CHAPTER FIVE
We have four hours until show time. Inside The Verve, cables, cords, and instruments are sprawled everywhere. People rush in and out of the hallways and doors, hauling in more equipment. I love the pre-show madness. Excitement and stress linger in the air.
The Verve used to be an official concert venue that decided to become a pub. Benji and I are hanging out in one of the dressing rooms whilst Eric runs around sorting out the last minute details for tonight’s event. I haven’t seen any of the bands yet—I don’t even know who’s organising this gig. The show’s so secretive that nobody outside The Verve knows who’s playing tonight.
Eric won’t let Benji and me in on the secret—which is saying a lot—since he’s such a loud mouth. "It’s worth the wait, trust me," was all he’d tell us with a cheeky smile.
Benji and I are seated on plastic chairs with our instruments on our laps. We’ve been bouncing song ideas off each other for the last hour. Give and take, yeah?
"What if, instead of continuously strumming that last part, you play one chord at a time?" Benji suggests.
The door opens. Eric peeps in. "I need a breather," he says as he plops on the empty plastic chair beside us. He listens to the melody Benji and I have been toying with.
We play the song from the beginning to let Eric in on the process and stop at the bridge where we’ve hit a block.
Eric puts up a finger signaling us to wait, and comes back with a Cajon—it’s like an acoustic guitar for drummers. He sits on top of the box-shaped instrument and nods—a signal for us to begin.
Eric slaps his hand on the wooden box, and counts down. I strum the guitar in my lap, and Benji plucks out notes to accompany my string of chords. It’s a simple version of a metal song we used to jam a lot to back in during our first few years in College.
The full-blown melody plays in my head, complete with electric guitars and a piano. It’s a totally different take to the edgy original, but that’s the fun part about playing around with a song and tweaking it to sound to what we like.
"Eric! We’re two heads short," says a familiar female voice on the other side of the door. "We need more technicians on stage—now!"
Eric stops mid-chord and looks to Benji and me. "Fancy lending a couple of your hands and ears for the afternoon?" He jumps up.
"Yeah, why not?" I say and shrug.
"Do we really?" Benji says, pretending to be irritated.
After stashing our equipment aside, we enter the well-lit hallway. It has this perpetual smell of leftover vomit that’s been peppered with freshener. I’ve witnessed many people missing the bathroom door by a couple of meters.
"Who was that whining at you?" I ask Eric, snickering. "Sounds like your mum!"
"You’ll wish you didn’t say that in a minute." Eric gives me a cheeky grin.
"Where’s Callum?" Benji asks for the nth time. I wonder if Callum’s already here. He was so vocal about a secret show earlier on Twitter. And I wonder if this is going to be a secret comeback show of The Gramophones. That would be wicked.
"What am I? His bodyguard?" Eric snaps. "I told you. He hasn’t been in here today."
We pass the archways that lead back to the pub. There are booths on each side of the walls, but tonight the tables in the middle have been cleared.
Awesome.
There are at least five guitar cases at the side of the stage and more equipment is in the process of being hauled in.
A couple of men circle the stage and plug amps and cords.
"They need tuning." Eric points to the guitar cases that have been left open on stage.
"On it!" I say, and Benji grabs another one. We’re sat on the stage floor, side by side. Eric hands me an electric tuner. I turn the pegs, and compare them with the blinking orange light. We then plug the guitars in the amplifier to test them out.
"Eric, would you mind tuning the drums?" one of the crew hollers at him from the other side of the room and Eric does as told.
"Play something," Eric instructs me.
I strum a couple of chords and begin with a song I’ve been working on for a couple of days now. It starts off with a soulful melody—me plucking a couple of chords. Once I start strumming, Benji comes in with his guitar and adds the filler the song needs.
We’re only supposed to tune the instruments, but I continue my strumming. Then the snare kicks in.
I whip my head around, grinning. Eric smiles behind the drum kit. His eyes mirror my excitement.
I let the vibe of the melody take over and close my eyes. I forget about where I am and imagine where I could be: at a lonely bar, a crowded pub or a sold-out arena. The only thing that matters is the music. My lips brush the microphone and I start to sing. Benji and Eric catch my melody and transform it into something else completely—something I’ve never thought it could sound like: indie rock with soul.
When I open my eyes after the first chorus, a couple of people are staring.
I put on a goofy grin and shrug.
"You again?" Her silvery voice resonates around the pub.
I stop strumming to locate the voice. "Missed me?" I tease and glance at my mates.
Two men hang a backdrop behind us. It’s the same hand-painted one I saw about a week ago.
"Hi Cassie," Benji says, smiling. His eyes dash from her to me. "Nice to see you again."
"You too, Benji," she says, and then looks at me. "Are you lot following me?"
"To the grave," I say.
She laughs.
Eric leaves the drum kit to assist the two men with the backdrop.
"Any chance The Gramophones are playing tonight?" Benji asks, placing the tuned guitar back in its case. I do the same with my
