Little Spirit

by DaNeo Duran

  ‘Okay. He’s welcome to join in and we’ll see how it goes.’

  ‘It’s a lot he’s asking,’ Calvin warned. ‘I mean song writing’s something we do together and know works. Plus you’ve heard the joke, What’s the last thing a drummer says in a band?’

  Danny shrugged, ‘What is the last thing a drummer says?’

  ‘Why don’t we play one of my songs?’

  Laughing Danny said, ‘Terrible. But it’s worth a try isn’t it?’

  ‘Definitely. He recognises we’re prolific songwriters. He wants to add to that not handicap it.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘But, until everyone knows where we stand he won’t be giving notice to Taboo Tortured.’

  ‘Wouldn’t expect him to.’

  ‘D’ya wanna ring him back; arrange a rehearsal? He works Monday to Thursday in the music shop and he’s free most evenings and weekends.’

  ‘Can he get discounts?’

  After ringing the rehearsal rooms and Raphael, Danny found Calvin in the lounge.

  ‘Raphael’s got five songs to learn and we’ve got forty-eight hours to make sure we’re ready.’

  Tuesday 21st June 1983

  With little time to familiarise himself with the songs Raphael had taken the tape to his music shop.

  ‘What the hell’s that noise?’ his boss Derek called over to him. When Raphael told him Derek said, ‘Sounds like it’s been recorded through a sieve.’

  ‘Yes, but ze songs are great.’

  Derek left the till and came to Raphael’s corner of the shop to listen again. ‘True, the melodies and harmonies show promise.’

  Left alone Raphael practiced adding further harmonies whilst guessing what drum lines to play.

  * * *

  On Tuesday evening he set off for the rehearsal rooms following Danny’s directions arriving in good time.

  A guy behind the counter said, ‘They’s here already, Room-7 – top floor.’

  Raphael climbed stone steps avoiding the corridor’s unwelcoming saucers of rat poison. Behind Room-7’s heavy door, he took a deep breath before going in.

  ‘Hi,’ his voice squeaked when Danny looked round. Gripping Danny’s hand he nodded to Calvin and forced his voice lower, ‘Everyone’s early – good sign.’

  The room’s whitewash glare, oxidising metal window frames and desolation caused an agoraphobic shiver. He kicked the uncarpeted felt underlay and wafted mildewed dust away.

  ‘Drums in the car?’ Calvin asked.

  ‘Yes, I’ll go get them,’ Raphael said switching focus from the rusty pipes.

  ‘We’ll give you a hand.’

  ‘Mark, can we get some mics?’ Danny asked the receptionist on their way back.

  ‘Certainly,’ he said reaching for two.

  ‘Actually, three today,’ Calvin said.

  ‘I see,’ Mark said grabbing another. ‘There you go. Best of luck to yas.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Raphael said.

  As they started towards the steps Mark added with a cheeky grin, ‘With this hot weather you’re the only band in so I’ll be listening.’

  Heaving the gear upstairs Raphael noticed Calvin and Danny’s athletically conditioned figures. But, lugging the bass drum with his skinny arms he still smugly decided against pumping iron.

  Back in the room Calvin plugged into the HH bass amp where it stood. Raphael watched knowing it’d sound terrible where it stood. Danny choose the smaller of the room’s two amps. ‘You’re not going for ze Marshall?’

  ‘No fear, I don’t like those big speakers smothering everything.’

  Holding his tongue Raphael wandered around the room striking his snare drum to find the sonically best spot. ‘Everyone okay if I set up here?’

  Danny caught Calvin’s eye and, having never seen anyone patrol a room bashing drums listening for things normal folk couldn’t hear, the lads burst into smiles. Though better than Sunday morning Danny still reckoned Raphael lacked the charisma he’d shown in The Dog and Parrot.

  With instruments at the ready Danny soundchecked his vocal mic. Calvin set up one for Raphael and with a smile said, ‘There ya go.’

  ‘Giz a one two Cal,’ Danny said from the mixing desk.

  ‘One two, two one two.’ Calvin’s voice thrust from wall mounted speakers.

  Adding reverb Danny then asked, ‘One two, Raphael?’

  ‘One two, one two,’ he said with less punch than Calvin.

