Riptide, p.3
Riptide, page 3
“What the fuck?”
Jimmy is barely containing his laughter and Paul has an amused smirk.
“Tiff just caught Nick with Jess in his bed.”
This explanation does little to clear up the situation. I can’t imagine why the graphic designer we’ve been working with on our logo, and soon our cover art for the demo, would give a shit who is in Nick’s bed. Or why the fuck she’s at our house at, I glance at the clock, eight o’clock in the fucking morning. I blame the grogginess of sleep for my brain’s slow computing.
“Motherfucker!”
Jimmy loses his battle holding in his laughter and lets loose an obnoxious cackle.
“Please tell me that Nick isn’t sleeping with the graphic designer for our demo.”
I already know that neither Paul nor Jimmy is going to reassure me that our lead singer did not fuck Tiffany. The Tiffany that, I can now recognize, is the source of the shrieks coming from the stairwell. It took us three months of searching, and another six months of being on a waiting list, to finally be working with Tiffany. Her work is amazing, and she is always booked out months in advance. No one else that we had researched had a style that we thought would fit with our visions of the artwork for our demo. The demo we were hoping to have ready to send out in two weeks.
Mother-fucking-fuck!
Of course Nick couldn’t keep it in his pants with the one chick that it was imperative for us to be on good terms with in order to get our demo finished on time. I fight the urge to punch something, or go upstairs and punch someone. The shrieking is still going on, but someone stumbles down the stairs. Jess turns the corner on the landing and Jimmy starts laughing harder. Her blonde locks are disheveled and her cherry red dress looks like it’s on backwards. She glares over at the three of us taking refuge in the kitchen and she makes a break for the front door. Jimmy is on the floor now, howling.
“I’m going back downstairs. Tell Nick that he needs to find a new designer whenever he’s done with this bullshit.”
I slam the basement door behind me and stomp down the stairs. I sync my phone to my stereo and crank it up loud enough to drown out the chaos upstairs. Bring Me the Horizon blasts through the speakers. I shuck my shorts and boxer-breifs and turn the shower on. Once the bathroom fills with steam, I step under the spray and let it wash away the nightmares that Tiff’s shrieking mercifully woke me from.
Chapter Five
Taylor
I figured it was finally safe to go upstairs around ten. The house has been relatively quiet for the last hour, so I’m hoping that means Tiff has left. I’ll email her later to thank her for her time and apologize for my lead singer being a complete fucking idiot. I have no delusions that when a female catches a man in bed with another woman, especially when that female spends a good hour yelling at said man, she will continue working with him or any other man associated with him.
Nick had better find a new designer as soon as fucking possible. If this fuckup causes a significant delay to our demo, I’ll beat his ass. We haven’t spent three years perfecting our sound and image for his dick to crash the show. Granted, the music should be what sells us to a label, but I figure that taking our presentation seriously can only go the extra step to differentiate us from the other bands trying to get into the music industry. Show that we not only make decent music, but that we understand that being professional about our music career is important too. Shit, tons of bands make good music, but they’re barely worth the trouble to deal with their bullshit and the cliché “rockstar” antics, terror, and destruction.
Take Mötley Crüe and Guns N’ Roses, for example. Talented as fuck, but Mötley was a wild bunch of assholes; and Axl couldn’t even be counted on to make it through a live show, if he even bothered to show. Look at all the other guys in huge bands with substance abuse and addictions.
Shit, I don’t care if the guys have wild nights, but we don’t need drugs and alcohol to make us good musicians. Or for us to write good music. Our struggles in life are more relatable raw than through a hazy, drug-induced filter.
Sure, lots of people struggle with substance abuse and addictions, and can relate to songs about getting through that, but I want to make music that gives people the strength and hope to get through the hard times without needing to dull that pain, before they hit rock bottom.
I want our music to change people’s lives, to change them for the better. And, it just so happens that the best way to achieve that is by making sure our music can first reach those people, as many people as possible. Sure, our sound might not be for everyone, but I want to hear our songs on Octane, on local rock stations. I want to get our songs out there as widespread as we can. I want to build a strong platform to be able to address those hard topics to the masses.
Jimmy, Paul, and Nick are all eating pizza in the kitchen. I make sure to put some heat in my glare.
Nick ducks his head.
“I’m sorry, man.”
I wave off his apology. No reason to apologize, damage is already done.
“You have any ideas on a replacement?”
I know he more than likely hasn’t had the chance to contact anyone yet, but hopefully he at least has some ideas of who to contact.
“Yeah, actually! Gina says she knows a girl that is really good. She said she would try to get a hold of her for me and get a business card or at least contact info.”
I nod my acknowledgement. Well, that’s a start. Hopefully the girl is worth a damn. Tiff may have been a pain to deal with, but her designs are solid and worth putting up with her for.
