Page 63 of Your Rhythm
15Inhaler || Foals
MATT
Rehearsal today has not beenfun. The band is like a pack of pinched nerves, wound tight and hardly daring to move around each other in case we set off a reaction. We barely said hello before tuning up and starting to play.
Things have only been getting worse between us since I walked out of the meeting with Amy. The three of them think I’m being dramatic, but I know what Atlas is up to. Our relationship with the label has always been about getting the most out of each other and nothing more; they haven’t decided to get friendly all of a sudden and start sharing helpful tips out of the goodness of their hearts.
They’re up to something. If I sound like a lunatic for saying it, fine.
I give a final bash to my cymbals as we finish up our fourth run-through of ‘Sofia.’ We haven’t been able to nail it yet.
“I think you need to hit the key change after the bridge faster,” Cole tells Ace, as we all pause to grab water.
“I thinkyouneed to pay more attention to yourself,” he snaps. “Four strings is a lot to handle, you know?”
JP and I freeze to watch what happens next. No one back-talks Cole, especially not with a bassist jab.
He lifts his strap over his shoulder and slowly sets his bass down on its stand. A dangerous tension shoots through the room as he draws himself up and takes a few deliberate steps towards Ace. He doesn’t stop until they’re almost chest to chest. He’s got at least three inches on him, and Ace seems to shrink down even smaller as Cole glares at him.
“You want to say that again, man?”
To his credit, Ace doesn’t look away.
“No offence. We all know we’re off. Just let me do my thing.”
“Your thing,” Cole repeats, his voice flat.
I can almost see Ace’s heartbeat pounding through the veins in his neck. Cole stares him down for another moment and then shrugs before backing away.
“Tabarnak,” JP swears, once we’ve all started breathing again. “We’ve been in this fucking basement too long. I need a pizza or something.”
After over a year of living together, I’m well aware that JP eats when he’s nervous. He also eats when he’s tired, excited, bored and just about every other emotion known to mankind, but that’s beside the point. We need something to crank the aggression in here down a few notches, or someone’s to going end up getting punched in the face.
“Actually,” I admit, “food would be good. You guys down?”
Ace and Cole shrug. I take that as a yes. I offer to call for delivery, and we agree to stop practicing once the pizza shows up. We’re halfway through an extra large pepperoni and cheese when the food starts having its intended effect, and I realize no one looks like they want to kill each other anymore.
“Any plans for the weekend?” I venture. It’s Friday night, and I figure we’ve reached a point where we can attempt casual conversation.
“Probably sleeping,” JP answers. “Might browse avente de garageor two.”
Prowling around yard sales is one of his favourite pastimes. It’s where he finds all the weird shit he turns into instruments, or uses as unfortunate decorations for our living room.
I turn to Ace. “And you? Any plans?”
“I was gonna ask if anyone wanted to go out tonight. There’s this show on the Crescent that looks worth checking out. Electro-funk or something.”
“The angels are pissing out there,” JP warns.
We all stare at him. He looks around in confusion.
“You know?” he prompts. “The rain? When it rains it’s like angels pissing.”
We just keep staring.
“Voyonsguys, it’s likeyoudon’t even speak English.”
“Literally no one says that,” Ace tells him, before the three of us burst out laughing.
