“Jake,” called through Jim eventually. “I’m going to make a radical suggestion here.”
“Which is?”
“I think I know…. in fact, I’m sure I know what guitar this song needs.”
Jake looked up from the Gibson acoustic and stared at the producer.
“No,” he said simply.
“Jake, humour me, please,” begged Jim. “It’s still in the back storeroom.”
“Jim, I don’t know if I can bear to touch that guitar,” stated Jake calmly.
“The very fact you know what instrument I’m referring to tells me I’m right here,” challenged the producer calmly. “Let me fetch it. Just try it. Try it once. If it’s wrong, we put it straight back in the case.”
“Fine,” relented Jake reluctantly.
His heart was pounding and his palms were sweaty by the time Dr Marrs entered the live room carrying a battered guitar case. Barely daring to look, Jake listened as the producer undid the catches and lifted out Salazar Mendes’ vintage resonator. Without a word, Jim passed the 1930’s National to him.
“Get it in tune,” he said as he headed for the door. “I’ll give you a few minutes. I’ve a call to make.”
It might have been his imagination but Jake was sure he could smell Salazar’s opiate-based tea on the strings. Ghosts of that horrendous night over five years before flooded his conscience. That fateful night had almost destroyed everything he held dear to him. Taking a deep breath, he began to pull the resonator back into tune. In his head, he suspected that Dr Marrs was right and that this was the perfect guitar for Gone Today Tomorrow Forever; in his heart, he felt it was all wrong to be even touching the strings.
With the guitar back in tune, Jake began to pick out the blues melody of track three. His shoulders were tense and his playing stilted, almost staccato. A voice from the past echoed in his mind – Salazar’s voice. “Breathe the music. Feel it reverberate through your soul.”
Taking a deep breath, Jake started the song again. Closing his eyes, he played through the melody then played the solo, extending it by adding little improvised sections. As his confidence grew, he played the piece over and over, fine-tuning the solo and altering it subtly each time he played it. Gradually, the vintage instrument settled into his lap, his earlier fears and those long-ago ghosts slowly slipping into the shadows.
Oblivious to the fact Jim Marrs had slipped back into his seat behind the desk, Jake played on. Totally absorbed by the piece of music, he lost all track of time.
Finally satisfied with how track three was sounding, he turned his attention to Back In The Day. Although reflective, it was fast-paced, more upbeat with a delta blues undercurrent to it. Deciding to experiment further, Jake slipped his glass slide over his pinkie and began work on the song. Immediately the tone felt perfect for the song. Within moments, he was lost in the sonic landscape of the delta blues.
Almost as an afterthought, Jake ran through Got My Eye On You, enjoying the complexity of the piece of music that his late bandmate had written. In his mind’s eye, he could almost feel Rich watching over him as he focused on the mid-song solo; in his mind’s eye, he was waiting for Rich to step in and join him. Smiling to himself, Jake kept playing.
“Awesome work, Mr Power.”
Looking startled, Jake turned to stare at the control room window. From behind the glass, the band’s producer was grinning at him.
“Lunch, Jake,” he said calmly. “Let’s head over to the house.”
“Lunch?”
“Yes. It’s after one,” replied Jim. “If we eat fast, we can make a start on a fourth track before you need to head home.”
“I’ve not tracked the first three yet,” countered Jake, still somewhat confused.
“Yes, you have. I recorded the lot. You just played for over three hours straight. I’ve more than enough for those three and maybe a couple of extra segments too.”
“Sneaky,” laughed Jake as he gently placed Salazar’s National back in its velvet-lined coffin.
As they crossed the lawn between the studio and the house, Jim asked how he’d felt playing the late musician’s guitar.
“I guess it was cathartic,” confessed Jake, running his hand through his hair. “Shifted a few old ghosts.”
“About time that old girl was played again. She’s got a unique tone to her.”
“Have to agree,” conceded Jake as he climbed the steps up to the porch. “There’s a beautiful tone to that old lady.” He paused then said bluntly, “But his Strat stays back there. Don’t push this, Jim. I’m not touching that Strat.”
“I hear you,” said Jim warmly. “Now, I hope grilled cheese is good for lunch. Think it’s all I’ve got. Not managed to get to the food store this week yet.”
“Grilled cheese sounds good to me.”
Deliberately, Lori arrived at the school a few minutes early to collect Melody, hoping to catch Maddy as she picked up the meatballs. She’d left a couple of voicemails for her friend but had had no reply. Scanning the rows of cars, she couldn’t see Maddy’s distinctive scarlet and chrome SUV.
“Hey, Lori,” called a voice from behind her.
“Paul!” exclaimed Lori, startled by his silent approach. “Thought you’d have been out at JJL.”
Silver Lake’s drummer shook his head, “Change of plan. Jason’s summoned Maddy and Jethro to a meeting at the record label in Philly. They’re not due back till tomorrow night. Meatball duty calls.”
“Trouble?”
“Don’t think so,” he replied in his usual laidback manner. “I’m guessing the suits are pushing for us to name a new guitarist. They’ll be nervous about us recording a man down. We’ve kept quiet about how much music Rich left us to work with. Keeps the pressure off a bit.”
“I guess that explains why Jake headed out to JJL