Gina is Nick’s baby sister. She bartends at The Basement. Nick and her are fairly close as far as siblings go. They’re four years apart. I know that they had a shitty home life, deadbeat parents that were out of the picture as soon as Nick turned 18. He had to support the two of them before that, but they at least had a house until then. I didn’t know Nick until four years later, but he told me their backstory one night when he was drunk. They spent a couple years sleeping in a homeless shelter every night until Nick finally started making enough to afford a one bedroom apartment for the two of them. He slept on the couch in the living room and let her have the bedroom. She is perfectly capable of taking care of herself now, but I know Nick still has a hard time giving up his protective streak, not that he ever truly will. That kind of bond never fades.
“Did you get the vocals done?”
Nick nods his head.
“I’m heading to the studio now, man. I’ll be there until they’re done, I swear. We should be able to mix the tracks next week. Right on time.”
I snort. “You better fucking hope this demo stays on track. I’m gonna beat your face in if we can’t start sending it out by the end of the month.”
Nick ducks his head, “Dude, my face is too pretty. You’d piss all the girls off.”
“I’m not sure that would be such a bad thing after this morning. “
“Man, I said I was sorry. I swear I won’t fuck another chick we work with for the rest of our lives.”
I know he means it right now, but I’m not sure I trust that he will follow through with it. Not intentionally, of course. He just sucks at impulse control. If we have to do any business with a hot chick, chances are that he will try to bang her. Hopefully she keeps it professional and has the will power to turn his horny ass down. In fact, him saying that the designer his sister knows is a female doesn’t give me much confidence that this demo will get done on time. Unless she’s 200 pounds and ugly as fuck.
“Does Gina happen to know any male designers?”
“Tay, I swear, I won’t even look at her if she agrees to work with us. You can do all the in-person meetings with her if we need them.”
“Yeah, okay. I guess that will work. Let me know what you figure out.”
Chapter Six
Taylor
The next day all of us are hanging around taking it easy. We have a show tonight at a larger venue than The Basement, and while we are all excited, we’re trying to conserve our energy. We’ve got a few other larger shows set up over the next month and I have been trying to figure out a touring schedule and set up the venues for that. On top of recording our demo, we’re pretty busy lately.
Nick was true to his word last night and stayed at the studio until 2 A.M.. The tracks are ready to be mixed and I plan on going in tomorrow to start on that with Jimmy. Paul and Nick are playing video games and talking shit to one another. Jimmy is sitting in the recliner in the corner with his eyes closed and headphones on, ignoring the world. I take a seat next to Paul on the couch and kick my feet up onto the coffee table, spread my arms out along the top of the couch and settle in, watching Paul kick Nick’s ass at some racing game.
I doze off, which is surprising with the volume of the guys’ bickering. I wake up a while later stretched out across the couch and find the other guys all passed out around me. Nick is sprawled out on his stomach on a floor cushion some chick brought over one time, Paul is curled in a ball on the floor right below me using his arm as a pillow, and Jimmy is snoring in the recliner. I crane my neck to look over my shoulder and check the clock on the stove.
Shit.
“Wake up, fuckers! We need to be leaving in five minutes.”
The guys all jump, startled by my outburst. I throw myself off the couch and hurry downstairs to throw on some ripped jeans and a black AC/DC shirt that my dad gave me when I was younger. I stomp into my bathroom to take a piss and then I’m back up the stairs, grabbing my old black Gibson and slipping into my leather jacket on the way out the front door. We loaded all of our amps and other equipment earlier this afternoon, but I was planning on fiddling around with some new song ideas before we left. My three hour nap got in the way of those plans though.
The other guys are crashing through the door behind me as I’m placing my guitar in the back of the van, and I quickly glance over the equipment, making sure we aren’t forgetting something. Once I’m satisfied that we have what we need, I slam the back doors and head for the driver’s seat. I jam the keys into the ignition and bounce my leg while waiting on the other three to get in the damn van. Less than a minute passes before they’re all piled in and I’m shoving the vehicle into drive.
We have about an hour long drive and we’ll need to get all our shit set up. We’re the third band on the line-up tonight, so we’ll have a little bit of time between sets to do a soundcheck. The van is full with our pent up excitement. Tonight should be a good show, we’re plenty rested and we were already excited over the demo almost being finished.
I pull into the back of the venue an hour and a half before the show is set to start, so there isn’t much of a crowd outside yet. I can’t help but wonder if Ronnie will be here tonight, but given that we’re an hour away, I figure it’s unlikely. I push the slight twinge of disappointment down at that thought.
Man, I’m being a bitch over that girl.
I couldn’t help it though. I haven’t stopped thinking about her and that I wish I would have gotten her number or at least her last name so I have a better chance of finding her again. Although, judging by her brushoff the other night, I’m not so sure I would have been able to obtain either had I truly tried.
Once I’m parked, all of us jump out and the guys start grabbing our shit, while I go to the backdoor and check-in and figure out where to go. Despite the lack of crowds in the front of the building, the backstage areas are busy. We bump into several familiar faces and see tons of new ones, and I can feel the energy building inside of me. I almost start prancing as we take all our stuff to our designated area. We finish unloading the van and go mingle with the other bands. We still have time before anyone goes on and the stage crew is conducting sound checks for the first band up.