  ‘Cheers. Levels next. Raphael hit us with a rhythm please?’ Danny watched Raphael take a steadying breath and lift his sticks before:

  BOOM, CRACK, Ba-BOOM BOOM, CRACK!

  With ears bursting with sound, Danny saw Calvin’s eyes popping on stalks. More than loud Raphael’s drums coloured the drab room rainbow bright.

  The beat continued. Straight postured, Raphael grooved; the subtle yet unmistakable smile retuning.

  Pulling himself together Danny faced the amp thinking he might need the Marshall after all. However, the drums didn’t overwhelm the guitar which cut through dancing between the space the kick, snare and hi-hats presented.

  Unfortunately Calvin’s bass waddled into the celebration less welcome than a stoned hippo. He spun knobs on the amp as Danny, a clueless spectator, watched the comedy.

  Nothing seemed to help until Raphael stopped playing and said, ‘Here, let’s pull ze amp away from ze wall and angle it better.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Calvin said once the amp had moved three feet to a new position.

  ‘Give it a go now and if necessary boost ze mid-range.’

  Like a different guitar Calvin’s Musicman now sounded tightly dulcet.

  ‘That’s done the trick,’ Calvin said into his microphone. Raphael winked. Calvin, still buoyant looked at Danny. ‘Ready?’

  The moment Raphael had started playing his confidence geyserred and he knew he’d secured the gig. Plus his fortitude doubled when helping Calvin’s amateurish false start.

  Raphael’s opinion blew from cold to hot again once more as musically things leapt together. Attempting the first song Calvin locked the groove to Raphael’s drumming like Lego. Privately Raphael conceded that the smaller amp sounded fine. He couldn’t believe how good the band already looked. Danny, burning calories like Pete Townsend showed moments of Hendrix’s flamboyance. Calvin became a different animal. Seeming to grow six inches he prowled between drum kit and mic looking like a bass playing Jim Morrison. He couldn’t believe he’d failed to recognise this when he’d met them in The Dog and Parrot. With everyone looking as though born to rock Raphael slotted into Calvin and Danny’s musical relationship as all doubts dissipated.

  ‘Good job,’ Calvin soon said to Raphael.

  ‘Thank you. I like that song.’

  ‘And thank you; you gave it exactly what it needed.’ Danny said.

  ‘Shall we try another?’

  ‘Great,’ Danny said. ‘Let’s try, Paint Your Life.’

  From beat-one everyone promptly lost whatever they thought they had. Though maintaining eye contact and playing well they struggled; the vibe tumbling. Danny’s voice sounded forced as his guitar failed to deliver.

  They tried another song, then another. Then they played the first one again but even that lay flat.

  Unable to understand the problem Calvin squinted at the setting sun; the prospect of another two hours of this depressed him. After the next attempt he said, ‘Let’s take a break.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Danny said.

  Raphael stood up stretching.

  In reception Danny leant against the dispenser as a can of Coke clattered through.

  Unaware of the mood Mark said, ‘Sounding good tonight guys.’

  ‘Really?’ Danny said.

  ‘The best I’ve ever heard yas.’

  Calvin looked at Danny who said, ‘We would’ve agreed with you. We started great – then it was like the maid appeared and vac’d the good stuff up.’

  ‘Beginner’s luck,’ Raphael said. ‘Appare
ntly it’s a real phenomenon.’

  ‘What,’ Danny stated. It hadn’t been meant as a question.

  Raphael said, ‘I don’t know ze science but it’s like God shows beginners their potential then takes it away because greatness has to be worked at.’

  Danny rolled his eyes. He wanted the band to be brilliant but couldn’t believe philosophising or reading books on crowd psychology would help. To his dismay Calvin seemed fascinated.

  ‘We’ve been that good once,’ he said, ‘we can do it again, and better.’

  ‘That’s ze spirit. Perhaps it is a spiritual thing. If our spirits pull in ze same direction then we’ll achieve our dreams.’

  ‘What’s your opinion?’ Danny asked Mark who’d wisely returned his attention to his newspaper.

  Turning a page he said, ‘I think you surprised yourselves by playing one song well then figured you was The Who. But given you’re only a three-piece any line-up changes will inevitably cause upset. Just trust the songs – don’t rush.’

  Danny followed Calvin and Raphael back upstairs without their shared enthusiasm, wondering how much he had in common with the oddball drummer.

