Page 120 of Down Beat

FORTY-THREE

Rey

“Life is Beautiful” – Sixx:A.M.

The interview preshow was hilarious. The guy Kris and I got knew his stuff, but he didn’t give us the standard questions. He bantered with the two of us, cracking jokes and talking shit.

It put me in a good mood for the start of the show, and by the end of the fourth song when I’m usually fantasizing about a stiff drink and a bed to hang out in for a week, I was charging.

Fuck—I even remembered to say happy anniversary to Margot and Shelly. Shelly—ha. The crowd seemed to think I was grinning because I was happy for the couple, so I might have got away with that one. This time.

But there was only one thing that kept the buzz post show, when I usually crash, and that was Tabby’s promise as I walked out the door.

“I’ll be here.”

It’s as though she knew that’s what made me stall. Is my fear of being abandoned that obvious?

“You ready to get out of here?” Kris holds his pack out for me to steal a smoke.

“Yeah.” I pull a stick and roll it between my forefinger and thumb. “The four of us came together good tonight, huh?”

He nods, lips turned down as though he hadn’t really thought on it. “We’ve got issues with Toby, though.” Kris pockets the pack, and then picks up his backpack with fuck knows whatever in it.

He takes the damn thing to every show, and after five years I still don’t know what he’s packing.

“What kind of issues?”

“He’s been talking with Wallace about your rehab once this is all over.”

Fuck. “Yeah?” Thanks, brother.

He nods, cigarette pinched between his lips as he ducks to the lighter.

I take a look around at the staggered city skyline beyond the stadium fence. When it comes down to it, we’re all rats stuck in a race, all searching for that next crumb. Only I kind of feel like the lab techs have the walls all set out for me now; there’s no escape from this.

I’m destined to follow the same old blueprint set out by generations of musos before me. Things carry on the way they are, and fuck, I might just tick all the boxes if I check out early too.

“You think he’d really shaft me from the lineup if I refused to go?” I accept the light Kris offers, his hand shielding the flame.

“Without a doubt.”

“How can he though?” I bluff humor at the idea, but reality is the thought of having this all taken away before I’m ready for it to be leaves me terrified. “There is no Dark Tide without me.” There’s no me without Dark Tide either.

There’s also no comeback for most musicians after they’ve been dropped from the band that made them.

“Why not?” He doesn’t ask the question to be an ass. “Van Halen replaced David Lee Roth. AC/DC held strong without Bon Scott.”

“I get the point,” I drone. I’m expendable. Fucking wonderful.

“Look.” Kris jerks his head to indicate we should start walking. “I’m not trying to make you feel shit, man. I’m just pointing out that all the crap we’ve dealt with over the years, it never fully goes away. And I’m not only talking about you: all of us. We’ve all done shit to add stress to the brand. But thing is, we can say that we’ve wiped it all away and moved on, but after each issue there’s a speck of shit that remains. Residue.” He taps his smoke as we walk to shake off the ash. “After a while all that residue, all those specks, they make a mess of the mirror and we can’t even see who the fuck we are anymore.”

Fuck me. Some days I forget how deep these guys are. “I never really noticed that.”

“But you see it, right?”

I nod, and then take a long drag of my smoke. I keep knocking us back. I know Kris said he was talking about the crap all of us have dealt over the years, but stick that shit on a pie chart, and which one of us assholes would have the largest slice? Me.

“How the fuck do we fix this?”

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