Beneath The Fire
I
remember telling Allan: “This isn't a band, it's merchandise with
a soundtrack.” He laughed and agreed and ordered us another round.
We were standing at the back of the Ottobar, waiting for the opening
sets to finish. The first band, a local act that was filling in for
the last two shows of our tour, was good, but unrefined. They were
all fire and passion and loud noise with no structure beneath it.
They relied too much on gimmicks, but then again, we did too, when we
were younger.
Even
as I say this, I feel like my voice is cracking, but I need to say
it. Even if it sounds hollow, I need to say it.
It
was still early, but the crowd was beginning to fill out. It was a
mix of everyone who had ever heard our music, from young and excited
to old and jaded. I recognized a couple that I'd met on one of our
very first East Coast tours. They had a child with them. I pointed
this out to Allan.
“If
we keep going, we'll have an entirely new fan base in ten years,”
he said. We laughed, but it wasn't funny.
“Let's
get backstage,” I said. We moved slowly through the crowd, taking
our time, pausing to listen to a few more songs. The band on stage
played their last song and for that song at least, they sounded truly
together. If they'd played like that all night, they would have
impressed me.
As
the band left the stage, the crowd began to shift around and I felt
their attention turn to us. A teenage girl who couldn't have been
older than fifteen, bopped over to meet us. She stood in front of us
for a second, silent and smiling.
“I'm
Jack,” I said when it was clear hat she was too shell-shocked to
speak, “and this is Allan.”
“I
know! My name's Kelly and I've been looking forward to meeting you
for so long,” she blurted out.
“It's
nice to meet you too, Kelly,” Allan said. She turned to him and
started to give the normal excited fan speech; how she has all our
albums, how she waited outside all day to get in first, how she wants
our autographs. I felt the energy in her voice, but that didn't have
an affect on me any more.
As
Allan and Kelly talked small, I looked up at the couple with the kid.
The man nodded to me and I waved back. He said something to his
wife and she waved too. He had a look on his face and I knew they
wouldn't come over and say hello. In their smiles I saw a tiredness
that was verging on bitterness. They weren't here just to listen to
our show or see us perform, they were here to act as witnesses to our
final moments as a band. They wanted finality. They would only be
convinced that we were done once we played our hearts out and left
them dying on the stage to be swept up with the rest of the dusty,
cluttered remains of a dead show. I'd seen that look before, a
hundred times on your face as you looked at me and your eyes begged
me to convince you that what we had was finally real and would
continue after we went our separate ways.
In
Kelly I saw nothing but dumb, wasted sincerity. She suddenly seemed
repulsive.
I
waved back to the couple and grabbed Allan by the arm.
“Kelly,
it was lovely meeting you, but we have to go backstage. Enjoy the
show,” I said, pulling Allan with me.
“Are
you OK?” Allan asked.
“I'm
fine. Just got reminded of something I didn't want to think about.”
Allan
nodded and kept quiet. These days, there's so much that him and I
don't want to be reminded of. We headed back stage to get our shit
together.
*
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