  When they arrived back in the room Danny said into his mic, ‘Okay, things might have seemed too good to be true before.’

  Calvin suggested they jam for a while. Danny agreed that might be a way of getting to know one another musically.

  Raphael suggested they play along to his four-track percussion parts.

  ‘Isn’t that cheating? Me and Danny’s common influence was The Sex Pistols.’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Raphael. ‘They’re as contrived as any band you could care to mention.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘They were styled to death, by Vivian Westwood.’

  Soon, looking like a pro, Raphael slipped one headphone off an ear checking his four-track’s volume against the kit and began grooving in and out of the percussive beats.

  The rhythms infected Calvin. Reminded of disco he didn’t dare join in having never learned to play the fast riffs associated with that style. Instead shutting his eyes he imagined a way in. His few well-placed bass notes gave the drums room to breathe. Danny joined in following Calvin.

  Each musician played allowing the others space until each radiant face looked up seeing other radiant faces. Calvin stepped to the mic singing ’whoo-hoos’.

  They reclaimed some of the promise they’d opened with rehearsing an hour longer than arranged until Mark finally appeared to kick them out.

  Wednesday 22nd June 1983

  Back from his day shift Danny sat watching Nationwide. ‘You’re late back,’ he said when Amy arrived home.

  ‘Stopped at the union bar to celebrate finishing my penultimate exam,’ she said slumping next to him on the settee.

  ‘And there I was thinking you’d be studying for your ultimate one.’

  Ignoring him she nodded to the door. ‘I just passed Calvin on the phone presumably gabbing to Raphael. I guess rehearsal went well last night.’

  ‘Yep.’

  Amy detected some uncertainty. ‘So is he in?’

  ‘As far as we’re concerned.’

  ‘Congratulations, well done.’

  ‘Thanks Amy.’ He smiled. ‘And thanks for bringing him back that night.’

  ‘Oh God, don’t remind me,’ she said wishing he’d drop it.

  Calvin came through the door. Seeing Amy he asked how her exam had been.

  ‘Okay, maybe, but who cares?’ She got to her feet. ‘Raphael’s in the band?’

  Calvin hugged her. ‘Great news huh?’

  ‘He’s confirmed it?’ Danny asked.

  ‘He has but he’s got one condition.’

  ‘Here we go,’ Danny said. ‘Does he want us to sign up to some New Age course?’

  Amy looked to Calvin, puzzled. Calvin said, ‘He comes out with some strange stuff.’

  ‘What’s his condition? Danny said.

  ‘That we think of a new band name.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with 10,000 Faces but if he’s in then he wants it to be a new band, with a new name.’

  Danny pursed his lips. ‘That’s his only demand?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘I guess we should clean the slate if he’s to properly enter the spirit of things. What about next rehearsal?’

  ‘I’ll ring Mark and book Saturday.’

  Thursday 23rd June 1983

  The next day after a fruitless pub shift spent trying to think of band names Danny returned to his room. With Amy away revising and Calvin out running he relaxed close to sleep. His eyes closed when—

  Bang-bang-bang!

  He leapt with surprise. God I hope it’s not TV Licensing.

  He opened the front door relieved to see all six foot five inches of his uncle Nick cradling a dusty old guitar amplifier.

  ‘These things don’t half get heavy quick,’ Uncle Nick said as Danny stood letting him past.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting you today. D’you wanna hand?’

  ‘Just tell me where to drop it and get the kettle on.’

  ‘Top of the stairs is fine,’ Danny said not wanting his uncle to see his cluttered room.

  After making the brews Danny fought to hide his disappointment in the dumped 1960’s style relic which looked more beaten up than his decommissioned practice amp.

  ‘So it’s a Vox AC30?’ he said turning the knobs hoping they’d break off in his hand but finding their action smooth. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’

  ‘You’ve never come across Vox in your guitar mags?’

  ‘I can’t think that I have. It’s mostly Peavey nowadays.’

  ‘Well, Vox shaped the sound of British Rock ‘n’ Roll.’

  Uncle Nick listed bands including The Beatles and The Shadows plus some less famous acts. Hearing the gravely past tense list Danny’s interest hit rock bottom until Uncle Nick mention The Who and Queen. Danny didn’t mind Brian May’s sound but thought Townsend used Hiwatt amps. Nevertheless he conceded that maybe there’d be a virtuous sound should the amp ever get going again.

