Page 10 of A Little Christmas! 4: Song
Gage schooled his features, refusing to let his surprise show at being offered the opportunity to see Song in action without having to go through the effort of tracking the band down.
“So what’s the bad?” He asked, not even acknowledging that he knew the name.
That would lead to questions. Gage wanted unrestrained answers before he tipped his hand. Song and Zachy had an amazing time playing together over the weekend, and Zachy had begged, afterward, to spend an afternoon hanging out aroundthe city with Song. If the young man was going to land Zachy in a shitstorm in the process, then Gage would be forced to say no to his boy and explain why so Zachy would understand why his daddy was curtailing his fun.
“The singer has a bad habit of performing drunk, and the lead guitarist has a short temper and has gotten into more than just a few fights from what I’ve heard,” Max explained.
“And the drummer?”
“Haven’t heard anything bad about him,” Max said. “But a couple people did say he was the band’s peacemaker and had gotten swung on more than once trying to keep the singer and guitarist out of trouble.”
The pressure in his chest that had been building as Max discussed the band members instantly began to ease when he talked about Song.
“What’s the good?”
“Strong songwriting skills, kickass stage presence, energetic performances from beginning to end, good crowd interaction, and a rapidly growing following.”
“If it’s all true, I see why you’d be interested.”
“Looks like we’re about to find out if the folks I’ve been talking to were right or not,” Max said as the lights dimmed while five individuals arranged themselves on the stage.
For a drummer, Song was a little on the small side, at least compared to other drummers Gage had known over the years, but when he hit those skins, there was no mistaking the power as he launched into a wild, heavy beat that immediately brought the club to life. A small mosh pit formed, heads banged, and even those seated away from the chaos on the floor dialed in to watch as they erupted into their first song.
The guitar player had mad skills, fingers dancing over the strings as he banged his head to the beat, chords blazing with the same fire and drive as Song exhibited. Then the singerstarted to sing, and with how loud everything was, it took Gage a moment to realize that his growly voice, though powerful, wasn’t delivering the song in a way that allowed any of the words to be understandable.
How the hell had anyone determined their songwriting skills were strong if they couldn’t understand the delivery?
Beer in one hand, mic stand in the other. Shit, yeah, his words were slurring; that’s why the fuck Gage couldn’t understand him. From the look of things, he was using the mic stand to keep himself upright too. Who the fuck had let him on stage like that? At the very least, someone should have taken the beer away from him before he went out there.
Young.
Each and every face on the stage was young, despite the goatee the bassist sported and the close-cropped beard on the singer’s chin.
Gage watched the way the lead and rhythm guitarists played off one another and even wound up dueling, much to the delight of the crowd, especially those right in front of them. Devil horns went up, and the action in the pit grew even more rowdy as the crowd grew in the back as more listeners flooded in.
No worries about all of this band’s songs sounding the same. Each had its own distinctive tone and pace. Over the six-song set, they created a wave, from heavy to heavier to damn near burning the house down with a song that sounded like grunge meeting a freight train. Then they brought the set to a close with darker, grimier songs that were still fast, just with a different sort of pitch to them. Those rose and fell in tempo, with a slower chorus, like the song was a dialogue between two very different individuals. It worked, but it would have been far more successful if any of the words the singer delivered had been fully understandable.
He'd drained the beer in his hand after the first song, and after the second, someone in the crowd handed him another. He killed a third between the fourth and fifth songs and nearly crashed into the guitar player the one time he’d let go of that mic stand. When Gage glanced over at Max at the end of the song, he saw nothing but disappointment on his face.
It still looked better than the daggers the guitarist shot towards the singer as soon as the final note faded away. The singer was oblivious as he bellowed for someone to hand him another beer, while the guitar player hastily shoved his instrument into the stand and charged him, only to be cut off by Song and the rhythm guitarist. Song had moved so fast that Gage hadn’t noticed until he was ducking a left hook the guitarist threw as he tried to lunge over him to get at the singer.
“Damn, man, chill and crack a cold one!” The singer said, mic still hot and held in his hand, as he tripped over a cord and landed on his ass, laughing even as someone pressed another beer into his hand.
“I’m gonna kill him!” The guitarist bellowed so loud none of them needed the mic to hear it.
“Not in public!” Song growled, backing the guitarist away while the bassist tried to haul the singer to his feet only to get yanked down on top of him.
Beer sloshed everywhere as chants of "alcohol abuse" and "kill him here"went up from the crowd. Even from across the room, Gage could see Song’s cheeks redden beneath the spotlight, as the whole altercation was caught on video by over a dozen camera phones that were aimed their way.
“Uggggg!” The guitarist howled in frustration before kicking the mic stand over.
Each time he tried to go around Song and the rhythm guitarist, one of them cut him off, while the bassist finally managed to haul the singer back to his feet. Sloppy drunk, heclung to the bassist, making every step difficult as he stumbled and held up his beer in triumph.
“Saved it!” he bellowed.
He was rewarded with a round of cheers and renewed effort by the guitarist, who lunged and finally managed to catch hold of the hem of his T-shirt. A tug of war ensued, as Song and the rhythm guitarist tried to make him let go while the bassist tried to pull the singer further away from him. The shirt ripping was inevitable; only the part that ripped was the sleeve the bassist had grabbed hold of.
The singer landed on his ass at the guitarist's feet, and for a moment, the only thing Gage could see clearly was the flurry of punches the guitarist rained down on him. Club security members were finally forced to get up there and help the rest of the band members break up the brawl, and even then, it took two of those big brutes to hold the guitarist back.