by Izzy Matias
Our performance goes by without a hitch. My fear of playing the wrong notes or forgetting a lyric have not materialised and as we play the concluding note of our last song, the audience erupts in hollers.
"Cheers," I say. "Thank you, London. We are The Fortunate Only."
"You can stream our music or download ‘Brick Walls’ at thefortunateonly.com," Benji puts in.
Amber closes tonight’s episode. After we pack up our gear, I slide beside Cassie. She’s bobbing to the beat of Amber’s opening song, but there are creases on her forehead and a tightness in her lips.
Those deep, red lips…
"I may have another solution to our current financial plight," I say. She turns to me, and it’s so reminiscent of our first encounter that I close the space between us.
"But you have to have an open mind."
She gives me an are-you-serious look. "What is it?"
"I don’t know what you have against charging a door fee—"
"It limits the audience attendance," she interrupts me. "I want the focus to be about the music."
I stay silent.
"Sorry."
"This is a sort of… twist to charging a door fee. I was outside before the gig, and saw a busker. Got me thinking…what if we ask for money the same way buskers do?"
"You want us to put a hat or cardboard in front of you as you perform?"
"Not exactly. What if we pass the hat, or tip box, or whatever you want to call it? We won’t force people to pay if they don’t want to, and it’s up to them how much they’re willing to donate. Like what Eric suggested we do for ‘Brick Walls.’ It seems to be working really well."
She digests this new idea and, though her eyebrows are creased, I like to think it’s a good kind of crease—her opening up to the idea. "Wouldn’t it be unfair to keep everything because we need the money?"
"Everyone gets a share. A way to pay for the venue or sound system instead of relying on people who can lend us their equipment for free."
She remains silent.
"Up to you, really," I say and let the idea hang between us.
"I’ll talk to the London crew and see what they think about it."
I smile and wink at her as she walks over to the organisers of tonight’s show.
As Amber wraps up her thirty-minute set, Cassie walks to the middle of the stage with one of the lads from the London crew.
"Hear ye, hear ye," he says and stomps his foot. "To new traditions!" He tells us that The Hush Society will be passing the hat—yes, a literal hat, one of the crew was wearing a fedora and volunteered it—to keep our community alive. "Let’s be honest. It’s gobsmacking that we’re able to put together a show through people’s generosity by lending us a space, equipment, their time and talent all for free, but if we want this to be sustainable, we need a bit of money to keep us afloat."
He explains where our money is going to go and that by no means is donating mandatory. Everything is up to us: if, when, and how much we want to donate. "Part of whatever we collect tonight will be going to the musicians themselves. Because let’s face it mates, the music industry does not pay well."
This triggers laughter from the crowd and hollers of agreement from fellow musicians.
"So…on with it, then!" The hat is tossed to the crowd.
And that’s how we are able to afford getting to our next city—and the next. Cassie manages to get us places to stay—more specifically, couches to sleep on—at our last four venues and our hosts generously sponsor some of our meals. Passing the hat eventually becomes part of the program.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Static resonates throughout the gallery and overpowers the thunderous applause. As we unplug the cords from the amplifiers, there are cries of joy. I smile at tonight’s crowd reception. The gallery is packed with people. It’s been a few weeks since that silent gig. With every gig we play, our fan base grows.
Tonight, this posh art gallery has transformed into a blank canvas. Paintings and sculptures are nowhere in sight. The pieces from the last art show sold out and the next one is in two weeks, so holding the gig here tonight is perfect timing. The walls are bare slabs of wooden panels with lights surrounding the blank spaces. The air wafts of hard ale and fruity drinks.
"That was The Fortunate Only from Beverley, East Yorkshire closing tonight’s line-up of performers. Again, thank you for coming to our episode," the city hub manager says as he takes centre stage. "And now we’ll be passing around a box. It is not mandatory to contribute, but your generosity would go a long, long way."