I see Nick corner some girl in skimpy clothes across the way from me and I just shake my head. Pretty boy never learns. Not that I really blame him, it’s part of the perks that come with the territory. And at least the blonde he’s groping isn’t someone we work with. I hope she is just a groupie and not someone’s girlfriend or sister, though. That would fucking suck.
Ignoring the potential drama, I go off to find a quiet area to warm up. I grab my guitar and slide my fingers up and down the neck, jumping my fingers along the strings. I instantly feel calmer. Playing guitar has always done that for me though. Helped me work through hard times, hard emotions, jitters, being nervous.
When I played, it really was as if I was the only person in the world, and all that mattered was the sounds I could coax from my magical instrument. My mom loved watching me play, always told me that I was something special, that no matter how hard it got, to not give up on playing, because she could see how my face lit up every time I picked up her dad’s old guitar. I taught myself to play, determined to learn my mom’s favorite songs, then mine, and then I started writing my own too. About ten minutes later, Nick runs up to me, a giant grin on his face. I pause my hands and wait for him to speak.
“Gina just got that girl’s contact info for me.”
I stare.
“The designer she knows?” He reminds me.
Then it clicks.
Oh, yeah.
Told you I get lost playing my guitar.
“I just emailed her, so hopefully we hear back from her tonight or tomorrow morning.”
I nod.
“Good work. Just keep me posted on if and what she responds.”
Nick nods, heading back over to his blonde, who is now standing with another band, laughing at something the drummer says.
Looks like that’s not going to be any drama, afterall.
I duck my head back down and line my fingers up along the frets and start on one of our newest songs, letting my fingers fly over the neck and getting lost for a little longer.
Dozens of voices start to fill the building, I’m guessing that the doors have been opened and people are starting to file into the venue. The noise continues to grow and grow. There’s probably only 30 minutes left until the first band takes the stage. As I glance around the backstage area, I notice Paul, Nick, and Jimmy are all stalking towards me, smiling and shoving one another playfully.
“Hey, are we gonna go watch from out front?” Jimmy asks.
I nod, putting away my guitar and I stand up to stretch. After working the stiffness out of my muscles, I fall in next to Paul and follow the other two out one of the stage doors. One of the security guys nods at us and lets us pass. Once we get past the barrier, we’re able to blend into the packed crowd. If we start getting bigger, we won’t be able to watch shows out here with the crowd anymore, which will suck. I went to my first concert, Blink-182, at eight years old and have been hooked ever since.
Paul, Jimmy, and I all grew up together and once we were in middle school, we made it to Warped Tour every summer, at least, along with any other shows cheap enough for us to save up our allowances for. If we behaved, we could talk our parents into buying the tickets for us too. It has always been our thing as a group. Now, though, we’re playing more shows than we get to watch, and if things go according to plan, that’s only going to keep on.
Nick and Jimmy push through the sweaty bodies and Paul and I stay close behind. The lights haven’t turned down yet and there’s tons of vape clouds erupting across the mass of bodies, turning the room hazy. I catch a hint of pot, too. The security may check bags and make sure there’s no weapons entering, but they are pretty lax on the substances that make their way into the building. I knock shoulders with some kid that’s talking with his whole body to several people nearby.
As we get as close to the stage as I think we’re going to be able to, the lights go down and cheers and shrieks sound throughout the room. The guys make their way out onto the stage and I notice that the blonde Nick was backstage with comes out with a bass slung from her shoulder. She takes the space on the far left and the guys take their spots. Some tiny girl next to me lets loose a screech that I swear breaks the sound barrier and I cringe.
The band starts up and I let the vibrations of the speakers wash over me and close my eyes, feeling the music. These guys aren’t bad and I feel myself bobbing and swaying with the rest of the people around us. They play a couple covers, but they do a decent job at it. I don’t think they’ll be like I Prevail and blow up with the cover songs, but they don’t butcher the songs. By the end of their five song set, the room is not only smokey and smelling like pot, but there’s heavy, musky B.O. mixed in with the scents as well.
The lights lift and the crew switches over the sets, and the crowd shifts, some people coming, some going. There’s a concession stand out of the main room, near the restrooms. I’m sure they do well, especially with people having the munchies in here. The lights dim again, and the crowd gets excited all over again.
They pay to come listen to music, and in return, the music sets them free. Lets them forget their problems for a couple hours, makes them feel alive. I’ll never forget the happiness that I feel attending live shows and just letting the music take over my body and soul. This band starts a mosh pit during their second song, and I can see the yearning in Nick and Jimmy’s faces. If we weren’t up next, they would jump in.
Instead, we turn and start pushing back through the crowd over to the stage door, the security guy letting us hop the barrier and go through. Three songs later, the band files off the stage, drenched in sweat andI smile at them while Paul and Jimmy hold their fists up for each of them to bump. Nick takes a swig of water, and we wait as the house crew switches the band’s instruments and amps out for ours.
After the set is ready, we head up the steps and out in front of the crowd. They scream with more enthusiasm than the last two bands. We’ve started to build a small, but steady following locally, as well as across social media platforms. Nothing major, but enough that there should be quite a few in the crowd that knows our songs.