  ‘I only gambled a tenner on it,’ Uncle Nick said. ‘The guy I took it off doesn’t know what’s up with it. He just wanted shut of it.’

  ‘Doesn’t he play guitar anymore?’

  ‘He never did, it’s his daughter’s ex-boyfriend’s. He’s in prison. Don’t know what for before you ask but his sentence just got extended for bad behaviour.’

  Uncle Nick had taken the mugs to the kitchen when Calvin came panting back.

  ‘Hey, like the amp. Vox are pretty good aren’t they?’

  ‘I don’t like the look of it,’ Danny whispered.

  ‘Forget it. It’s probably a classic. Rocking up to gigs with this you might be the talk of the town.’

  ‘You reckon?’ Danny stepped back stroking his chin. ‘Uncle Nick reckons Vox are the cornerstone of British rock. I thought Marshall was.’

  ‘Well you know how to find out.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Yeah, Raphael. He works in a music shop.’

  Calvin kept Uncle Nick company whilst Danny phoned Raphael.

  ‘Well?’ Calvin asked when Danny joined them in the lounge minutes later.

  ‘Very interesting. Uncle Nick d’you pass Hemel on your way home?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Seems Vox are rare these days since the company went under. Most can be fixed and,’ he paused for effect, ‘Raphael’s shop has a house technician.’

  ‘So we drop it off tomorrow?’ Nick enquired.

  ‘Well, yeah. It’s Raphael’s day off but he’ll go in specially.’

  ‘It’d be nice to hear it in action.’

  ‘We can go to the pub in the meantime. I’ll make it worth your while.’

  ‘Alright. I’ve only got one nephew. Let me check in with your aunt first though.’

  Friday 24th June 1983

  ‘God I’m wrecked,’ Amy said the next morning re
sting her head against Calvin’s chest as they waited for the kettle to boil.

  ‘Last exam today,’ Calvin said.

  ‘I know. I’m really worried.’

  The following silence suggested Calvin didn’t have any consolatory words for her. She regretted having joined the lads in the pub instead of spending the previous night revising.

  Shifting her sense of guilt to Calvin she asked, ‘Are you job searching today?’

  ‘I was but curiosity about Danny’s amp and Raphael’s shop got the better of me.’

  Entering the lounge Danny announced, ‘Right, I’ve rang work sick.’

  ‘You supposed to be working?’ Amy asked.

  ‘Yeah, I only remembered once we got to the pub last night. After you left with that lad I had to act like I was coming down with something. Liz’s asked me to do Saturday after next instead.’

  * * *

  On her way to poly Amy steadied herself against a zebra crossing’s Belisha beacon. Tired and still a teensy bit drunk she swayed as if on a ship’s deck waiting to cross the road to the exam hall.

  * * *

  ‘Welcome to ze shop,’ Raphael said as his hand vanished in Uncle Nick’s giant handshake. ‘Where’s zee amp, I’ll give you a hand?’

  Though he’d heard of the Vox AC30, seeing it almost fill the boot surprised him.

  Back in the shop before Danny’s arms tired, Raphael ushered everyone to the back. ‘Come and meet Trevor.’

  Calvin followed with Danny’s guitar. All four crammed into Trevor’s room where the pony tailed yet balding technician sat amongst soldering irons, oscilloscopes, a cacophony of wires and a mild whiff of sweat.

  ‘AC30?’ Trevor said putting his glasses on. ‘How long have you had it?’

  ‘Let’s see now,’ Danny said, ‘about sixteen hours?’

  ‘Ah, so you don’t know its history?’

  ‘Crikey, no.’

  Uncle Nick said, ‘I picked it up for a tenner.’

  Trevor looked at the big man over his glasses, ‘A tenner?’

  ‘Yeah, did I get ripped off?’

  ‘Highly unlikely.’ Trevor prodded wires at the back with an electronic meter. ‘These thirty watters started good and just got better over time; maybe too good for the money. They went bust and were taken over by a lazy company during the seventies.’

  Doubting Trevor’s appraisal Raphael said, ‘This monster only turns out thirty watts? We’ve got decent priced hundred watters half this size downstairs.’