He scratches his beard and motions for someone in his team to pass around the collection box. Almost every person in the front row takes out money from their pockets, either spare change or bills from their wallets.
"If you aren’t already aware, tonight’s show is the third to last of The Hush Society’s first ever summer tour before the festival in Manchester," the manager continues. "One to two acts will represent each city and part of the ticket sales will go to start up a non-profit organisation called Ear for Music, which aims to guide rising musicians with their journeys. If you ask me, it couldn’t have been a more fitting match for The Hush Society." He goes on to explain the specifics of the program.
I can't wait to jump into the nitty gritty of establishing the program and watching it transform from an idea into something tangible. I don't know if it will earn at all, but the drive comes from the anticipation and excitement that we are doing something with our music. That we're more than just another indie-garage band composing songs borne out of heartache and other people's experiences.
The collection box is at the third row as Benji, Eric, and I finish packing up our gear. We head to the corner of the gallery where Amber and Cassie are nursing their drinks.
"Great set," Amber says and interlaces her free hand with Benji’s.
I stand beside Cassie, but keep the distance between us. She offers her drink to me and I take it.
"You lot are getting better every time you’re on stage," Cassie agrees.
"Arigato," Eric says thank you in Japanese and bows.
I thank her, but before we can start a proper conversation, someone from the crew motions to her. She excuses herself and tells me to neck down her drink.
The crowd eases into relaxed chatter. They linger on instead of leaving. Another favourite of mine is that people choose to get to know each other after a show instead of vacating the place.
"Hi." A gal approaches us. "I’m Rosie. I love your music."
"Thanks," I say and grin.
"Cameron, Eric and Benji, right?" she says and looks at each of us as she recites our names. She's wearing a The Kooks shirt.
I nod. "You come to these gigs often?"
"This is my first time and I love it," she gushes. "I first heard about The Hush Society through Callum Ford, then found The Fortunate Only and Amber Skye through their social pages. I came out to see both of you!"
"That’s really sweet of you," Amber says. "Thank you for coming!"
"Did you come alone?" Eric leans towards her. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
Rosie shakes her head. "I’m with my sister." She goes on to point out a striking brunette who’s in an animated conversation with another gal.
"Why don’t you introduce us to her, too?" Eric says with a wide grin.
"Eric," Amber chastises.
"What?" Eric feigns innocence. "It’s fun meeting our fans."
"She’s not really into music as much as I am," Rosie tells us. "I forced her to come with me because I didn't want to go alone."
"Ouch." Eric pretends he’s been shot at the heart. "But hopefully seeing us live might have changed her mind?"
"I haven’t asked her yet," she says.
"Eric, you can’t expect everyone to love our music," Benji says. "We can’t please everyone."
Eric rolls his eyes and pulls out his mobile.
"And girl do I know that the hard way," Amber pipes in.
&
nbsp; "That fight is a brave one," Rosie says, referring to Amber telling the crowd about her anorexia. "Thanks for sharing your story with us during your set." Little by little, Amber opens up about it to strangers in hopes of inspiring them. "It’s never easy to overcome something like that."
Amber thanks her then comments on her colour-streaked hair and they launch into a heated discussion about dye. "By the way, do you still have copies of your EP? I want to purchase one," Rosie says as they close the topic.
"I do. Hold on. Let me grab a copy for you." Amber lets go of Benji and walks away.
Rosie turns to me, Benji and Eric. Benji nudges Eric, who jumps up with a sheepish look and puts away his mobile. "I love how your music dips into different genres, pushing the limits, yet it still has this indie vibe to it. I couldn’t decide between ‘Brick Walls’ and ‘Waves,’ but after seeing you guys live tonight, I’ve made up my mind." Rosie's face animates as she informs us this.
"So which one is it?" Benji asks.
"I bet it’s ‘Brick Walls,’" Eric says.
"It’s ‘Waves,’ actually."
This is so surreal. People—people who are not us—are actually discussing our music. With my former bands, it never reached a point where complete strangers would discuss our songs with us.
