji says.

  "We know secret gigs are your forte," I quip.

  "Ah yes," she says, and signals Eric to follow her. "By the way, great melody, Cameron." She leaves us to finish tuning the rest of the gear, but calls out, "Is it your song?"

  "We were playing around," I say.

  "Finish it," she says, turning towards the back door.

  My jaw drops. Benji’s eyes go wide. I turn to Eric, who follows Cassie.