"Why’d you choose ‘Waves’ over ‘Brick Walls’?" I ask.
"The beats, innit?" Eric interrupts, and flashes her another cheeky grin.
She blushes, but shakes her head. "The lyrics. How it talks about encountering challenges whilst pursuing one’s passions. It was so hard to choose because I heard the backstory behind ‘Brick Walls,’ but ‘Waves’ spoke more to me."
"How so?" Benji asks Rosie.
A few people stand a few inches away from us. They’ve been hovering for the last couple minutes, glancing at us. I motion Eric to their direction. He excuses himself and approaches them.
The group lights up as Eric greets them.
I turn my attention back to Rosie.
"—and I’ve been toying with the idea of pursuing my passion project full time."
"What’s this project of yours?" I ask her, intrigued.
"I love to teach yoga. I’ve been doing it on weekends alongside Uni, but every time I listen to ‘Waves’ it’s like I can do whatever I want… maybe I can finally open up that yoga studio I’ve been thinking about."
"Wow, really?" I whistle. All because of our song?
"Nothing’s impossible, but you have to map out a strategy on how you plan to turn that passion of yours into something full-time," Benji says. "A lot of times people make it sound so idealistic to go after their dreams, but without a game plan, you could give up too easily."
Eric’s loud laughter catches my attention. He holds a paper in his hands. As he converses with the group, he uses his hands, so all I can make out of that piece of paper is a blur of colours.
"Go for it," I tell her.
"I will, and thank you too for the advice, Benji. It was good talking to you lads. I better find my sister."
I nod and wish her luck with her yoga studio.
Before I’m able to talk to Benji, two lads approach us with their mobiles in tow. "Would it be all right to snap a quick photo with you lads?"
"Oh—ah—sure!" I say, taken aback.
Benji grins as he takes their mobile and snaps a quick selfie.
"Wicked!" One of them says, thanks us, and walks away.
"Better get used to this." Benji chuckles at my baffled expression. "If this is the life we want, this sort of thing comes with the territory."
First, other people discuss our songs with us, and now they want photos of us, too? My head swirls at the thought that The Fortunate Only is becoming one of those bands—those rising acts—that people want a keepsake of our show: be it a chat with us or a photo. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it.
#
The following evening, we’re at the next city. One of the downsides of crashing at one of The Hush Society crew’s lofts is that we can never stay more than a couple of nights. We compensate by doing as much sight seeing as we can fit in while we’re in each city. After we explore Sheffield on foot—Cassie and I have this tendency to drift away from the group, though not intentionally—we arrive at tonight's gig location a few hours before our call time.
We trudge up the endless stairs, heaving, as we haul our equipment with us. Benji pushes the rusting metal door at the top of the landing and light rushes in, illuminating the dim staircase. Of all of us, Benji looks the least knackered. Even the months working at the factory have not prepared me for this. Or maybe this constant touring, sleeping at odd hours, and beefing up on unhealthy food is why it’s manifesting this way.
"Cameron, would you speed it up?" Eric whines from behind me. "I'll be as old as your nan by the time we get our stuff in."
I grunt in reply because that's all I can manage at the moment. "Heavy—outta—shape" are the only words I am able to choke out as I make it out on the rooftop.
The Hush Society crew whistles and applauds as I collapse on the floor. Benji and Eric overtake me and head towards the makeshift stage.
"Be right there," I yell from the floor. "…In a few minutes." I wave my arms in the air as I stretch my body. There are a few pops and cracks. "I feel as old as my nan. Oh these aches and pains."
"Poor you!" Eric hollers from across the rooftop and helps Benji with the rest of their gear.
I stay on the floor until two feet with glittery polish block my view. "Better recharge, so you lads can put on a performance tonight," Maria, The Hush Society hub manager, tells me with her nasally voice. "Lots of great expectations are circling around about The Fortunate Only. Can’t wait to see the live performance tonight."
I prop myself up. "I’ll need a couple of energy drinks, an ice pack, and a cuppa to revive me."
The air echoes with her metallic laughter. "Boots is two streets away, but we always have a cuppa within arms reach."
"Great," I say, shake my legs—the movement provides no relief to my cramping muscles—and walk towards the refreshment table to help myself to a cuppa, grabbing an empty paper cup and pouring the contents of the steaming jug of tea.
Even in cities we haven’t been to, The Fortunate Only has already built a reputation. I crack a weak smile. It’s great that we’ve made a name for ourselves, but this newfound recognition also comes with the pressure to live up to what people are saying. I sigh, hoping to vanish the pressure as I exhale.
"Oi, nan. How’s the arthritis?" Eric says as he approaches me. "Your presence is mandatory for sound check."
I try to tuck away the pressure that builds up to focus on the task at hand then set aside my steaming cuppa, exchanging it for my guitar. Eric starts off tuning the drums as Benji and I tune our guitars. Eric counts down with the snare and we launch into our first song. People around us scurry about as they set up the venue. They haul equipment, tables, and boxes—there’s so much motion everywhere, I don’t know where to look.
I try to stay present and focus on our sound check, but every couple of seconds, Maria’s statement about expecting a lot from us pops back up my head.
When we enter the second verse, that’s when the rogue note materialises. Benji’s and Eric’s faces give away that they notice my error, but we play on. I shake my head in hopes of dispelling this bubbling overwhelm.
Up until the bridge I manage to stay in the flow. Maria passes by and gives me a big grin and thumbs-up. This should propel me forward, but all it does is cause another wrong note as we play the outro.
Once we wrap up the first song, I tell my mates I’m sorry.
"All right, Cameron?" Benji asks with concern.
"Stop choking," Eric says with an irritated tone.
"It’s not like I planned to commit those errors," I snap back and face the microphone stand.
Everything is a blur of motion and colours.
"Good thing this is only sound check." Eric rolls his eyes, then
transitions the beat to our next song.
What if I play the wrong notes again tonight? This hasn’t happened in so long. I don’t know why today of all days, I can’t seem to get it right.
We play only the intro and outro of the next two songs until Eric and Benji stop playing.
"That’s it," Eric says as we wrap up sound check. He stalks off and leaves me with Benji.
"What’s the matter?" Benji asks, rolling up his cord. "Haven’t seen you choke in over two years."
"Not in the right headspace, mate." I tap at my temples and give him a weak smile.
"Last night you were amazing."
"That was last night." I shrug, but don’t have the words to tell him that I’m afraid I won’t be able to deliver tonight. "Something about this place is off."
Benji gives me a look of disbelief. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but instead, shakes his head as he walks away.
I’m thankful he opts to forgo lecturing me. There’s too much expectation for us to be that shining band. There are so many people counting on us. What if I disappoint?
I grab another cuppa as I spot Cassie talking to Maria. When Maria turns to someone else from her crew, I approach Cassie and offer her the other cuppa in my hands. She thanks me and takes it and we’re sat on two beanbags near the railing. For a while, we say nothing to each other, and watch the people around us.
"Cass, I don’t think it’s a good idea to hold the gig on a rooftop," I say after taking a sip of my cuppa.
"And why not?" Cassie whips her head to face me with inquiring eyes. "I think it’s perfect."
"Imagine if the wind overpowers the microphone. That’s got to be horrible feedback." All of a sudden, I want out on tonight’s show. I don’t want to disappoint. There’s no guarantee that I won't be a right mess, like at sound check.
"Don’t worry about the sound quality. Maria’s double-checked everything in this venue even before booking it. She’s meticulous."
"My throat’s feeling a tad scratchy," I whisper, but Cassie doesn’t miss a beat.
"A couple of mishaps at sound check do not equate to a horrible set, Cameron." Her eyes are sharp, intense.